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Chapter Seven

“ E nter,” the Duke called when Eleanor knocked on the door to the dining room.

She pushed her way in and found him sitting at the head of the table.

She had not noticed it in the haze of pain and the darkness the night before, but now, even in the dim light of candles that were peppered around the dining hall, the scar was unmistakable.

It cut a pale path from his brow to the line of his jaw, tugging slightly at the skin, long since healed but impossible to ignore.

Eleanor quickly averted her gaze. For all his autumn-warmed features—and the estate itself, with its burnished woods and golden light—he dressed all in black. The only hint of color was the golden buttons on his coat and the deep, wine-red of his cravat.

“Sit.” He nodded toward the chair that was already pulled out for her. The other was reserved for Charlotte.

Eleanor’s stomach flipped at the thought, but she moved to the chair and sat down. Her eyes met his for a brief moment, before he lifted his goblet to his lips, looking away from her.

His expression was neutral, giving nothing of their earlier conversation away.

What had he filled his time with?

The door to the dining room opened once more, and Charlotte entered, her skirts sweeping across the polished floor. Her blonde hair fluttered behind her, her dress the color of cornflowers. She sat down slowly, looking between her brother and Eleanor, a crease in her smooth brow.

Instead of a smile—as Eleanor had hoped for—Charlotte fixed her with a confused look. She did not even get a chance to greet her friend properly.

“I would like to know what is going on,” Charlotte demanded, her palm flat against the tabletop.

There was not only anger in her words, but also hurt.

“From both of you. But most of all, I would like to hear from you, Eleanor. Why would you disappear without a trace or word for three years? You know full well what absences have done to me.”

She shot her brother a bitter look.

Eleanor could see that some wounds between the siblings had not healed.

Charlotte’s eyes returned to her, hard and hurt. “So why would you do the same? Not to mention that you did it at the most pivotal moments of our lives. The things I’ve had to navigate alone… the things we promised we would navigate together .”

Devastation swept through Eleanor. She had begged to see Charlotte one last time… To tell her the truth about the accusations. She hoped that her friend had not believed them.

“I was… in a difficult situation. I am sorry.”

Charlotte stared at her, scoffing. “You are sorry.”

It was not a question but a mocking statement.

Eleanor had only heard that tone when Charlotte had once spoken of the brother she had believed did not care for her. The brother who now watched the two of them with a clenched jaw.

“I am,” she insisted, her voice steady. “I-I do not have a good enough reason.”

“No, you do not,” Charlotte replied. “But now you have appeared out of nowhere. Spencer mentioned you were returning to London. From where ? And you are getting married to him just like that? Tell me, Eleanor, how do you expect me to simply accept this very loose, confusing story? Friends do not abandon one another the way you abandoned me.”

Eleanor opened her mouth to explain, trying to think fast, but the Duke cut in smoothly. “Charlotte…”

“And you ,” Charlotte snapped at him. “I have pushed for a proper relationship with you for two years, yet you still keep secrets from me! You ask for my trust and then show me why I cannot trust you. How do you even know Eleanor?”

“As I said, my travels?—”

“ How ?” she pressed. “And if I do not receive a proper answer, so help me?—”

“ Charlotte .” The Duke’s patience finally snapped. “Lady Eleanor and I met in the Caribbean. You know exactly where she was, for her parents told you that she was caring for her aunt. We came across one another at a nobleman’s soiree. That is all there is to it.”

“What were you doing in the Caribbean?”

“Business,” he answered smoothly. “I wrote to you during my time there. You recall my time at Lord Houghton’s residence over there.”

At that, Charlotte fell silent. But then she asked, “How long have you known one another?”

“Not long enough to dally, I admit, but long enough that when I saw Lady Eleanor again, I could not deny that there had been a spark.”

“Did you two speak after the soiree?”

“Once or twice,” the Duke murmured.

He was reframing what had actually happened, twisting the truth and weaving the tale. The library at Everdawn Hall became the soiree, and the convent became the wrecked carriage.

Eleanor looked down, avoiding her friend’s gaze every time she looked to her for proof.

“Why did you not mention it?” Charlotte asked.

