Chapter 6
The morning disturbance reached the courtyard before Eleanor did, the sound of raised voices carrying through the corridors in a way that did not belong to the usual order of the estate.
When she stepped out onto the stone path, Mr. Thornton was already standing near the entrance steps, his posture rigid as he spoke to a rider who remained mounted on a tired horse, a half-wrapped bundle held awkwardly in his hands.
“Do you call this an acceptable delivery?” the butler demanded, gesturing toward the damaged parcel. “The seal is broken, and the contents are exposed.”
The rider shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, glancing down at the package before replying.
“There was a storm on the road, sir. The lanes were flooded, and the wind tore at everything. I did what I could to keep it together.”
“There is no storm here,” Mr. Thornton said sharply, turning his gaze briefly toward the clear sky. “Do you expect me to believe such negligence is excusable because of weather that has not even arrived?”
“It was not negligence,” the rider insisted, tightening his grip on the reins. “The weather changes quickly across the low roads. I could not outrun it.”
“Then you will be held accountable for the damage.”
Eleanor slowed as she approached, unsure whether to intervene, though her presence had barely registered before another voice cut through.
“That will be enough.”
Alexander had come down from the house with his coat unfastened, walking quickly as he stepped between them and the carriage path. His gaze moved once over the rider, then to the butler, and the entire exchange seemed to settle under his attention.
“Your Grace,” the butler hesitated, “the package has been compromised—”
“I can see that,” Alexander said evenly.
The rider straightened slightly, as though bracing himself for further reprimand, but Alexander did not seem to be about to give him the same manner of speech as he had reserved for his butler.
“You will take the payment for the delivery as agreed,” Alexander continued, “and you will return to the road before the weather worsens further.”
The rider blinked, momentarily thrown by the lack of punishment.
“Sir, I only meant to explain—”
“You have explained enough,” Alexander said, his voice quiet but firm. “I know how quickly the weather can change, and how unforgiving it can be.”
The rider hesitated only briefly before nodding, gathering the reins properly as he prepared to depart.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
The butler looked as though he wished to protest further, but Alexander lifted a hand slightly, stopping him without needing force, and the matter closed without further argument.
As the rider turned his horse and left the courtyard, Eleanor’s attention moved to the damaged parcel still held by the butler, and Alexander followed her gaze without speaking for a moment.
“That is for you, Your Grace,” Mr. Thornton said after a brief pause, his tone still tight as he extended the bundle toward her.
Eleanor took it carefully, noting the softened edges of the wrapping and the faint scent of damp earth that clung to the paper.
“From whom?”
“A correspondent of yours.”
The answer sat between them without explanation, and Eleanor tightened her grip slightly on the package as she watched him.
Alexander had already begun to turn away, leaving with the man that had visited him.
The brief softness that had guided his intervention was gone, replaced by the same controlled distance she was beginning to recognize more clearly, and as he walked back toward the house, it became evident that whatever had softened him moments before had not been meant for her at all.
Eleanor carried the parcel through the house with careful hands, as though the contents were completely precious. They were, in a sense, for she had not expected to be sent anything at all, and yet here was a gift rather than just a simple letter.
She closed the door to her room before unwrapping it, placing the contents on the small writing table near the window, where the light was strongest. Inside were several wrapped packets of seeds and a stack of books bound in simple cloth, their titles immediately familiar to her, each one carefully chosen in a way that made her pause longer than she intended.
At the bottom lay a folded letter. Her fingers hesitated only briefly before opening it. The handwriting was unmistakable, and it was that of her dear friend Lillibet.
Eleanor,
It has been too long since I last wrote to you, though I suspect you have been far more occupied than you usually are as well. Life here has taken a direction I did not expect, and I find myself thinking of you often when I am among my plants.
I am married now, just like you. It was not something I planned, but it has brought a softness I did not anticipate. He is not familiar with gardens, though he listens when I speak of them, and he encourages me to pursue my passion, which is more than enough.
We are expecting a child soon. It still feels strange to write that down.
I know that I should have told you of the arrangement, and that it took place months ago, but I did not want you to worry for me.
Now that I am certain that I am in good hands, I can tell you the truth, and I hope that you are not angry with me for keeping it from you.
I have sent seeds from the greenhouse I told you about. They have taken well here, and I thought you might find use for them. I hope you are well, and that you are not letting yourself be pulled into anything that does not suit you.
Write when you are able.
—L
Eleanor remained seated after finishing, the letter resting loosely in her hands as her attention drifted toward the books and seeds beside it.
Her friend had written to her in a far more formal tone than before, but then time had passed, and they were both married now, so it was to be expected that she would write with more maturity than an unmarried girl of twenty-three.
For a moment she did not move, then she pressed the letter flat against the table, her fingers lingering there longer than necessary as her gaze lowered, and her eyes filled before she could fully stop it.
She turned her face slightly toward the window as though distance might help steady her, but the feeling did not leave quickly, and when she finally exhaled, it came unevenly, controlled only after a second attempt at composure.
After a while, she folded the letter again and set it aside, and then she spent the next hours in the garden.
The staff watched her from a distance at first, their glances each carrying the same uncertainty as she moved through the overgrown beds and began speaking aloud about soil, structure, and the possibility of restoration.
“It has not been tended this way in years,” one of the older servants said at last, folding his arms as he observed her marking out sections of earth.
“I can see that,” Eleanor replied, crouching slightly as she examined the ground more closely.
“The duke has not shown interest in it,” another voice added, more dismissive than curious.
Eleanor paused, her fingers still resting against the soil, though she did not rise immediately.
“Then it is time that someone did. I am more than happy to do so.”
A faint silence followed, and one of the younger servants exchanged a glance with another before speaking again.
