Page 10

Chapter Nine

“ D uchess,” the Duke prompted, standing outside the carriage, waiting to take her hand to help her down.

Eleanor could scarcely believe that Everdawn Hall was the same estate she had ridden up to, hobbling and injured, panicked and desperate to save her friend’s life.

And now…

Now, she was the lady of the house.

She felt silly in her gown of simple silk and pretty, small beading—a woman playing a role that was far too big for her.

She took the Duke’s hand and let him guide her toward the main entrance, where Mrs. Winters waited to greet her as though she was new to the estate but honored by the fact that she was not.

“I will leave you to get settled,” the Duke muttered.

Without another word, he strode down the bronze-colored hallway as if he had not done a similar thing several days ago under the same explanation.

Eleanor was left with the housekeeper, who took her to a different suite than the one she had rested in. Than the one where she had poured out her truth.

Where she had thought she and the Duke had bridged understanding between them, only to realize that logic and plans had upheld that bridge, and now that their plan had been enacted, she was shut out.

So what now? What will become of us?

“These are the ducal suites,” Mrs. Winters announced, opening the door to a room that looked as though it had been encased in a sunrise.

Swathes of autumnal colors softened the white walls, splashes of gold and red accents adorning the furniture and flooring. Eleanor’s lips curled into a smile, especially when she saw the maple trees stretch out into the distance beyond her window, magical and alluring.

“Suites?” she asked, realizing what Mrs. Winters had said. “But there is only one room.”

Mrs. Winters walked over to the white door between the window and Eleanor’s new, very large bed.

“Your suite is connected to His Grace’s. It will provide the privacy you require without the need to step out into the hallway. In a moment, your new lady’s maid, Frances, will come help you get ready for dinner. Do let me know if you need anything, Your Grace.”

Her tone was warm yet firm, and she nodded at Eleanor before she left.

Eleanor was still eyeing the connecting door and wondering exactly what that privacy would entail when Frances entered, finding her pink-faced and lost in thought over her looming wedding night.

The dining room was dimly lit, the sky outside darker than when they arrived, casting the room almost in a reddish glow. Candles were lit around the room, making the space more intimate than it should have been.

Without Charlotte there, both the dining room and the manor itself suddenly seemed awkward, painfully empty, and silent.

The Duke, who sat at the head of the table, heaved a sigh as if tired of waiting for her.

Eleanor gathered her wits once more and took her seat at the other end of the dining table. She looked down at him through the candlelight. His warm, honey-brown eyes met hers for a brief moment before he looked down at her gown.

“Red,” he noted. “Fitting for the estate you are now the Duchess of.”

“Burgundy,” she corrected. “At least, Frances told me so.”

His lips twitched as if he were stifling his amusement.

A footman stepped forward and poured Eleanor a generous glass of red wine. Once he was gone, she stared at the dark liquid, feeling her anxiety rise.

“I do not drink,” she mumbled.

“You may learn if it pleases you,” the Duke answered immediately as if braced for her resistance.

As if he knew exactly why she didn’t drink.

“It tastes rather different from whatever you had in the last three years. This wine is from a vineyard in France. I can assure you that the one at St. Euphemia’s is not. ”

How did he know her worries before she did?

“A vineyard in France,” she mused, sniffing the wine and taking a hesitant sip. “You would know directly. Most likely, you have visited and overseen the staff and barked your orders and?—”

“I have,” he confirmed. “Because I own the vineyard.”

That silenced her for a moment as the first course was served. It was their first meal as newlyweds, and Eleanor could not help assessing how much had changed, even though she kept her thoughts tucked away behind a composed mask just as the Duke did.

“And do you own the residence where Charlotte is staying? I am assuming it is the Montagu estate, where your aunt lives.”

“You assume wrong,” he replied, his eyes too warm for how sharply he looked at her.

“Then where is she staying?”

“That is not for you to know.”

Her fork clattered to the table. “What?”

“I believe you heard me clearly enough.”

“I promised to write to her,” she protested. “I wish to know if my friend is comfortable and well-settled. I want to know if she is safe.”

“And you think me incapable of ensuring that before we returned to Everdawn?”

“No, but?—”

“Then that is that, Duchess.”

She stared at him in bewilderment. How could he shut her out so quickly? How could he deny her a simple answer about her friend’s location? Why would he?

“I wish to know where she is,” she bit out. “She is your sister, yes, but she is also my friend.”

“Whatever you wish to write to her can be passed through me,” he declared. “I will see it delivered with care.”

“And I truly cannot know?”

“No.” His eyes tightened as he continued eating, as though her questions were merely an annoyance. But his jaw was too tight in between bites, his silence too heavy. “Do not question me further, for I will not tell you.”

“Why—”

“It is not necessary for you to know,” he sighed. “Do not probe me incessantly. It has been a long few days. All you need to know is that Charlotte is fine.”

Eleanor scoffed, taking a bite of the meat on her plate. She tried to chew angrily but stopped when the rich flavors burst on her tongue.

Heavens, it had been so long since she had something this delicious, aside from her first-ever dinner at Everdawn Hall.