“Why would I?” the Duke countered. “I was not aware that you two knew one another until I met Lady Eleanor again. We connected the dots rather late.”

Not entirely a lie. He is rather clever .

“Why did you not write?” Charlotte’s glare narrowed on her. “Three years and not one letter. A simple note! One line , Eleanor. I would have settled for one line just to hear from you.”

“I know,” Eleanor said tightly, emotion clogging her throat.

She fought a wave of nausea as she recalled the heavy creak of her cell door, the thwack of Sister Martha’s cane, the bite of the stone floor beneath her knees.

“Please, please, may I write to my friend? She does not know where I am.”

A hand smacking her, over and over.

“Whores beg for forgiveness. They don’t write letters.”

Eleanor cleared her throat and gulped, as though to swallow down the memory.

“My family prevented me from contacting anyone in England,” she offered. “It was more for your benefit. So you were not touched by my scandal.”

It was the truth. The nuns had been under strict instructions to enforce that rule. Eleanor simply could not clarify.

“Charlotte… Heavens, Charlotte. I cannot tell you of the nights I lay awake, wishing I could reach out to you. I always hoped to tell you the truth. To speak of my scandal, the… the hardships ever since. The unfairness of it all. And how, despite it all, you have remained close in my thoughts.”

She let her tears fall then, meeting her friend’s eyes.

Please see everything I cannot tell you right now. Please forgive me for the past and please forgive me for deceiving you now.

At her words, Charlotte blanched. Something cracked in her hard facade.

“I would have written you a letter each day, had I been allowed,” Eleanor continued.

Desperation made her voice waver as she reached across the table to take her friend’s hand.

“I am sorry I was not there. I am sorry I did not get to see you through your debut as I promised. I am sorry I was sent away. I-I have missed you endlessly and thought of the day I would get to beg for your forgiveness. I am sorry, Charlotte.”

And then that angry mask shattered, falling apart as if an apology was all Charlotte had been waiting for.

She shot up from her chair, startling even her brother as she rushed to the other side of the table.

“Stand up and hug me, Eleanor,” she sniffed. “Do not deprive me of my friend’s closeness any longer.”

Before Eleanor could even move, Charlotte had pulled her up and thrown her arms around her.

“I never believed Belgrave,” Charlotte whispered fiercely into her shoulder. “Not for a moment. He was cruel for ruining you like that. Heartless.”

Eleanor froze. And then?—

She broke.

Not in the way the convent had taught her to fear, but in the kind that came with relief. A quiet collapse, the kind that came when the weight on one’s back finally slid to the ground.

She had not realized how much she needed to be held.

A simple hug. A simple touch from someone who had not forgotten her.

Who still saw her as Eleanor.

She sniffled and pulled back, laughing through her tears, and Charlotte did the same.

Wiping at her cheeks, Eleanor said softly, “You’ve no idea what that means to me.”

“I do, my dear. And now I must ask, what do you see in my brooding brother?” Charlotte muttered as she returned to her seat.

The Duke cleared his throat, drawing Eleanor’s attention. “How strange. I see your lips moving, Sister, but no intelligent words are coming out.”

He arched an eyebrow with such a charming arrogance that, for a moment, Eleanor could only gaze at him, struck. Not just by his handsome face, but also by the way he had responded.

“Do not fret, Sister, for this brooding brother of yours only gave up his travels to assume his duties and oversee your care. It was nothing at all.”

“You did what big brothers should do,” Charlotte quipped with a mere flick of her hand, laughing.

“We shall focus on the matter at hand, Eleanor. We are going to be sisters! Heaven knows this place needs livening up. I believe Spencer could bring about winter with just one glare. Let us bring warmth back to Everdawn.”

“I find him warm enough,” Eleanor mumbled, averting her gaze.

The Duke coughed as he sipped on his wine.

Charlotte glanced between them, no longer suspicious but as though they were a game that she could not wait to play.

“Regardless of your terrible opinion, you must tell me your plans for the wedding!”

Once again, the Duke— Spencer , Eleanor thought privately—answered smoothly, “There are few plans. It will be quick and simple. I will handle it all. Lady Eleanor should simply focus on settling in. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Eleanor glanced at him, recognizing the double meaning of his words.

