Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A bigail pinned the final white flower into Eleanor’s hair and stepped back to appreciate her handiwork. Eleanor admired herself in the mirror. This was the first time she had ever attended a ball in a dress that she had, herself, chosen. And, moreover, it would be her first presentation in Society as a Duchess.
The Duke might wish to keep their lives separate in private, but in public, for whatever reason she could not fathom, he viewed it as imperative that they were seen together. The previous day, she had attempted to gain the Duke’s attention, first by touching his arm and initiating conversation, and then by making alterations to his house. Both had resulted in his threatening her.
And yet—she could not quite put her fingers on it—but there was something about his threats that rang hollow. Oh yes, he said them, and sometimes there was enough grimness in his voice to suggest that he did mean them. And yet… And yet they did not terrify her the way Margaret’s threats had.
Perhaps it had something to do with the manner by which they were given. Aside from her attraction to him, which could not merely be dismissed, there was the matter of the threats themselves—vague and unsubstantiated, and often accompanied by a gesture that made her heart race for reasons other than the ones he intended. The way he had stroked her throat, and how he had run his finger across her lip. His body belied his words, rendering them almost meaningless.
That hesitation, implicit but always present between his words and under the harshness of his voice. No matter what he pretended to her, he did not mean it. Margaret’s threats had always been cold, sharp little comments that dug under her skin and ate away at her self-confidence. The Duke had threatened to shut her in her bedchamber, but she doubted he would enact such a thing without being all the while present there. After all, she was his wife.
But Margaret had directed her to the kitchens to help with the cooking when they were low on servants, and it always felt as though they needed extra help when Eleanor had done something to offend her stepmother.
Once, Isabel had taken a pair of scissors to all but the dowdiest of Eleanor’s dresses, and she had been forced to wear the same one three days in a row, all to different social events where people stared and pointed. Margaret had not permitted her to purchase new dresses, and she had to wait until one of the girls was done with an old dress before having the chance to try something new.
Compared to that level of callous cruelty, the Duke’s means of intimidation had no chance of working.
“You look wonderful, ma’am,” Abigail chimed, offering Eleanor a shy smile. “Doubtless he won’t be able to keep his eyes from you.”
She hoped so. The elegant satin gown was a burgundy that brought out the flecks of red in her brown hair, and was certainly far more daring than any she had worn out before. The color of a married woman than that of a debutante.
She drew her gloves up to her elbows and took hold of her reticule. “Thank you, Abigail. I shall see you later on tonight.” Unless, of course, she was particularly lucky and attracted her husband’s attention enough for him to bring her back into his bed that evening.
No point in getting ahead of myself .
First, he would have to admit to either of them that he wanted her. And although Olivia had been certain that if he did not immediately, he would soon, Eleanor felt less convinced. The way he had spoken the previous day made it sound as though he wanted nothing less than to kiss her again; the only appeal had been that of the chase, and he no longer had to chase.
Unless , of course, he felt as though she was not so much of a sure thing as he presumed.
Another of Olivia’s techniques, delivered with the certainty of someone who had a mere assumption it might work.
“You must make him jealous. That way he will find it imperative that he claim you as his own . ”
A tempting proposition if ever there was one. But she would have to do the thing carefully, provoking his jealousy in subtle ways, without doing anything to make the ton assume their marriage was an unhappy one. Or worse, make him suspect that she was doing this deliberately. It would only work if he believed she genuinely preferred the company of others over his own, with no consideration given to him at all.
One way or the other, she would tempt him to her.
With her reticule dangling over one wrist, she descended the stairs to where he waited a little impatiently. Although she had been ready in time, she had gone out of her way to dawdle a few more minutes, so he was certain to be in the hallway waiting for her. That way, he could better appreciate the sight of her coming down the stairs.
“There you are,” he drawled, turning as he heard her approach. “New rule. When I give you a time to be ready, my girl, you will adhere to it, or—” He broke off as he saw her. His brows furrowed, and she saw his throat bob with a swallow.
There it w a s . The admiration that she had so hoped he would feel, there and gone in a flash.
“I truly apologize, Ravenscroft,” she said, lowering her head and resting one gloved hand lightly on his arm as she reached his side. “I merely wanted to look my best for the evening ahead. I know we are to be putting on a good performance for all our acquaintances.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You are being remarkably complacent about the fact.”
“Why not? I am attending a ball as a Duchess.” She smiled up at him. “You may think it of no consequence, but I certainly do.”
“The Lord help me,” he muttered as he took her to the carriage and handed her inside. “I did not think you were one of the ladies who aspired to marry the greatest title they could find.”
“I aspired to nothing, but you bestowed the honor on me, and I think it would be unfair of me not to make the most of it.”
“And if I had not married you?”
“Well, then I probably would have been stuck under my stepmother’s thumb for the rest of my life,” she said serenely. Admitting to that now she was married felt like no difficult thing. “She would never have allowed me to meet an eligible gentleman. Perhaps if she felt she was spending too much on my upkeep, she might have found a modest match for me. Someone unimportant, so I did not outshine her daughters.”
He fixed his gaze on her, harsh and direct. “And what if something were to happen to me? Would you throw yourself back on her kindness?”
“What kindness?” she asked with a rueful smile. “I did not experience any kindness at her hands, I assure you.”
“Answer the question.”
