Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
E leanor twirled to face the Duke in mute horror. She felt a little as though she were underwater, submerged in her bath as she sometimes did when she felt the weight of her worries too strongly. Surely he could not be asking her to be his bride .
Surely.
Surely .
“You!” Margaret screeched, descending to Eleanor with her clawed hands outstretched like the bird of prey Eleanor so often felt she resembled. “How could you?”
“Now, now,” the Duke said, taking a step forward. Eleanor could only blink, wishing this awful nightmare would end so she could wake up. “The lady has not answered me.”
“Of course she will not marry you, Your Grace!” Margaret shouted. “You would not want her to—if she has behaved in a way that is inappropriate for her station, you may be assured that she will be adequately punished, but you must not feel obliged to—”
Eleanor’s cheeks heated. Did Margaret somehow know about the kiss? And was a kiss alone enough to provoke a Duke into offering marriage?
“Are you implying that if I were rogue enough to seduce the daughter of a gentleman, I should not offer her my hand in marriage?” the Duke asked blandly. “I must be mistaken.”
For the first time in Eleanor’s life, she saw her stepmother stumble over her words, physically recoiling from the idea, though Eleanor knew that was precisely what she had meant. She had meant that Eleanor’s honor, her reputation, was not of enough value to warrant marriage.
That alone gave Eleanor the strength to raise her head. “Thank you for your flattering offer, Your Grace. I accept.”
“ No!” Isabel wailed, throwing herself at Eleanor and grabbing her hand. “You cannot! Think of what you are doing. You , a Duchess ?”
Eleanor glanced at the Duke, remembering the way his mouth had felt against hers. The realization had been burning into her since the very first moment she’d seen him in this house, Scrunch only just safely in her pocket. The way he had caught her shoulders and looked down into her face, and the way his eyes had lit with the same realization that had plagued her. That their kiss, committed between strangers, had been between two people who would shortly come into direct contact.
But she had never supposed he would choose her .
Could it be because of their kiss?
No. She dismissed the idea immediately. A man of his caliber would have no shortage of ladies whom he could kiss, and to be sure, she doubted theirs had meant anything to him.
He approached, looking down into her face with a small, private smile that hinted at a great many thoughts behind his mask. Surely he could not be marrying her merely because of a kiss no one else had witnessed. He’d almost directly informed Margaret that he had not seduced her, which implied he did not intend to use their kiss against her.
In which case, what could be his purpose? She could think of nothing.
“I am honored you accept,” he said, still with that infuriatingly private smile, a certainty in his voice that suggested he had known she would not refuse. He reached for her hand, bringing it to his mouth. Her half-sisters and stepmother watched in open-mouthed dismay as he kissed her knuckles with rare grace, dropping her hand again once he had finished.
Eleanor snatched it back and cradled it against her chest, wishing she knew what to make of this turn of events. A Duchess; the thought didn’t seem as though it could be real. Her, a Duchess. Eleanor Bennett, soon to become the Duchess of Ravenscroft, her husband the Duke of Ravenscroft. She would outrank almost everyone she knew. And she would finally escape her family.
That thought felt the most absurd of all. Even when she had dreamed of a way of escaping, she had always known how unlikely it was. How, even if she did marry, it would be to a husband who was under Margaret’s thumb. If she escaped Margaret’s household, she had always assumed it would be to a lesser position. After all, Margaret had never hoped to use Eleanor to elevate her position; she could not care less what happened to her.
Margaret drew herself up. “You are certain you wish to choose Miss Eleanor Bennett?” she asked, her voice frigid.
The Duke’s smile tightened as he looked across at her. “I find your surprise deeply unflattering. Why is it so unlikely that I would choose the eldest daughter of my father’s friend?”
“Why, nothing, save for that Isabel is more beautiful, and Annabel more accomplished, and both are younger.”
The Duke raised a brow as he glanced at Eleanor, and there was certainly nothing of the lover in his eyes now. “I have no need for beauty or accomplishments. Miss Bennett has everything I require in a wife. My decision is final, and as the lady has accepted my suit, I believe there is nothing more to say on the matter.”
Margaret opened and closed her mouth several times, but Eleanor knew when the lady had been beaten. After all, she had experienced the same many times prior. She found it oddly satisfying to see the Duke render her stepmother speechless with just a few words.
Perhaps Eleanor ought to feel bad for her half-sisters, all of whom had been passed over in an oddly callous way, or perhaps even for herself—he had not, after all, flattered her and called her beautiful or accomplished. All he had said was that she met his requirements for a wife. And she could not for the life of her think what that meant, unless he was under instructions to only pledge himself to the eldest Bennett sister.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Margaret said, curtsying. “I understand.”
