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Chapter Five

“ M mm,” Eleanor hummed as she slowly woke up the following morning, warm and comfy for the first time in three long years.

Part of her thought she still was dreaming: her bed at the convent had never been this soft. The mattress was firm and warm beneath her cheek… until it moved, rising and falling steadily.

Her eyes flew open.

She was lying on the Duke of Everdawn’s chest. His very bare, very hard chest.

And their legs were tangled.

Eleanor yelped and wrenched herself away from him, tumbling to the edge of the bed. His strong arm caught her before she fell, and she marveled at the strength of his muscles, the broadness of his biceps.

He cracked one eye open, looking at her. “If you fall again, I am not catching you,” he grumbled, releasing her long enough for her to get her bearings.

She sat up, pulling the blankets up to her chin, but that only exposed more of him. A thick thigh was visible beneath the edge of the blanket, as if artfully draped for a painting, even clad in breeches.

A flush bloomed across her cheeks and spread to her neck.

“Why—why are you there!” It was not quite a question as much as an exclamation.

The Duke sighed, turning onto his side, but that only drew her eyes to his biceps once again. She averted her gaze.

Heavens, what had she gotten herself into?

If this had happened three years ago, she would have jumped out of the window from shame.

“You would not stop shivering,” he explained, sounding most comfortable, his voice rough with sleep. “Your teeth were chattering loud enough to wake up every guest in this inn.”

Eleanor scowled in silence long enough for him to open both eyes reluctantly, as if he were fully intent on going back to sleep.

“How are you so comfortable sleeping next to a stranger?” she scoffed.

“What was I supposed to do? You were freezing. I did not ride for hours last night just to let you catch a fever.”

She didn’t have an answer for that.

In the silence that followed, Eleanor let her gaze drift over him. The pale morning light softened his features, bathing them in a golden glow. Still, she couldn’t help but notice his state of undress—and the way his shirt, now draped over her frame, dwarfed her.

She had never been slight, only short, but he was broad enough that the garment hung loose at her shoulders and slipped past her knees.

It smelled of cinnamon and smoke, like bonfires snapping and crackling in the cold.

Just as his coat had the night before, when he’d wrapped her in it and carried her away.

The Duke cleared his throat and sat up. His muscles rippled, and Eleanor lifted her gaze to the ceiling.

“I will order breakfast,” he muttered, clambering out of bed. “And a new shirt, it seems. I will order a new dress for you as well.”

All Eleanor could do was nod.

Eleanor’s first sight of Everdawn Hall in the clear light was striking as they crested the hill it rested on.

Behind the turrets and roof, dawn properly broke, reminding her that while she had slept well, it had not been for very long.

But she did not care about the fatigue weighing her bones. Not when a familiar face rushed into the courtyard that she had navigated desperately the night before, searching for the very woman who emerged with a cry.

Charlotte Vanserton ran toward her, a hand clasped over her mouth, the other holding her skirts.

The Duke brought his horse to an abrupt halt before hopping off.

“Eleanor!” Charlotte cried, tears in her eyes. “I— What on earth? What is happening?”

Without even looking at her, the Duke began to speak, squashing any awkward, fumbling story Eleanor may have managed to think up. She had already proven she was not adept at making up stories on the spot to explain her presence.

“This is your gift,” he said simply, smiling at his sister. “I wished to surprise you.”

“That was your business last night,” Charlotte guessed, not taking her eyes off Eleanor.

“In a way. But what’s more important is that Lady Eleanor and I are to marry in a few days.”

Eleanor gasped, right as Charlotte did. The Duke met her gaze for a brief moment, a silent warning to play along.

But Charlotte’s blue eyes—those kind, intelligent eyes Eleanor recalled from her former life—widened as she looked between the two of them.

She reared back, her mouth opening, but no words came out.

“M-Marry? I-I do not understand. I was not aware that you had met one another.”

“We crossed paths during our travels,” the Duke told her, as if this was all so very casual and normal. “So, yes, it is rather sudden, but not without reason. We developed… a kinship over time, but I did not pursue it, wanting to see your future secured first.”

Travels?

Eleanor wanted so desperately to know what he meant by that, but she kept quiet, letting him speak.

“Last night,” he continued, “I was called away to help with a stranded carriage nearby. I did not expect the carriage to be carrying Lady Eleanor. She was trying to return to London, you see. Of course, I could not leave her stranded, without shelter. So I have brought her home.”

“I…” Charlotte trailed off, still looking between them.

Did she see how Eleanor’s dress was too simple for a lady of her status? Did she notice the exhaustion on her face? The weariness that years at St. Euphemia’s had etched into her?

Eleanor recalled Charlotte’s pragmatic thinking—something her friend thought she got from her father but bitterly proclaimed she would never know for sure.

