Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
“And that—that concludes our lesson for tonight, children,” Elinor’s voice came out steadier than she felt.
Green, attentive eyes had been on her for the last quarter-hour of the lesson, and she could not keep her focus from straying to the man who sat cross-legged among the children as though a duke had no better place to be.
He had watched her with the same rapt attention as his smallest pupils, and she had caught him scribbling something on his slate.
He had not needed to stay. Their ruse was solid enough without this. But he had chosen to, and Elinor wanted to believe that meant something, even if she did not think she deserved to.
Their responses came in waves, a chorus of thank you’s and pleas for Newton to attend next time, and Elinor laughed softly.
“Thank you,” she said to the room. “I love teaching you all, and I hope you all know how much joy it brings me. And, yes, if I can get Newton out from his comfort spot beneath my bed, then he shall be present on the desk during the next lesson. But Billy, you cannot tug his tail this time.”
She gave him a mock-stern look, and Billy saluted her, grinning.
“And, regarding coming again,” she added, “I can never say for certain, but I will always try my best to be here as much as I can.”
“Lady Elinor,” Angelica spoke up, “even if you could only give us one lesson each month, that is still everything. We always love these hours.”
Her heart warmed so much it ached. Elinor’s brow pinched with a brief wave of emotion as she nodded at the little girl, her throat tight.
“Then I shall continue them,” she swore. “Always. Now, you all must retire to your comfortable beds that His Grace has given you. Sleep well, children, and know that tomorrow will always be a new day.”
At once, the children filed out, stacking their slates neatly on the box Elinor always kept by the door so she could easily collect them upon her own exit. She watched them leave, a fondness growing.
Soon, only the Duke of Fairmont remained, his head tilted in interest, as he often did when he looked at her, as though she was an enigma he had not yet figured out. Part of her liked that. She liked being unknowable, a puzzle to find the right pieces in the right order to form.
“Yes?” Elinor dared ask boldly.
“You are a brilliant tutor, Lady Elinor,” he told her. “I did not know just how much, but you are right. It was good I sat in on a lesson, even if partially. You teach them well; you capture their attention.”
“I think they just want the distraction,” she dismissed, busying herself with shuffling her lesson notes, gathering them into a neat pile.
“No,” the duke answered, “no, they want you. They want your every word. That much is so very clear.”
Elinor bit her lip, turning her back on the duke to collect herself in face of the praise. Her cheeks burned, and she breathed as evenly as she could. But when she turned, she found him right there, closer than she had realized he had moved.
“Your Grace?” she murmured.
“I have a proposition,” he said, his voice low and rough, and entirely too attractive for Elinor to keep her rational mind.
“Yes?”
“Call me by my name,” he offered. “We are … we are close enough to form a fake engagement, so perhaps we can be close enough to drop titles. I am tired of being the duke, or His Grace, or whatever else comes with this inheritance. For once, I wish to be known as who I am.”
“And who is that?” she breathed, lifting her gaze to his. She was pinned immediately by those emerald eyes that she denied to herself had captured her.
“Lucien,” he murmured. “I am Lucien Stanton. And you are?”
Elinor smiled at the pointed question. “I am Elinor.”
“No.” He shook his head, laughing softly. “No, who are you? Beyond the title, beyond the poise, beyond the composure the ton forces you into.”
Elinor hesitated, biting her lip. When she had spent four years quelling everything about herself since her father had departed for the countryside, and she had been forced to stay with her stepfamily, it was strange to be asked to, essentially, be her authentic self, unmasked.
“I …” she hesitated.
“It is all right,” he told her quietly. “In this room, at least, this building, we can simply be who we are. No expectations, no judgement or pressure, and definitely no stifling.”
That emboldened Elinor a little more, and she inhaled deeply. “Then, I am Elinor Caverleigh, and I am very much my father’s daughter, a lover of science and poetry and politics, and everything a lady ought to keep her nose out of.”
“Well, I, Lucien, happen to like that you have your nose in all of that, for your lesson today was …” He smirked at her. “Magical.”
Elinor laughed a little at that. “You do not mean it. I know your games—”
“No games,” he cut her off abruptly, if not a little sharply.
“Heavens, my governess used to send me to sleep, for I could not endure my tutoring. I only pulled myself through them painstakingly for the sake of my parents, and knowing they wanted me to have a good education. Yet, tonight, even with the lesson aimed at children, I found myself enraptured.”
“That is a bold word.”
“For a bold feeling,” he countered. “I even took notes.”
“I noticed,” she murmured. “May I see?”
The duke—Lucien, she corrected herself now—retreated back to where he had lain his slate on the floor. He scooped it up and brought it back to her.
In a beautiful cursive, the words were ones that Elinor found herself eating up, quite desperately so.
Certain stars are thought to be giants among their kind. What stars might I see from Fairmont Hall in the countryside?
Stars are beautiful … starlight … starlight in dark blonde hair … how might that look?
“What does this last line mean?” Elinor asked, as she lingered on the description of her own hair.
“Nothing,” Lucien said quickly, tugging his slate back. “That was a foolish note.”
“Starlight in blonde hair.” Elinor echoed the words. “Whose hair?”
“Nobody’s,” he was quick to answer, tucking the slate behind his back. “Regardless, I have learned a lot tonight. Thank you. They do not teach about constellations at Cambridge University.”
