Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
“ W hat can you tell me about His Grace?” Eleanor asked the housekeeper, whose name was Mrs. Hodge, she discovered. “Anything I ought to know?”
“Well now.” Mrs. Hodge gave her a frightened glance, as though the question came as an unwelcome surprise. And as though she mistrusted Eleanor—although that could not be right. What loyal retainer would mistrust their master’s chosen wife? Unless they, too, knew that he had not wished to marry her.
Eleanor wished she could understand what lay in the Duke’s head. But every attempt she made was met with resistance.
“He is… as any powerful man, Your Grace.”
“I fear I am acquainted with few.”
“Well…” Mrs. Hodge hesitated. “I expect you know him better than I do, Your Grace.”
Eleanor sucked her teeth in frustration, but it appeared Mrs. Hodge did not want to speak with her about the Duke, and she would not force the issue. Especially when the implication appeared to be that he had few good qualities. Otherwise, surely Mrs. Hodge would have led with them?
They passed through a drawing room, several small parlors, a music room, and a room named merely the blue room , which was where the late Duchess would write her letters. Several times, Mrs. Hodge would try a room that appeared to be locked, and offered no explanation for the closed doors, and certainly did not reach for the keys at her waist to open them.
When they came to the third locked door at the end of the gallery upstairs, Eleanor finally summoned the courage to ask. “What lies beyond it?”
“That’s His Grace’s domain, Your Grace.”
The sound of her new title made her want to protest every time, to tell the housekeeper that there had been a mistake—that she could not be the new Duchess, that she was only an insignificant lady who had never been much to anyone.
But the ring on her finger told her that there had been no mistake. The Duke, too, appeared to have intended this, so who was she to argue?
“Do you not have the keys?” she asked.
“I do not, ma’am.” Mrs. Hodge turned abruptly on her heel and led the way to the east wing, where the bedchambers were located. “This is your bedchamber. Do not hesitate to ring when you would like to dress for dinner. Abigail shall come to assist you.”
“Thank you,” Eleanor said, stepping inside the lushly appointed bedchamber. Mrs. Hodge gave a thin smile, a curtsy, and left her to it. She perched on the edge of the large, four-poster bed. “Well,” she said to Scrunch, taking him from her pocket and holding him in her palm. His black eyes stared up at her. “I suppose this is not quite the marriage we had expected, but it is the marriage I have found for myself—or I suppose, the marriage that the Duke saw fit to give me—so I should make the best of it.”
Scrunch sniffed and licked his front paws, cleaning his face.
“You’re right, of course.” Eleanor held her hand against the covers and allowed him to scamper off. “Life here will be far easier than it ever was at home. The Duke has his rules, but if I am patient and treat him with kindness, I’m sure he will come to see me as a life partner and not as a burden.” She sighed. “Or at least, if not a life partner, then at the very least, he will grow partially fond of me. I am his wife, after all.”
Not that she seemed much of a wife. He had married her apparently under duress, and now that they were to share a life, he seemed to want nothing more to do with her. In fact, it sometimes seemed to her as though he wished to intimidate or scare her—although if he did, he would have to try significantly harder than that.
Still, at least she had a room to herself, a bedchamber so lush that she felt like a queen, in a manor house that carried its years in its walls. He would see away Margaret if she ever expressed a desire to visit, and would do so at very little inconvenience to herself. In fact, Eleanor would not even need to petition him; now she knew his intentions, she could deny Margaret and give her their deepest regrets. And, if Margaret should go behind her back and ask the Duke himself, he would be sure to give her a resounding no .
“I am deeply grateful, you know,” she said to Scrunch. “I never asked for this marriage, and to think that he is the same man who—” Well, the less she thought about that , the better. It seemed he had no intention of bringing up their kiss, and she was grateful for that, too. Although it did make her curious about what might come later this evening. She knew very little about what transpired between a husband and wife on the eve of their wedding, but she knew it would involve more kissing.
In fact, there had been a moment in the drawing room when she had thought he might kiss her again, though instead he had warned her that bad behavior would result in punishment. The way he’d said it, though, had made her want, for the first time in her life, to be something other than good. To explore just what punishment under his hands would feel like.