“My aunt Katherine only tells me that I certainly did not get it from my mother , ” Charlotte had always said with a laugh.

And now, that mind of hers was whirring, suspicion written all over her face as she continued to look between them.

“Mrs. Winters,” the Duke suddenly called out to the housekeeper, who was hovering a few paces away and waiting for his orders. “Please show Lady Eleanor to her guest chambers. She needs a very long rest.”

He shot Eleanor a sharp, pointed look. He would decide who knew what and when.

Mrs. Winters bobbed a quick curtsey. “Of course, Your Grace. Poor thing looks worn to the bone.” She stepped toward Eleanor with a click of her tongue.

“Come now, My Lady. We’ll get you out of that dress—oh heavens, you must’ve had quite the journey—and into something fresh.

You’ll feel more yourself after a wash and a bowl of broth, I daresay. This way now, gently.”

Eleanor wanted to protest, but the housekeeper herded her away.

She looked over her shoulder at Charlotte.

Thankfully, she had found her friend at last.

Hours later, Eleanor sat curled up in a large armchair near the hearth, wrapped in a borrowed robe of pale blue muslin.

The guest chamber was far too grand for comfort—high ceilings with gilded trim, tall windows draped in silk, and a bed so wide and plush that she hadn’t dared to lie in it.

Everything smelled faintly of lavender and polish, unfamiliar scents that reminded her of the world she didn’t belong to anymore.

Or rather, the world she was about to be thrust back into if the Duke’s plans succeeded.

She had dozed fitfully, but true rest had eluded her. The silence of the house was oppressive. Every creak of the old wood made her flinch. She had just closed her eyes again when the door clicked open.

She bolted upright, heart leaping. “Who?—?”

The door closed behind the intruder, and she stood up quickly, clutching the robe tighter around her frame.

It was the Duke of Everdawn. He looked freshly shaven, his hair combed and clothes immaculate—dark coat, crisp cravat, evening waistcoat.

A sudden warmth bloomed deep within her chest, unfamiliar and unsettling. Her pulse quickened, her breath catching for no clear reason.

She had never felt this way before—this sharp, distracting pull toward a man who should have been nothing more than a stranger. It was both a thrilling and frightening sensation, one she quickly tried to suppress beneath layers of caution and distrust.

“Of course it is you,” she huffed.

“My library, your room,” he countered. “Perhaps we are destined to keep barging into one another’s space.”

“Just like we are destined to be wed?” she challenged. “Why would you tell Charlotte such a lie?”

“A lie?” he scoffed. “I said I would marry you when we were at St. Euphemia’s.”

“When I was half unconscious?” she riposted.

“Let us not argue about the matter,” he said quickly. She realized that there was a tightness around his eyes that had not been there earlier. “I believe you now, Lady Eleanor. I am sorry I did not at first.”

“So it took seeing my punishment for you to believe me,” she accused, her lip curling.

To his credit, he looked ashamed, glancing away for a moment.

“I know.” His voice was ever so quiet, so much so that she almost dwelled on it if not for him speaking up again. “But until I know the full story, I will not tell Charlotte anything.”

“She has a right to know,” Eleanor pointed out. “And I would like her to hear it from me .”

“For her safety, I cannot let you. Not yet. Tell me first.” The Duke met her gaze.

“Yet you will only tell Charlotte if you deem it truthful enough, worthy of her knowing. Why should I tell you anything?”

“Because I saved your life,” he snapped. “Because they could have killed you in that damned cauldron.”

“So let me save Charlotte’s!” Eleanor shouted, panting. “She has every right to know the truth, as I did.”

The Duke did not respond, and it gave her the confidence to keep speaking.

“I cannot lie to my best friend,” she breathed.

His gaze sharpened. “Do you truly think Charlotte could bear seeing you like that? In that cauldron, with those wounds? You rode here despite your wounds, risking your life, to warn her against something. Something as dangerous as the nuns who harmed you. So, tell me, My Lady, do you think Charlotte could handle the whole, dark truth?”

Eleanor’s breath caught, hesitation settling like a boulder in her chest. Her eyes dropped to the worn floorboards, the question stirring a turmoil she hadn’t dared face before.

Could Charlotte, so full of light and hope, truly withstand the harshness of her broken reality?

The thought of shattering her friend’s innocence made her throat tighten.

The Duke waited patiently, his steady presence a quiet demand for honesty.

Finally, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. “My sister is a good soul, a pure one. Perhaps too pure for this wretched world. Whatever it is you’ve come to warn her against, I need to know first. Because I am the one who can protect her.”

Eleanor bit her lip, a bitter pang piercing her chest.

Despite her hesitation and distrust, she could only give in to the voice that had been screaming inside her for three years, desperate for just one person to listen.

Even if that person was a stranger.

For the first time in three years, Eleanor let the truth spill out of her.