“I shall make the arrangements,” he said, striding to the door. “A week hence, I think. I shall acquire the license.”
Margaret curtsied again, and Eleanor’s heart leaped. She would be free of this terrible household in a week’s time. For that, she would be prepared to put up with a great deal. Even, if necessary, the Duke of Ravenscroft. Though she enjoyed his put-down of her stepmother, she very much disliked his high-handed ways. If he had decided, for whatever reason that she could not discern, that he wished to marry her, he ought to have given her some indication in advance of his proposal—if one could call it that.
Her irritation rose, but after a glance at Isabel, who looked prepared to strangle her, she forced it back.
Only one more week, then she would be free. For that, she would endure anything.
Much as Eleanor knew Margaret wanted to delay the wedding, or somehow prevent it from happening, there was nothing she could do. And so, reluctantly, Margaret bought Eleanor wedding clothes, warned her three daughters away from Eleanor, and instructed Eleanor not to forget the great kindnesses Margaret had shown her over the years.
If there were any, Eleanor would have made sure to recall them.
As it was, she played the part of a dutiful daughter, promising that she would do her best to convince the Duke to perhaps host them all, or throw a ball, or somehow do something to elevate the remaining Bennett sisters into the ton .
The day of her wedding dawned gray and inauspicious, and Eleanor adjusted the pale cream dress Margaret had supervised her purchasing. It was cream and simple, modest yet elegant. Everything the young bride of a Duke might be expected to wear.
Eleanor knew that if the eyes of the ton had not been on them, Margaret would never have been so forthcoming or generous. But given as though she had not wanted the marriage any more than her stepmother or half-sisters, she could do nothing other than reflect on what a relief it was that the wife of a Duke would be so much in the public eye, and that her family were obliged to behave.
Margaret tapped on the door, scowling when Eleanor opened it—though it was hardly her fault that she was dressed as a bride.
“Is it time?” Eleanor asked.
“The carriage has arrived.” Margaret’s scowl deepened. The Duke had made the arrangements, only leaving Margaret in charge of Eleanor’s wedding clothes; he had even gone so far as to provide a carriage. This, Eleanor suspected, was not out of the kindness of his heart, and she wondered if it was designed as a snub. Erasing Margaret’s presence at the wedding and in Eleanor’s life as much as could be reasonably done.
“I’m ready,” Eleanor said, collecting the silk flowers she intended to carry as a posy. Then, too, she would have something to do with her hands.
This was it. Her marriage day. And, to her relief, the Duke had not appeared to want to make the wedding common knowledge. As it was to be held in St George’s in Hanover Square, anyone could attend, but from what Eleanor could gather, very few knew about the connection at all, and aside from a very small announcement in the paper—made from what Eleanor suspected to be necessity rather than desire—there had been no other announcement.
She preferred it this way. But Margaret, who had wanted to benefit from the connection one way or the other, had bemoaned this several times.
The carriage ride to the church was near silent, and when they finally alighted outside the small church, Eleanor discovered that her knees felt somewhat weak.
“ Remember your family ,” Margaret hissed in her ear. “Just because the Duke chose you over your half-sisters does not give you the right to leave us behind. I took you in and raised you, though you are not my blood. You will repay me with gratitude.”
Eleanor steadied herself on the door, her stomach turning over. “I shall defer to my husband in all things.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Eleanor shook her head but said nothing else as they entered the church. Very few people were in attendance, save for the bishop, her husband-to-be, a man she didn’t know, and her sisters. Her heart lurched again at the sight of the Duke, stony-faced and flint-eyed. She had not noticed, when they had been at the masquerade together, how very cold his eyes could be, or how hard his jaw looked. There, although she had seen the capacity for hardness on his face, he had also been engaged in softness. Teasing, mostly, and humor which lightened the expression in his eyes and the firm line of his mouth.
She ought not to look at his mouth.
Yet somehow, as she walked down the old stone floor toward him, her slippers near silent, she found she could not look at much else. They had not discussed the kiss. Perhaps they would not. Eleanor did not know what she would prefer, but she did know that if they were to discuss it, she would rather not do so with this version of her husband-to-be.
Already, she missed the other man, with his dancing eyes and compelling charm. This man appeared like a stranger to her, as though he had been dragged here against his will, even though he had chosen her.
What lay behind his decision, she could not even begin to think.
She finally reached his side and he looked down at her, eyes sharp as a hawk, a lock of brown hair falling across his forehead. She resisted the urge to brush it back. The fashion was no longer for long hair for men, but it appeared he cared as little for fashion as he did for the opinions of others.