“It is not usually done in that way,” he said.
“I am aware,” Eleanor replied, standing now as she brushed her hands lightly against her skirts. “I am also aware that what has been done is not effective, so we shall need to try something new.”
She had said it more firmly than she usually spoke, but it worked. The staff fell silent, and nobody argued with her any further.
Later, when she returned inside, she paused briefly in the corridor outside the main hall as servants passed with trays and linens, their conversation lowering when she approached.
She did not need to hear every word to understand their tone, and after a moment she continued walking as though she had not noticed at all.
They had listened to her in the garden, but it was clear that they were not pleased.
Once in her room again, she sat at the desk and created a rough plan of the garden, sketching out sections that she wished to have. Her thoughts then lingered briefly on the upcoming ball, and how she did not want to feel as scared of it as she was.
If she was to be seen there, she would need to be someone worthy of being accepted as their duchess, and she felt determined to make that happen.
Outside, the weather shifted without warning.
The sky darkened quickly, and by the time Eleanor stepped into the corridor, the first heavy drops of rain had already begun to strike the stone outside.
Within minutes, the rain became a storm, wind pressing against the windows and forcing the household to retreat indoors.
It was the perfect weather for reading.
Eleanor moved through the lower corridor toward the library, drawn there in the hopes of finding a quiet space to take one of the books she had seen. The library doors were already open slightly when she reached them.
Inside, Alexander stood with a book in his hand that he was not reading.
His attention was instead drawn toward the storm that had gathered with unsettling speed. The fire behind him burned low, its light flickering across the shelves and casting long shadows along the floor.
He turned as she entered, and for a moment neither of them spoke, the sound of rain filling the space between them more fully than either voice might have.
Eleanor paused just inside the doorway, her hand still resting on the frame as she took in his presence, and Alexander’s gaze shifted briefly from her to the storm outside before returning.
“I see you also enjoy a book in this weather,” he said at last.
Eleanor closed the door gently behind her, though the sound of wind still came through the glass.
“I do,” she replied. “I like the gentle sound it makes.”
His eyes held hers for a moment longer than necessary. The storm outside deepened, and the library became the only place where either of them could remain without seeing more servants, who would inevitably have dozens of questions about what they ought to do.
Rain struck the library windows in hard, uneven sheets, each gust of wind blowing against the windows as though the storm intended to force its way inside.
Alexander had gone to the chair near the hearth, though he had not resumed reading.
The book rested open in his hand, untouched; his attention remained fixed instead on the storm.
Eleanor remained near the doorway at first, watching him and wondering whether or not to disturb the quiet that had settled between them. When she finally spoke, her voice cut through the room with unexpected clarity.
“What are you reading?”
“It is nothing that would be of any interest to you.”
Eleanor was rather taken aback by that, although she was not surprised that a man would think that way of a lady.
“I do hope you know that I am not simple.”
“On the contrary. You would not have come to a library of all places if you were. All I mean to say is that I read about the stars a lot, and that tends to be of little interest to others.”
“Admittedly,” she smiled as she crossed the room, “I know very little about them, but that does not mean I do not wish to learn. I would be more than happy to talk to you about it all.”
He closed the book slowly, placing it on the arm of the chair and looking at her almost in disbelief.
“People say that, but they never mean it.”
“I do.”
They remained still for a moment, Eleanor hoping that he believed her. She did not doubt that people said things merely to please him only to clearly show disinterest when the time to listen came, but she was curious about him.
“You need not show any interest in me,” he sighed. “I told you the conditions of our marriage, and there is no need to go any further.”
Alexander rose at that, setting the distance between them, but she took another step into the room, stopping near one of the long tables between the shelves.
“You speak about duty as though it is the only thing that gives life a shape.”
“It is what holds things in place,” he said.
“And enjoying oneself is what allows us to move,” she replied.
“Movement without structure becomes disorder.”
“And structure without allowing yourself to truly live as you please becomes confinement,” she said.
Alexander stepped closer without seeming to intend to at first, as though unable to help himself.
“Doing as you please is not always practical.”
“Neither is a life without it. Eventually, you face such misery that it is not living at all.”
A flash of lightning struck outside, illuminating the room in a sudden pale burst before fading again into shadow.
“Without duty, we are left with nothing,” he replied.
“No, we have nothing when we neglect everything else,” she said, her tone rising.
At that, Alexander darkened. He looked at her as though she were a fool, and she hated it. She knew what she was talking about, and yet he was looking at her as if she knew nothing at all.
“You do not understand what duty demands,” he said.
“And you do not understand what it costs,” she replied.
Eleanor stepped back abruptly, her composure breaking into something more immediate.
“This conversation is pointless. You do not want to listen to anyone else, which is precisely why this household looks the way that it does.”
“I disagree. It would seem this conversation is necessary. You need to understand how this household is run, whether it pleases you entirely or not.”
“Oh? I thought that you wanted me to feel as though this was my home too.”
Alexander’s eyes widened at that, but when he went to step closer to her, she stepped back instinctively. There it was, the proof that she was waiting for. She might have married the man, might have been announced as his duchess in name, but that was all it was.
“Eleanor—”
“Do not.”
The air between them tightened again, and for a brief moment neither spoke, neither moved, the storm outside filling every gap left behind.
“You,” she said coldly, “are a wilting man inside a soldier’s shell. I can only hope that you might one day see that, for until then you will be no man at all.”
Alexander went still, and there was no response, only the sound of rain and the faint shifting of firelight across his face.
Eleanor did not wait for one. She turned immediately, her skirts moving quickly as she made for the door.
She reached the doorway, paused only briefly to steady herself, then left the library, closing the door firmly behind her.
And she did not want to be followed, but a part of her still had hope that he might. Of course, he did not.