Page 9

Chapter Eight

“ D o not show them fear.”

Eleanor started at the Duke’s voice, low and close to her ear.

“That is what they will be looking for,” he warned.

“I am not afraid,” she lied. “I just… I did not think I would see this house again. I truly…” she trailed off.

I thought I would be left to rot in St. Euphemia’s.

“You are to be a duchess,” the Duke reminded her, lifting his chin.

They had already knocked on the door to Quinley Manor. Mr. Wilson, the butler, had gone to fetch her parents. He had not even deigned to let them in, and the Duke had not yet insisted.

“Show them the spine that you showed me when you snuck into my estate. You have come to save yourself this time, Lady Eleanor.”

Eleanor didn’t get a chance to respond, because the door opened again, revealing the faces of Lord and Lady Quinley.

The color drained from her mother’s face, and she wished to weep.

Once upon a time, they had been as close as mother and daughter could be, when all the daughter tried to do was be perfect. Be good, be right . But her father… there was a coldness to his eyes, a weariness that she had never seen.

I caused that — No, Lord Belgrave caused that.

“You dare darken our doorstep after what you put us through,” Margaret Barnes hissed. “There is no word, no message—you must leave. Your Grace, you may?—”

“We will both stay, Lady Quinley,” the Duke cut in. “For Lady Eleanor is to be my wife, and as this is her home, she has every right to enter it.” His cool gaze slid to her father. “Lord Quinley, may we speak regarding the arrangement?”

Slowly, the Earl of Countess moved to the side. Eleanor knew it was not out of curiosity but out of deference. Their door was open for a duke, but not their own daughter.

They truly believe I shamed them .

Eleanor swallowed thickly as they were led into the drawing room.

Her chest ached at the familiar walls. Walls she had dreamed of in the convent, walls she had prayed to return to.

Now that she was there, all she felt was anger and dread.

She wished for the autumnal palette of Everdawn, the splash of colors throughout the estate.

The Duke did not bother with small talk.

“I have acquired a special license,” he announced. “Lady Eleanor is to become the Duchess of Everdawn and return to Everdawn Hall with me after our wedding. It will be a small affair, and we shall not bother with a wedding breakfast.”

He was efficient, businesslike, and Eleanor watched as her parents struggled to keep up.

“I-I do not understand. Th-The convent,” her father stammered.

She was pleased at seeing him so unsettled. She had loved her parents once, but years of helplessness had hardened her heart. They had abandoned her, never once given her the chance to speak out against Lord Belgrave. They had chased power and status over their own daughter’s safety.

“Lady Eleanor is no longer their ward,” the Duke explained. “They will no longer interfere in her life, and neither will you. Unless she agrees.”

Eleanor could detect the anger in his words. It was the same anger she had sensed that night at the inn, where he had cleaned her wounds with brandy.

She lifted her gaze to her mother, only to be met with a glare.

Do you not miss me, Mother? Have you not missed your only child all these years?

“Your Grace, you cannot simply retrieve my daughter from?—”

The Duke raised a hand, cutting her father off.

“Lord Quinley, with all due respect, you left your daughter in the hands of a religious establishment. What she does from this day on should be irrelevant to you, as should what she went through at the convent. So, yes, I can retrieve her, and I have, and she will be my wife.”

“She has not atoned for her sins, according to Mother Caroline,” Lord Quinley accused. “We-We all heard what my daughter did with—with a stablehand! Poor Lord Belgrave was devastated. We were devastated, bearing such shame. It was not enough to ruin yourself, Eleanor, but with a stablehand?”

“Father—” The sudden noise coming from the threshold of the drawing room cut her off.

Sister Martha was ushered inside by the butler.

At once, Eleanor went stiff. Beside her, the Duke moved closer. She had faced Sister Martha a thousand times alone. Surely she could do it now.

“Lord and Lady Quinley!” Sister Martha cried out. “She—Eleanor?—”

“Is a remarkable woman,” the Duke interrupted smoothly. “When I met her during my travels, I found her most exquisite. I felt a kinship with her. And now that she has returned to her life here, it is only appropriate for me to propose.”

