Page 27

The breeze had turned soft again. Summer’s heavy breath lifted just enough to ripple across the surface of the pond, drawing faint circles on the water.

Eleanor’s bonnet ribbons fluttered at her neck as she walked slowly along the gravel path, with Percival running around. Charlotte ambled on her other side, the parasol she carried twirling idly above her shoulder.

“So, you are telling me that he’s managed to charm them all?” Charlotte enquired, her tone wry but amused. “Even your formidable mother-in-law, which, if I may say so, is no small feat.”

Eleanor smiled, faintly. “Arthur always could charm a stone into speaking.”

Charlotte laughed, but Eleanor didn’t join her. Her gaze drifted over the water lilies dotting the pond’s edge.

“And Nathaniel?” Charlotte asked after a moment. “Has Arthur charmed him too?”

Eleanor hesitated. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Well,” Charlotte said with a teasing lilt, “do you think he’s jealous?”

Eleanor blinked at her. “Jealous? Of Arthur?”

Charlotte raised a brow. “You are his wife, Eleanor. And Arthur Pembroke is young, engaging, handsome, and apparently quite devoted to you.”

“There is no need for jealousy,” Eleanor said sharply. “I’ve never behaved inappropriately. Not once.”

Charlotte’s brows lifted, surprised by the firmness in her voice.

“I would never,” Eleanor continued, “risk impropriety. Or even the appearance of it. Especially when—” She paused. Her breath caught in her throat.

“When what?” Charlotte prompted gently.

Eleanor looked away, eyes fixed on the rippling water. Percival had found a stick and was nibbling on it, keeping it steady with his chubby little paws.

“Especially when I think I might be in love with Nathaniel.”

The words broke from her in a rush, and the moment they left her mouth, Eleanor stopped walking. Charlotte turned to her, blinking.

“I know I am,” Eleanor repeated. “I didn’t know it until now. I only knew I wanted to be near him. That his smallest kindnesses matter more than anything else. That when he draws away from me like he has this past week … it aches.”

Charlotte’s expression softened.

Eleanor pressed a hand to her chest. “We were making progress, I thought. Slowly. But it felt real. And now, I can’t seem to reach him at all.”

“Have you told Nathaniel any of this?” Charlotte asked gently.

Eleanor gave a small, helpless laugh. “How could I? He barely lets me see what he feels. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

They were quiet for a moment, save for the rhythmic splash of Percival’s stick in the shallows.

“I don’t blame him,” Eleanor added, almost whispering. “Not truly. I know he’s … cautious. And wounded, in his way. But I thought he might begin to trust me.”

Charlotte touched her arm. “And he still might. But you mustn’t let silence grow roots between you. It’s very hard to tear out once it has.”

That was when Eleanor heard the sound of oncoming footsteps, and there was Arthur, striding the garden path with easy cheer, one hand raised in a wave, his coat unbuttoned, and the breeze teasing at his chestnut-brown hair.

“Ladies!” he called out, smiling. “And Master Percival! What a fortunate gathering.”

Charlotte lifted her hand in greeting. “Hello, Arthur! Have you just arrived?”

“Yes, and it seems I am just in time,” Arthur replied, coming to a halt before them.

He bowed gallantly to both ladies and offered Percival, who was waddling eagerly along with a short snort, a playful wink. The pug, delighted by the attention, immediately ran to Arthur’s feet and gave an enthusiastic bark.

“We were about to head back,” Eleanor said. “Will you join us?”

“I would, gladly,” he said, “but it seems her grace had other plans. She greeted me at the door and insisted I come find you all out here. She said she’d send Lord Fairfax along directly. It would appear she has appointed herself social coordinator of the day.”

Eleanor blinked. “She sent you to find us?”

“Indeed,” Arthur said with a light chuckle. “With great insistence, I might add. I half expected her to hand me a map.”

Charlotte smiled, but Eleanor’s expression was more cautious. The duchess had insisted? Had told Arthur specifically to come join them in the garden? That she would send Nathaniel after?

How oddly orchestrated it all felt, like pieces placed purposefully on a board.

“Well,” Eleanor said after a pause, “it is a lovely day for company.”

Arthur gave her a warm, easy smile. “Isn’t it? Shall we continue walking until your husband arrives to reclaim his place?”

She glanced towards the house. A sudden restlessness stirred within her, though she could not quite place its root. She only knew that it had something to do with Nathaniel, and perhaps with herself.

“Let’s,” said Charlotte briskly, gesturing for Percival to follow them. The pug trotted at their heels, his little legs carrying him at a speedy waddle as if the day’s excitement had given him an energy he seldom exhibited.