With a gasp, she broke their eye contact and looked at the bishop, who was waiting for the Duke’s nod to begin. Once he gave it, the ceremony began, and Eleanor did her best to concentrate. Yet as the bishop droned on about the sanctity of marriage and desires of the flesh, she found her mind and gaze returning to the stern man beside her. He stood stiff-backed and tense, as though he was fighting the urge to turn and flee.
That makes the two of us .
He did not seem as though he would make for a very comfortable husband. But as soon as she thought that, she remembered the man he had been when he had taunted her into kissing him—and enjoying it.
There would be some perks to this marriage, she supposed.
He glanced down at her, a muscle flexing in his jaw, and his lips thinning further still. If anything, the look resembled a glare, though she hardly knew why; she was not the one who had initiated this entire ordeal.
Hmm, perhaps there will be no perks after all .
She pinched her inner wrist, the sting reminding her that she was, in fact, present. This was happening. She would shortly be a Duchess. Married to the Duke of Ravenscroft. A man who could not decide between being a lovable rogue and a stern, brooding Duke.
The bishop guided her through her vows, and she promised to love and obey the silent man beside her. Then he did the same, promising to love and cherish her, and all too soon, he had taken her hand in his and was slipping a ring onto her finger like a shackle. Binding her to him for the rest of time. When she raised her gaze to his face, she found his eyes on her. All the things she wanted to say rose to the very edge of her tongue, but she’d lived in silence for too long to break it now.
His mouth twisted as though he knew some of what she was thinking, but he merely bent and brushed his lips across hers. A chaste kiss, especially considering the one they had shared once, but still, at the feel of his mouth against hers, something in her loosened. Warmed. She raised a hand, placing it on his arm to steady herself, and when he pulled back, for a fraction of a second, she wanted to follow.
When he next looked at her, his eyes seemed very dark indeed.
He tucked her arm through his and led her back down the aisle, stopping when the man came out of the pews to speak with them. He looked much the same age as the Duke, though perhaps with a more friendly demeanor. That, she reflected, was not particularly difficult. If she had to guess, she would have said that this man and the Duke were the same age, but she hadn’t known the Duke had friends.
Then again, by the way the Duke eyed this man, it hardly appeared as though they were.
“ What in god’s name are you doing here, Luke ?” the Duke of Ravenscroft muttered, his voice low and a little dangerous. A shiver ran down Eleanor’s spine.
“I saw the announcement in The Guardian and I thought I would come to congratulate you, old chap.” The man, Luke , clapped the Duke on the shoulder. “Finally marrying, eh? And you could not have found a more lovely bride.” He beamed at Eleanor, who gave a hesitant smile in return.
“I did not ask for your congratulations.”
“Perhaps not, Sebastian, but you didn’t need to.”
“We are not friends.”
Luke’s smile faltered a little. “Well… no,” he admitted. “But we were, and we could be again.”
“I suppose you expect me to invite you to the wedding breakfast?”
“Not at all, but I have already spoken to your lovely wife’s mother, and she graciously extended me an invitation.”
No doubt in case he might be tempted by one of her daughters , Eleanor thought cynically. Margaret never wasted an opportunity, no matter how fruitless it may be.
“To my house?” the Duke demanded. “She has a nerve... Very well, you may attend if you have a wish to, but do not speak with me, and it would be preferable if you stayed well out of my eyeline.” He tugged Eleanor after him as they left the man behind and left the church to where a carriage was already waiting.
“Who was that?” Eleanor whispered.
“No one. A man I used to know, and whom I very much wish I did not still know.”
“Why? Did he do something terrible?”
He handed her into the carriage and gave no answer. Fortunately, his home was not far away, and it only took them five minutes to ride there. Eleanor was not looking forward to that evening, when everyone would leave and it would be just them together in the house. Although if he had no particular desire to marry her, perhaps he would spend no time with her at all.
Until that evening.
She decided it would be better for her sanity if she did not think about that, especially in the wake of their kiss.
They entered his extravagant townhouse and breached the dining room, where their sumptuous wedding breakfast had been laid out. She paused in the doorway, all thoughts of her new husband passing out of her head. This had all been put on for her . Whether or not the Duke liked her, and she very much doubted from his behavior that he did, he had still made this effort for her. As his wife. For the first time in her life, she would be the center of attention, and not because Margaret wanted to point out her faults.
The Duke glanced down at her face and grunted, taking his place at the head of the table. “The sooner this is over, the better,” he said under his breath, and Eleanor’s smile faded. Still, she soon perked herself up. This was a rare opportunity, and she would make the most of it.