“Kinship?” Lord Quinley sputtered. “ Travels ?”

The Duke gave a sharp smile. “Nothing will stop this wedding, Lord Quinley.”

“My disapproval can,” Lord Quinley countered, his eyes narrowing. “She is ruined. Completely worthless!”

Anger surged through Eleanor, and she felt it in the Duke too. He went rigid at her side.

“She is my bride, and as she is above one-and-twenty, she does not need your approval. Quite frankly, neither do I. I brought your daughter here out of courtesy, thinking that perhaps you’d wish to see her before her wedding. But clearly, I was wrong.”

Shame flashed across her parents’ faces.

Lady Quinley’s lip curled. “The ton will think you have ruined her, Your Grace.”

“Not if the two of you uphold the story,” the Duke said smoothly. “By your own account, the ton already believes that Lady Eleanor has been residing in the colonies with an aunt. It requires no great imagination to say that I encountered her there—which, as of now, is precisely what occurred.”

He gave them all a hard look, producing a bag of coins that he tossed to Sister Martha. Disgust rose inside Eleanor as she watched the horrid woman catch it.

“You will forget about Eleanor Barnes, Sister Martha.” The Duke bared his teeth as he looked at the woman who had orchestrated the abuse. “And you will instruct the other sisters to do so as well.”

Sister Martha’s eyes, once as hard as ice chips, turned greedy and bright. “O-Of course, Your Grace. The Lord will reward you for your generosity.”

The Duke’s mouth twitched as if he wanted to voice his opinion on her false, greedy blessing, but she ducked out of the room, herded away by Mr. Wilson.

“I am sure we can come to an understanding as well, Your Grace,” Lord Quinley spoke up, chuckling as if they were merely discussing a business deal rather than his daughter’s past.

I truly am just a problem to fix .

Eleanor bit her lip, suppressing her pain.

“Especially if you want us to cooperate.”

She watched the Duke sneer as he took out another bag of coins. She knew for certain that it was not necessary, but her father was simply too greedy. They had plenty of money to send her to the convent, after all.

“Two engagements and a stablehand,” Lady Quinley snarled at her. “I did not think I raised such an easy daughter.”

Eleanor’s heart stuttered, before hot rage bubbled up in her chest. She made to step forward, but the Duke beat her to it.

He pointed an accusatory finger at her mother, his voice low and biting.

“Don’t you dare speak so freely to my wife,” he hissed.

“If you wish to remain in your daughter’s life—if there is even a shred of care left in your cold hearts—then you will meet us at St. Joseph’s Church in two days.

Lady Eleanor has consented to remain in this house for the sake of reconciliation, but she will be attended at all times by one of my footmen and the maid who has cared for her.

If I hear so much as a whisper of harm—within these walls or beyond—there will be hell to pay, and not all the convents in Christendom will offer you salvation. ”

He glared at them all, before giving Eleanor one last, long look. He nodded to her, and she nodded right back.

I am strong . I have survived worse .

Just as she’d taken a deep breath to steady herself, she felt his hand brushing hers as he walked past her, and a surge of warmth made her skin tingle.

Before she could glance at him one more time, he was already gone.

The Duke’s threat to her parents echoed in her mind for the next two days right up until she arrived at the church.

Her hands trembled, and her father, placated by money and the hope of winning the Duke’s favor, made to place his hand over her own. But she snatched her hand back and climbed out of the carriage.

She was not interested in forgiveness. Not when they had sent her off to that prison and not once asked about her well-being.

Eleanor kept her chin up as she entered the church.

“I ought to walk you down the aisle , ” her father had said, and she had only agreed silently.

When he had asked why she would not speak to them, she had fixed them both with a glare that told them just how silence had been taught in St. Euphemia’s.

Perhaps one day she would tell them the truth and see if it destroyed them.

She held her tongue only because she feared her parents would side with the nuns.

Now, she was being led to her new life, her father walking her to the Duke as surely as he should have once walked her to Lord Belgrave.