“If you died and the estate passed elsewhere, I suppose I would do my best to survive independently of her. In truth, I doubt she would allow me back into her household unless I could bring some wealth with me, or she thought that I might elevate her position somewhat.” Eleanor frowned. “Why, are you ill?”
“Nothing of the sort.” He scowled, looking at her as though she was ridiculous for coming to such a conclusion—though what else she was supposed to think after such pointed questioning, he hardly knew. “I expect your stepmother and half-sisters will be present tonight.”
“I imagine so,” she agreed. “They will be very angry at me for not issuing them an invitation, but I will be able to tell them that you prevented me from doing so, and they will have no choice but to excuse you.”
“You—” He snapped his jaw shut. “Yes, I can see how it has happened that way. I ought to have chosen different instructions.”
“Would you rather she came to visit?”
“That lady? Good God, no. What a preposterous idea. I have no intention of letting her step foot in the house.” His brows descended over his eyes again. “But you should say nothing of the sort to her. Let her believe that I am inclined to keep you to myself as my new bride. That would be preferable, at least at the beginning.”
“And after that?”
“After that, I do not anticipate it being any concern of mine any longer.”
Eleanor settled back in her seat. Yes, he was possibly correct. Margaret would want to foster her relationship with them both if she could, but she would not do so indefinitely. At some point, hopefully in the near future, they would be free from her altogether.
Eleanor beamed at the Duke. “Do you know, I think this is the first civilized conversation we have had since the wedding. We are learning to get along.”
His scowl deepened. “Stop saying such ridiculous things. And be silent until we arrive. I have no patience for your yammering.”
And yet, until she had brought up such a thing, he had been content to sit and talk to her. Perhaps her lesson to learn here was not to mention things about them getting along or not doing so, but to encourage his conversation as much as she could.
Still, she held her tongue for the remainder of the visit to London and to Lady Rochester’s ball, to which they had been invited and would be attending. With every passing second, she found herself becoming increasingly nervous.
Her first venture into Society as a Duchess. No doubt her stepmother and half-sisters would be in attendance, and though she now outranked them and could not be blamed for not having issued them an invitation to the Duke’s house, they had a certain way of making her feel ill at ease. As though she would never be good enough for anything.
And heaven knew she had been granted a great honor.
“Your hand is shaking,” the Duke commented as he handed her down from the carriage upon arriving.
“Oh,” she said faintly. “Is it, sir?”
“Why are you so alarmed?”
“I am not alarmed as such.”
“I told you that you must do me credit as my wife.”
She held her chin up high. “And indeed I shall do my best, Your Grace.”
“ Ravenscroft ,” he said irritably. “Or better still, Sebastian . I defy any of the gossip-mongers to say we enjoy no intimacy, or that I had no wish to marry you when we employ such informality with one another.”
Eleanor’s heart raced. Sebastian . She had known his Christian name, of course, before they had married. He was not just a Duke; he was also a man. And yet, the prospect of addressing him thus had never occurred to her.
“You give me great honor,” she said faintly.
“Indeed I do. So perhaps you might endeavor to try looking like it.” His voice was curt, but he rested his hand on hers as they entered the great house, and that gentle contact did a great deal to calm her nerves. She was not alone, however much sometimes it felt like it. The Duke was on her side, and he would protect her. Some small instinct told her that. If anyone dared insult or belittle her, he would defend her right to be in the position she had, even if he merely did it to preserve his own reputation.
The thought soothed her still further, and by the time they were introduced at the edge of the ballroom, she felt equal to raising her head and smiling and meeting the ton’s interested gaze with equanimity.
Beside her, the Duke played his part, transforming from the grouch that had sat opposite her in the carriage to a charming young man who knew just what he ought to say. Still, as they made the rounds—everyone seemed keen to speak to the Duke and his new wife—she could not help noticing that none amongst his closest friends appeared to be in attendance.
Come to think of it, she did not know of any close friends.
Interesting.
She glanced into his face, but he steered her into yet another small group of ladies and gentlemen. To her relief, she had not encountered her stepmother yet, although that time would come soon, she was sure.
“The Duchess of Ravenscroft,” he flaunted, presenting her, and she smiled and blushed.
“I say, Your Grace,” one gentleman said to her once the party had split. The Duke had found himself engaged in conversation with a rotund older gentleman, and Eleanor had been accosted by this young buck. Several years younger than the Duke, she estimated, and probably not out in London all that long. Perhaps he had not long graduated university at all. “You are remarkably pretty,” he smiled. “Ravenscroft is dashed lucky to have you, and that’s a fact. But I do not believe we have met before? I am Lord Sinclair.”
Eleanor curtsied. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Sinclair.”
“And the man speaking to the Duke now is m’father. Curst boring affair this, but I don’t suppose there’s much to be done about it now. Say, Your Grace, I don’t suppose you’d like to dance? There’s little else to be done, and the Duke can’t steal you away all night.”
Eleanor glanced across at the Duke to find he was still deep in conversation with Lord Sinclair’s father. He had never said anything to her about dancing with other gentlemen, and while she did not find Lord Sinclair especially appealing as a romantic prospect, she may as well enjoy herself where she could, and his open admiration of her person was flattering. Far better than being stuck in a conversation she had no part in, or wished to take part in.
“Of course,” she smiled, putting her hand in Lord Sinclair’s. “Thank you. I should be delighted to dance with you.”
As she stepped out into the center of the room where the other couples were gathering, she could not help but feel the Duke’s hot, heavy gaze on her back.