The Duke merely watched her, and she hated that he would know she was enjoying the food.

After washing it down with more wine, Eleanor spoke up, “I understand, but I also have a right to know where my friend is and how she is doing, especially after what’s transpired. You would not have known there was a threat, were it not for me.”

That was the wrong thing to say. She realized it before she saw his face shutter.

The Duke set down his cutlery with more force than necessary. He fell into a tense, thick silence as he reached for his wine glass and took a long sip. When he lowered his glass to the table, a droplet caught at the corner of his mouth, staining his lips.

And despite her frustration, Eleanor was drawn to it—drawn to thoughts she should not be having, for they involved licking that droplet off his mouth. She shoved the notion away.

“Do not remind me of that again,” he uttered.

His tone was low and authoritative, but not as threatening as she had feared it would be. It was a mere, gentle warning.

“I want Charlotte to be safe. I also want the same for you. That requires you to keep yourself out of my business.”

“ Your business?” she echoed, stunned.

“Yes,” he snapped. “My business.”

“You are so controlling,” she huffed, her eyes narrowing.

“But I daresay that is no revelation to you. You have not granted me a single measure of agency. Has it not occurred to you that what I might need—what might keep me sane—is a fragment of my own control? In mere days, I have gone from a girl who was denied the dignity of being called a ‘lady’ to a duchess. Can you truly blame me for feeling adrift— unmoored —and wanting, just once, the assurance that my friend is safe? Especially when I have already lost her once before?”

She knew her words had gotten through to him. A muscle twitched in his jaw, fluttering, and she refused to look away. Refused to back down.

A few minutes passed in that tense, unbearable silence. Eleanor’s frustration rose. She felt the urge to leave the dining room altogether.

“Speak to me,” she pressed. “You had plenty to say when you planned my future.”

“I am planning it to protect you. I have kept my sister safe for her entire life,” the Duke bit out, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. “Do not question my ability to do so. Charlotte is well, and she is safe, and she will be monitored by my aunt as well.”

Eleanor bit back the urge to remark—acidly—that he would know well enough how that arrangement worked, considering it was precisely how Charlotte had been raised. But she held her tongue. She did not know him well enough to discern the limits of his restraint, nor when it was unwise to test them.

Still fixing him with a harsh glare, she sipped more wine and set her glass down harder than necessary.

“Fine. Charlotte is safe, as you say. In the meantime, what am I to do?”

The Duke furrowed his brow, as though confused by her question. He looked around the dining room and gave a short laugh. “You are to enjoy your life. Be a duchess. Take back the autonomy you desire and take everything you were denied for three years. For perhaps even longer.”

“So I am to sit around in beautiful dresses and pretend as though nothing is happening?”

“Nothing is happening, Duchess,” he emphasized, the title a reminder of his warning. “At least not where you are concerned.”

The message was clear: she was no longer to concern herself with Lord Belgrave or Lord Follet. Everything would now be handled by the Duke. She was merely an ornament in the empty, sweeping Everdawn estate.

She shot to her feet. Anger flared in her chest at the simple dismissal, as though she was nothing to him—nothing to his sister’s safety.

Had she not warned him… She dreaded to imagine what would have happened.

Eleanor stomped out of the dining room. As soon as she stepped into her chamber, she found a note on the bed along with a key. Elegant yet masculine script swept across the card in black ink.

For the connecting door. You have nothing to fear here . – SV.

SV. Spencer Vanserton.

It struck her that he signed it so casually. Perhaps that was his attempt to comfort her. Her words had finally struck something within him—something that had seemed vulnerable during their night at the inn.

Without wasting another moment, Eleanor locked the connecting door.

Morning breaking over Everdawn was something to behold. Eleanor turned her attention to the windows in the breakfast room, watching as the sunlight set the maple trees aglow, almost like little flames catching all around them.

How could such a beautiful place have such a disinterested, unfeeling master?

She bit into a piece of toast, savoring the crunch. The butter melted on her tongue, and all the while, she was aware of those honey-brown eyes on her.

The Duke methodically ate his breakfast, not once stopping her from taking many generous helpings.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

“Very well,” she answered, her tone stiff but polite. “Better than at my parents’ townhouse.”

“Good,” he said.

“And yourself?”

“I always sleep well.”

Why do you look so tired, then?

“Then I hope you are rested enough to answer my questions,” she commented, a note of sarcasm lacing her voice. “Are you ready to tell me where Charlotte is?”

“Are you ready to tell me why my assurances of her safety are not enough?” She sighed, but he was not done. “Are you planning to sneak out and visit her if I tell you her location?”

“No,” Eleanor answered through gritted teeth. “But there is comfort in knowing her whereabouts. She could be five minutes away and I will never know.”

“Five minutes or five days, nothing will change.”

“You really will not tell me, will you? You do not trust me.”

“As I said, it is a matter of your safety, Duchess.”

He so smoothly, so casually kept calling her Duchess , avoiding a more intimate introduction of their Christian names. He was putting more distance between them by keeping up the formalities while reminding her that she was not the escaped girl from the convent anymore.

“Fine,” she muttered, and then continued to eat her breakfast in a sullen silence.