Behind her, only a handful of guests watched them—her parents, Charlotte, and a tall, imperious woman with sharp cheekbones and striking honey-brown eyes—the same unmistakable Vanserton eyes the Duke possessed.

Her posture was regal, her gown finely tailored and dark, and her expression cool and assessing as she watched Eleanor with the scrutiny of a hawk.

Given how closely Charlotte stood beside her, Eleanor assumed the woman to be their Aunt Katherine, perhaps.

She looked to be in her mid-fifties and gave the distinct impression of someone not easily deceived.

The Duke turned to look at her, his gaze clinical as he inspected her for…

For what? Visible bruises? More hidden wounds of the mind? Heavy, tired eyes as if she had not slept?

Eleanor had remained silent and reclusive in the home she had dreamed of for three years, barely sleeping, but she nodded back to him now.

All is well.

The ceremony was swift, the vows difficult for Eleanor to listen to and recite. After they had declared their eternal loyalty to one another, they turned to their guests, their hands intertwined. Eleanor held on so tight, for she feared she would fly out of reality if she let go.

“The Duke and Duchess of Everdawn,” the vicar announced.

Eleanor could barely process her new title before she was led down the aisle by her?—

By her husband .

Her husband, who was well within his rights to demand that she perform her wifely duties.

Eleanor hastily put that thought aside, thinking of waking up next to the Duke. How scandalous such a thing was, and nobody knew.

“Oh no , absolutely not,” a high-pitched voice came from behind them.

Startled, Eleanor tried to turn back, finding the woman with the Duke’s eyes.

“My dear nephew, you do not get to walk past your beloved Aunt Katherine without introducing me to your wife.”

At her side, the Duke plastered on a tight smile before turning to his aunt. “Aunt Katherine.”

“Darling nephew of mine,” she cooed, cupping his face for a brief moment before he jerked out of her hold.

“And you…” Her eyes landed on Eleanor. “You are simply a vision. I have heard a great deal about you, although not from the person you would think.” Her eyes flicked to the Duke, full of reproach.

“Your husband has not mentioned your name once. Lady Eleanor Barnes, is it not?”

“The Duchess of Everdawn,” the Duke corrected immediately. “Duchess, this is Katherine St. John, the Dowager Viscountess Montagu.”

Eleanor’s nerves jumped as the older woman turned to her, ready to be reprimanded. But those eyes… they were nothing like the cold, cunning stare of Sister Martha. No, those eyes were warm and compassionate.

“It is an honor to meet you, Lady Montagu.”

“The honor is all mine if you are the lady who has convinced my nephew to settle down. We have all been waiting for—oh, how long has it been?”

“Well, considering he is two-and-thirty,” Charlotte muttered from her aunt’s side, “It has been long enough.”

“As has this conversation.” The Duke’s brisk tone made Eleanor stiffen, wondering if she had done something wrong.

So her husband was nine years older than her.

Lady Montagu was undeterred. “You will both dine with me at my estate soon.”

“Indeed,” the Duke answered tersely. “Duchess, say your goodbyes to your parents. We will be leaving shortly. Charlotte, do not give Aunt Katherine any trouble.”

Eleanor pulled her friend close and hugged her tightly.

How terrible to get her back only to lose her again almost immediately .

But at least she knew her friend would be safe.

“I will write to you,” she told her. “I promise. Please take care—and remember, you are my dearest friend, no matter what.”

Charlotte promised the same before the two parted. Eleanor made her way further down the aisle toward the church doors, where her parents waited.

Her mother’s chin was lifted, her silence resolute. Her eyes were pools of disappointment that Eleanor would never hope to find warmth in. She was shut out.

Her father winced through a smile, aware that the Duke was standing at her side.

“Be obedient now, Eleanor,” her father told her. “I will not have His Grace writing to complain about your disobedience.”

Eleanor shot him a look full of disgust, for his parting words only echoed a sentiment from long ago.

“Do as the nuns say, Eleanor, and pray often. Your sins are heavy, as is your shame.”

Back then, Eleanor had kept begging for mercy.

She did not beg now.

She walked out of the church as the Duchess of Everdawn and did not look back.