“Oh, you are so unromantic!” Charlotte protested. “Eleanor, are you certain this is the man you wish to wed?”

“I am certain,” Eleanor said, not sounding it at all.

Charlotte gave her an unconvinced smile. “Well, if he insists on being so unromantic, then you must tell me what the Caribbean is like! I’ve heard that it is ever so exotic, with cerulean blue waters. Is that true? And life with your aunt must have been lavish, no?”

Eleanor carefully chose her words. As the Duke had done, she replaced fact with fiction, and perhaps that helped her separate herself from the pain of the past. This could help her process the misery of her life for the last three years.

“My aunt was…” Sister Martha was a horrid creature . “… strict about prayer and propriety. That’s why I was sent to her. But the Caribbean itself…”

She thought of the convent, the hours she had spent in the garden—her brief reprieve.

“It was beautiful enough, and I met some people here and there. My aunt… often secluded me. I baked, though. Gardened a great deal, too.”

“Didn’t your aunt have bakers and cooks?” Charlotte frowned. “Surely, she has influence enough to have staff.”

Eleanor blanched, but the Duke cut in—once again rescuing her. “I believe Lady Eleanor opted to busy herself with such things to keep her mind off the life she had been torn from. Otherwise, I imagine she would have been bored to death.”

He caught her eyes with a knowing look. A strange fondness, a moment of consideration. He understood that she had needed those things to distract her.

“Charlotte, perhaps let your friend settle in first. She has endured a lot to come back here,” he added.

“Of course,” Charlotte conceded after a moment. “I am rather excited, though I should not push you. I am sure you will be able to tell me more over time.”

I hope I can .

The urge to just spill everything right there and then bubbled up inside her. Belgrave and Follet, the convent’s cruelty, her parents’ shame and eagerness to sweep her away like a problem.

But she could not. Not when Belgrave could come for Charlotte. Not when a loose tongue could put her in danger.

“I wish to have a normal life again,” Eleanor breathed. It was not a lie. “I wish to forget everything that happened and focus on my future.”

“We shall toast to that,” the Duke said quickly, lifting his glass.

“—and of course, Lady Bexley fainted again, but this time it was into the Earl of Camden’s lap, which led to a proposal no one saw coming,” Charlotte giggled over her glass, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Dinner progressed smoothly, with Charlotte animatedly recounting every social happening that Eleanor had missed in the last three years, as she savored her first proper meal in a few years.

She had not been fed well at the convent, and she had almost forgotten the taste and feel of the dishes that had been laid out in front of her.

Overwhelmed, she scarfed down her food, before looking up to find the Duke watching her. He did not look put off but rather awed. Eleanor did not slow down, uncaring. She had been starving for too long in many ways.

When the table was eventually cleared, the Duke announced, “Lady Eleanor and I will wed in London. Afterward, Charlotte, you are to return to Aunt Katherine’s?—”

“Brother!” Charlotte protested.

“It is only proper,” he reminded her. “For Lady Eleanor and I will come back here for our honeymoon. Once it is over, you may return.”

He is sending her away for her safety .

Still, Eleanor’s face flushed at the thought of being at Everdawn Hall alone with him, as her husband.

Do not get too excited. It will likely be very uncomfortable, awkward dinners and lonely afternoons .

But at least if he ignored her most of the time, she could reconnect with everything the convent had deprived her of—gardening, reading books, embroidering, sleeping whenever she pleased.

“I understand that, of course, but… well, what of my courtship with Lord Follet? He agreed to delay our engagement announcement when I said you were not present.”

“Then he can delay it a little longer.” The Duke’s tone left no room for argument. His expression turned detached as he glanced at his sister and then at Eleanor. “I shall not have my honeymoon intruded upon. You do not want to do that to us, do you?”

Charlotte’s frown was delicate and confused, but she slowly shook her head. “No, I want you both to be happy, above anything else.”

“And we want you to be happy as well,” Eleanor hurriedly said.

“Which is why, when we return to London, you may continue attending events,” the Duke added, giving his sister a curt smile.

Then, he stood up, bowed his head to them both, and strode out of the dining room.