She rather thought it might be delightful.
With a sigh, she rose from the bed and went to explore her rooms and the door set into the wall. Presumably, this was the door adjoining her chambers and the Duke’s. Curious, she reached out a hand and turned the handle, but it wouldn’t budge more than an inch in either direction.
Locked.
Intriguing. Yet another locked door.
The manor appeared to be full of them, and no one seemed to have the answers. At least, Mrs. Hodge didn’t seem inclined to tell her, and it was entirely possible that the housekeeper didn’t know herself. Although Eleanor thought that odd; her father’s servants had been around almost as long as he had been, and they knew everything there was to know about the house. They had been fond of him, too, and though soon after his death Margaret had replaced them, Eleanor had fond memories of them affectionately feeding her snacks in the kitchen, or the maids brushing out her tangled hair and singing lullabies.
Not, of course, that the Duke would require similar treatment from his servants. But she did find it odd that Mrs. Hodge seemed to have no fondness for the Duke at all.
Abandoning the door, she hunted around the rest of the room, exploring the writing desk—which held paper and nothing else—and her closet. When she opened the door to the small room, she discovered it was near empty, save for a few dresses that appeared decades old. Perhaps they once belonged to the Duke’s mother? She fingered the heavy brocade. Quite a different style, and oddly plain, despite the material.
At a knock on the door, she spun to find a maid and a footman bringing her luggage to the room. At her stepmother’s house, she’d never had a maid of her own, and so it didn’t strike her as odd that she hadn’t been assigned a lady’s maid immediately. Perhaps the Duke would take time to interview new candidates. It hardly mattered to her; just having someone, even an ordinary maid, to help her dress, was more than she could have hoped for.
“Your luggage, ma’am,” the maid said, bobbing a curtsy.
“Thank you. What’s your name?”
“Abigail, ma’am.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Abigail. Thank you for bringing everything up for me.” Eleanor hesitated. As a new Duchess, she knew that her rank had elevated far higher than it had ever been as a girl, but she had also been brought up almost as one of the servants since her father’s death, and she felt more in common with them than the other ladies of the ton . After a second’s deliberation, she hurried to help with the clothes in the trunk. “Here,” she said. “Let me.”
“Oh no , Your Grace. That wouldn’t be proper at all.”
Eleanor smiled. “Well, I don’t care much for proper, and I have quite a few clothes that must be folded and put away. Let me help you; I have nothing else to do.”
Abigail gave her a dubious glance, but evidently, she did not have it within herself to argue with a Duchess, no matter how inappropriate she might feel Eleanor’s helping her was. So, she relented.
“What do you think I should wear for dinner?” she mused, examining her dresses with a critical eye. None were especially beautiful—she supposed she ought to have some commissioned for her—but they were all perfectly serviceable.
And perhaps the Duke was expecting her to look her best for their first dinner together.
Her stomach flipped at the thought. There, she could begin her task of encouraging him to think well of her, and they would truly begin their marriage. His rule of silence at the dinner table struck her as odd, but she wasn’t well-versed in the upper echelons of society, so perhaps it was routine. Whenever Margaret had hosted large dinner parties, Eleanor had been required to keep out of the way.
And, if she had been present, she had been expected to keep quiet. Perhaps that was merely how things were done.
Either way, she would do her best to please the Duke and keep to his rules of silence. But at the very least, she would do her best to appear to advantage; that, along with her obedience to his rules, may be enough to win him over.
She selected perhaps the nicest of her gowns and placed it to one side. Now, all she had to do was await dinner with her new husband.
Sebastian swirled the ruby liquid in his glass as he contemplated the long table, laid out with all his best silverware for the new Duchess. He ought to have told the staff to dispense with the formalities, but he didn’t have the energy for the quizzical looks they would give him. Especially as he would have to do it all over again for the next set. It hardly seemed worth the bother.
The chair opposite, where his bride would sit, remained conspicuously empty.
He suspected that was due to the quality of the dresses he had left in her room; he had them brought out of the attics especially for her. No doubt she was horrified at the offerings. Perhaps even too embarrassed to come down for dinner.