“No?”
“At least not in my classes.” He grinned lazily at her, and Elinor tried to ignore the twist of her heart. “But, then again, I was not the most attentive student.”
“Tonight says otherwise,” she teased, and she did not know who this person was that he brought out in her that could tease, could be coy and joke, but she rather liked it.
It felt like finally being the debutante she had never really got to be.
“Is that so?” he asked her, his brows lifting in a way that was so unfairly charming that Elinor could only blush again.
But right as she went to answer, thunder cracked outside, and she startled, her hands immediately gripping the desk in front of her.
Lightning followed moments later, and Elinor’s head whipped towards the window, the sky outside too dark to see the full storm, but she heard it plenty enough.
Lucien drew closer. “It is all right,” he told her. “It is only a storm.”
“Only a storm,” she echoed, but her hands still trembled even as she held onto the wood.
“You are afraid,” he observed, his hands fixed on her trembling.
“No,” she immediately answered, but even to her own ears she sounded uncertain. “Maybe a little, but I must be getting home regardless. I—I have my hackney driver outside, ready to take me home.”
“Alone?” Lucien asked. “In this weather?”
“Why not?” she countered. “If you were not here, I would do it anyway.”
“Yes, but …” Lucien frowned at her, and she didn’t understand why he was so concerned.
Before he could continue, her driver rushed inside, his eyes wide.
“My Lady,” the man gasped out, “we must wait out this storm. I cannot drive in these conditions.”
“But—” She hesitated, panic building low in her gut. “No, no, I cannot wait it out. I—”
“Elinor.” Lucien stepped in front of her, grasping her wrists so she could release her death grip on the desk. “You have to wait out the storm. It could be dangerous to go out in it. Your carriage could be struck, or the roads might become slippery and could veer off. I won’t let you go out in it.”
“But my stepfamily,” she whispered, imagining her stepmother pushing open her chamber door, finding her bed empty.
“I will deal with them for you, if that happens,” he swore.
His thumb traced an idle circle over her wrist, and she did not think he knew he was doing it.
“Let me ensure your safety, Elinor.” His gaze held hers, earnest and intent, and the longer she looked, the more her worry quieted into something warmer and harder to name.
She nodded.
“All right,” she whispered. “But they will be angry if they find out.”
“They do not have to know about any of this,” he promised. “I will claim that I, a terribly rakish duke, convinced you to rendezvous with me in a secret walkway in a park.”
Elinor jerked back to him, her eyes wide. “No! No, you cannot.”
No, do not be foolish. Your heart is still your own and not straying in the direction of this handsome man.
She swallowed hard and composed herself. “We can think of something else. Perhaps there was a late errand you asked me to go on with you, or—or—something …”
“Elinor.” His voice was soft, coaxing her back away from her flustered panic. “Trust me to smooth over any issues that may arise.”
She nodded again, pulling away from his grasp.
She gave him a small, worried smile, before he turned on his heel to face the hackney driver.
“Take this for your trouble of waiting.” He pulled out a generous, heavy pouch of coins and offered it to the driver. “We hopefully will not keep you waiting very long.”
Right as he said that, another crack of lightning flashed through the windows.
Elinor’s worries drifted to the children, and she hoped they were all right through the storm.
They would be warm and safe, but as a child, she had feared storms.
Her thoughts ran, distracting her, to the point of her voice arising once the driver left.
“When I was younger,” she began, drawing the duke’s attention back to her, “my father told me that storms were a product of the sun and moon trying to reach one another. It was terribly romantic, and awfully illogical now that I know better, but it soothed me. I liked the thought of my fear being smaller than what was truly happening, that if the sun and moon wished to be together so badly to cause such chaos, then their love must have been so great.”
“So, you liked romance stories in the past?” He smirked, lifting a brow.
“I did,” she confessed. “Not anymore.”
“Why not?”
Elinor shook her head. She would not tell him about the years spent standing at the edges of ballrooms, waiting to be noticed by someone, anyone, while lacking the beauty or the boldness to claim attention for herself. Those years had cured her of romance more thoroughly than any book could.
“I’d rather not discuss that.”
“Oh. All right, then,” Lucien nodded, and his smirk lessened to an empathetic smile as he let her drop the subject.
He ducked out of the doorway for a moment, and she heard a low request for soup to be prepared. In return, Mrs. Neal agreed, and Elinor almost protested. Yet … here was a man taking care of her, of them, of arranging something for them to do while the storm raged outside.
Her eyes strayed to the window, where the night sky could no longer conceal the storm clouds that had rolled in. She flinched when more thunder groaned through the streets.
She took a step back, only to find herself against Lucien’s chest.
His return had been something she had missed.
“I have got you,” he said quietly. “I am here, and you are not alone. Think of the sun, desperately reaching for its moon.”
Elinor let out a shaky laugh. “That is a story for scared children.”
“And it cannot be one for scared adults, too?”
For a moment, she swore she felt his hands on her back, a brief, grounding touch, before it was gone.
“Then, think of your father comforting you through your fear, if you wish. Meanwhile, how about we go to the main office? It will have thicker walls than this room and no windows. It will feel more protected, I imagine.”
“All right,” Elinor agreed gently, finally turning away from the window, and then she followed him down to the main office.