Arthur laughed. “Then I am honoured to be conscripted into his court.”

Eleanor forced a smile and resumed her pace beside Charlotte, with Arthur strolling easily on her other side. But her thoughts were elsewhere. She looked back at the house once more.

The path curved closer to the pond, and Eleanor couldn’t help noticing how close Arthur had come to her.

His gait was easy, his conversation light and engaging, but his proximity was making her uncomfortable. She could feel his presence beside her, just a bit too near, and for reasons she couldn’t quite understand, her pulse quickened.

She took a step to the side, trying to put a little more distance between them, but the ground beneath her feet was softer than she had anticipated. Her boot caught on an uneven stone, and for a split second, she felt her balance slip.

The water of the pond was just inches from her toes, and her heart leapt into her throat. She was teetering on the edge, unable to stop her momentum, but before she could fall forward, his strong hands shot out and grabbed her waist.

Arthur’s grip was firm, pulling her back from the brink of disaster with a swift jerk. He steadied her, then immediately released her from his grip.

“Careful, Eleanor. The pond is not so kind to wanderers.”

Eleanor’s breath hitched, her heart still racing from the scare. She blinked, her hands instinctively gripping his sleeve for support.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice breathless and flustered.

She took a step back from him, but before she could gather her composure, she heard a voice break through the fog of her confusion.

“Is everything quite well, Eleanor?” Nathaniel’s voice was calm, but the sharpness in it sent a jolt of awareness through her.

Eleanor froze, her gaze snapping towards him. Nathaniel stood at the top of the small rise, just a few feet from the edge of the garden. His eyes were locked on her and Arthur. His posture was rigid and his usual aloofness was replaced by an intensity she could not decipher.

Arthur, sensing the tension in the air, gave a quick nod and stepped back from Eleanor. “My apologies,” he said smoothly. “A simple misstep. No harm done.”

Eleanor’s face flushed. She straightened herself, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “I—thank you again, Arthur,” she murmured, her gaze now firmly fixed on Nathaniel, who still hadn’t moved.

Nathaniel’s eyes flicked between her and Arthur, and for a moment, Eleanor could have sworn she saw something flicker in his expression, something akin to restraint. It was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that familiar cool detachment.

“It was a crisis averted,” Arthur said with a smile.

Eleanor wanted to say something, to smooth over the awkwardness, but the words lodged in her throat. Nathaniel was still watching them, though the sharpness in his gaze hadn’t abated.

“I see,” Nathaniel said, his voice neutral. “Shall we go back and see if tea has been served, Mr Pembroke?”

Arthur nodded politely. There was no edge to his words when he spoke. “Of course, My Lord. Do lead the way.”

The walk back to the house passed beneath dappled sunlight. Eleanor’s slippers whispered against the gravel as her hand lightly rested on Nathaniel’s offered arm. She had accepted it without hesitation, though a tremor of uncertainty had stirred within her as she did.

Charlotte and Arthur trailed behind, their voices indistinct but pleasant. Still, Eleanor could barely hear them over the tide of thoughts rising in her mind.

Nathaniel’s presence beside her was steady. He had not spoken since they left the pond, but she felt his awareness, as though every inch of her silence was being quietly measured.

She had to speak. She needed to say something, even if she did not know precisely what it ought to be.

“I didn’t know he would come,” she said at last, her voice low but sincere. “He didn’t write to tell me. And when he appeared, I … well, I suggested we return to the house. But he told me…”

Nathaniel’s voice interrupted her, calm but clipped, “Yes. My mother announced him to me. I came immediately.”

That was all he said.

Eleanor lowered her eyes. As always, she was unable to read his expression. She felt her face warm, uncertain whether it was from embarrassment or frustration.

She had done nothing wrong. She knew that much. And yet, the need to defend herself had risen without invitation, which meant something, didn’t it?

They walked a few more paces in silence.

Then, she tilted her head towards him, summoning a small, tentative smile. “Thank you. For coming.”

He looked down at her. There was a moment, just a heartbeat, where his features softened, and to her quiet surprise, he smiled back. It was not a wide smile, nor an easy one, but it was real. Gentle.

His gloved hand lifted and gave hers the briefest pat where it rested on his arm.

It was nothing. And yet, it was everything.

Eleanor turned her face away to hide the sting of sudden emotion behind her lashes. He had smiled at her. He had come.

She did not need declarations. Not yet. Just this… this little glimmer of something tender beneath the reserve.

They ascended the stone steps together, Percival snorting from somewhere behind them. Charlotte’s laughter floated up faintly, but Eleanor heard none of it. Her heart was too full of the silence she and Nathaniel shared.

And, perhaps, of what might someday grow within it.