That would save him an awkward meal, at least. And further confirm, in her mind, that they were unsuitable together. A little more of this, and he was certain she would flee him for his neglect and cruelty, and he would be free of this farce of a marriage.
Just then, the door opened.
But instead of the anger he had expected to be greeted with, Eleanor entered with a sunny smile as she took her place at the other end of the table. And instead of one of the gowns he had provided for her, she wore something distinctly flattering. The dress clung softly to her curves, a peach that shimmered in the candlelight and highlighted the rich brown of her hair, which curled becomingly around her face.
Even at the masquerade, where he had been instantly attracted to her curves and delicate features, she had not looked better than she did then.
“ Eleanor —” he croaked, clearing his throat as she looked at him in surprise. In the light, her mouth looked more lush than ever, her bottom lip soft and red. He blinked the thought away. “How did you find your room?”
Her brows creased, but she remained silent.
“…Did you find everything you… needed ?” he pressed, wanting to hear her acknowledgement of the hideous gowns he had provided, and to perhaps offer some justification for not wearing them. Instead, she smiled at the footman pouring her some wine, and took a sip.
At Sebastian’s clear irritation, she tilted her head, as though she could not understand why a man might be exasperated at his wife not so much as answering a basic question.
“When I ask you a question,” he commanded, his voice colder than he might have intended it to be under ordinary circumstances, “I require an answer.”
Her lips puckered, but she finally answered. “You instructed me to be silent during dinner, Your Grace.”
Sebastian blinked. He’d forgotten he’d given her that ridiculous rule, and the fact that she had remembered only brought more chagrin. She appeared happy enough to obey him, and he had not so much as considered the request, given it was so outrageous.
“Well…” he coughed again, knowing he needed to speak, and having nothing of consequence to say that would justify his position, he added, “you may answer me, of course. I just do not wish for you to address me with idle remarks.” Even though he had been doing precisely that.
She bowed her head. “Of course, Your Grace.” She fell silent once more.
“Tell me how you find the accommodations,” he almost barked.
“The room is lovely. There are some dresses there, perhaps your mother’s? I can have them put into storage if that would suit you?” She began piling food on her plate. “I am happy to do whatever will suit you best, Your Grace.”
“I—” How had such a small chit of a girl rendered him so speechless? “…And what if I would wish for you to wear those dresses?”
She frowned. “Do they not belong to your mother?”
To be frank, he did not know to whom they belonged; he had found them in the attics and ordered them to be taken to her rooms. They held no sentimental value to him whatsoever. “I do not believe so,” he said at last.
“Well, if you require me to wear them, I will do so.” She took a bite of meat and chewed, and he could not help himself watching the progress of her slim neck as she swallowed. “Does that please you, Your Grace?”
Damn the girl . She acted as though he asked nothing more than he had every right to, despite the fact that he knew his request to be unreasonable in the extreme.
“What do you hope to get from this marriage?” he demanded.
“I hope that I can please you enough that you will come to think well of me, despite knowing me very little before we married.” Her expression remained serene. “Now we are both in this position, it behooves us to do the best we can and make the most of the situation.”
She intended to make the best of the situation. To please him.
How could she be so optimistic about such an aim when he had been downright dismissive of her? She still wished for his good opinion, when heaven knew that opinion was worth nothing.
How on earth could he quell her hopes and make her want to annul the marriage when this was her mindset? Determined to make the marriage work at all costs, presumably up to and including her own happiness.
Perhaps he had chosen wrong, after all. Perhaps choosing the browbeaten daughter, the one whom he had presumed to be timid, had been a mistake. If she had been accustomed to misery for so long, then it made sense that she might be prepared to endure more of it for the sake of peace.
If he was to succeed at his aims, he could not allow her that peace.
He stood abruptly. “I find myself no longer hungry. You may retire when you finish eating. I have work to be doing.” Ignoring the surprise—and could that be hurt?—in her eyes, he strode from the room.
There had to be a way to persuade her to leave him. There had to be. And if there was, by God, he would find it if it was the last thing he did.