Chapter 8
Eleanor returned to the garden early the next morning.
The soil she had begun working on the day before remained uneven, marked by her earlier attempts at clearing and planning, and she paused at the edge of it for a moment before stepping in. A few of the gardeners were already present, having been arranged to come and help her.
They worked in pairs, as they usually did, though their attention shifted briefly when she arrived.
The reaction was not openly hostile, but it was clear that they were wary of her.
Eleanor did not quite know how they felt that way when to her it was rather evident, but she said nothing.
One of the older men straightened slightly.
“Morning, Your Grace.”
Eleanor gave a small nod.
“Good morning.”
There was a pause before he returned to his work, though his movements slowed slightly as she moved further into the bed she had begun marking out. She crouched near the soil again, brushing loose earth aside with her fingers as she studied where the structure would need to be rebuilt.
“The drainage here is uneven,” she said quietly, more to herself than to anyone in particular. “It will need to be corrected before anything else is planted.”
One of the younger gardeners glanced over.
“The housekeeper said that section has always been left as it is.”
“Then it has always been left incorrectly,” she replied without looking up.
The man hesitated, exchanging a brief look with the others, but no one challenged her directly.
Shortly after, footsteps approached along the gravel path behind them.
Eleanor did not turn immediately, but the shift in attention around her made it clear someone of authority within the household had arrived.
Mrs. Pembroke, the housekeeper, stepped into view a moment later. She stopped a short distance away, observing the marked soil and the tools already arranged nearby.
“I was told you had begun altering the garden layout,” the housekeeper said.
Eleanor stood, brushing her hands lightly against her skirts.
“Indeed. I am restoring it.”
“The duke did not leave instructions for changes to be made to the grounds.”
Eleanor met her gaze evenly. She was not the most frightening woman, but there was certainly an authority about her that she knew was followed by everyone else, and she clearly expected Eleanor to follow suit.
She would have, had her instruction pertained to anything else, but she understood plants. She knew what she was talking about.
“The grounds are neglected,” she explained. “Restoration requires changes to be made, and my husband is aware of that.”
The housekeeper’s eyes moved briefly over the area again.
“The staff are responsible for its upkeep.”
“And they will continue to be,” Eleanor replied. “But direction must be given if anything is to improve.”
Another pause settled between them, longer this time, as the gardeners slowed their work to listen more openly now.
Perhaps, Eleanor considered, some of them were hoping for the housekeeper to tell them to stop.
“It is not customary for changes of this scale to be made without consultation, Your Grace.”
“Then it is fortunate I do not need the permission of anyone but the duke himself, who is happy for me to do this. Should he think otherwise, he is more than welcome to come and tell me as such himself, but we are all here to serve him, are we not?”
The housekeeper studied her for a moment longer, the challenge evident. Eleanor wondered if she caused offense, but then she noticed the faint smile on her housekeeper’s face, a subtle sign of respect as she nodded slowly.
After a brief silence, she stepped closer.
“Very well, if the drainage is as poor as you say,” she said, “it will require proper trenching along the eastern edge.”
Eleanor nodded once.
“Yes. That is what I thought, too.”
The housekeeper’s gaze narrowed slightly as she looked at the alignment Eleanor had begun marking out.
“I see that you have already accounted for the slope.”
“I walked it yesterday evening,” Eleanor replied.
Another pause followed, shorter this time, then the housekeeper turned slightly toward one of the gardeners.
“Bring the marking stakes, the ones for structural beds.”
The gardener hesitated.
“Ma’am?”
“Now,” the housekeeper said, without raising her voice.
He moved at once. Eleanor watched the exchange without comment, knowing that her assessment was right. This woman was one who had authority over everyone else, and she clearly liked it that way. Eleanor threatening that authority, therefore, would perhaps not be taken lightly.
The housekeeper returned her attention to her.
“If you intend to continue this properly, you will need alignment markers set before the soil is turned.”
“I agree,” Eleanor said.
The housekeeper gave a small nod, then turned slightly as the gardeners began adjusting their pace so that they worked more quickly.
“I will have one of the staff assigned to assist you directly,” she said after a moment.
“Thank you, that would be most helpful.”
The housekeeper then turned to leave, then paused as though reconsidering something.
“This might take some time. It is not often that the garden is treated as something worth restoring.”
“It should be.”
The housekeeper did not respond to that, but when she left, her pace was slower than when she had arrived.
Eleanor stood for a moment longer in the quiet that followed, then knelt again and pressed her fingers lightly into the earth, continuing the work as the gardeners around her adjusted, not yet fully aligned, but no longer entirely dismissive either.
But the gardens were not all that she had to contend with, and though Eleanor was more than happy to dedicate all of her time there, she had other priorities too, namely the ball that she had suddenly been made aware of.
It was entirely possible that she had been told that they were to host and had simply not heard it as she was engrossed in her work, or been told of it shortly after her wedding day when she was still not entirely there, but she did not recall any such thing.
She had only just begun to map out the next section of planting when one of the maids approached, hesitating slightly before speaking.
“The dressmaker has arrived, Your Grace,” the maid said. “She is in the west sitting room.”
Eleanor straightened slowly, brushing soil from her hands.
“Now?”
“Yes,” the maid replied. “For the fittings.”
“Very well. I shall see her at once.”
***
The sitting room had been rearranged for the occasion, the furniture pushed aside to allow space for fabric and measurements, the long windows letting in a pale light that made the pale materials draped across chairs look almost white.
A woman stood near the center of the room, surrounded by bolts of fabric. She looked up as Eleanor entered, offering a polite smile.
“Your Grace,” the dressmaker said, inclining her head. “We have begun preparations for the evening gown. There will be several fittings, of course, but we must begin now if it is to be completed in time.”
“Of course.”
The dressmaker gestured toward a raised dais near the mirror.
“If you could stand here, please.”
Eleanor complied, though she wished that she could have more of a say in what the gown might look like.
Bessie stepped forward to assist with the first layers of fabric, careful not to disturb the dressmaker’s arrangement.
Pins were placed, fabric was drawn across her frame, and adjustments were spoken aloud without requiring her response.
“The waist needs to be slightly higher,” the dressmaker murmured. “The lines must lengthen the silhouette. Did you want pink, Your Grace?”
“I…well…”
There it was, an opportunity for choice, and yet Eleanor did not know what to say to it. It was only the color of a dress, and yet it was so much more. This was to be her first appearance as the Duchess of Ashbourne, and it had to be perfect.
“Your Grace?” she asked.
“I prefer green,” she replied at last. “Would that be all right?”
“Of course,” she replied with a smile. “It is your ball. You shall have some understated embroidery, though. We should not do anything too bold for your first impression.”
Eleanor stood still as they worked, her gaze shifting briefly toward the mirror where her reflection slowly began to resemble her more and more. The maid adjusted a seam at her shoulder and spoke softly.
“It is a beautiful fabric, Your Grace.”
“Yes,” Eleanor replied, though her attention remained on the process rather than the compliment.
The dressmaker stepped back slightly, assessing the fit.
“You will need at least two more fittings before it will be ready for the ball.”
“Very well. I would very much like for this to be perfect.”
As the fitting continued, more adjustments were made, more measurements taken, and more quiet instructions were exchanged, but with each minute that passed, Eleanor became increasingly aware that the ball was not about her at all.
It was about securing their place in society, especially with the questions about their marriage, and she could not allow anything to go wrong.
When the fitting finally concluded, the dressmaker stepped back with a satisfied nod.
“It will do,” she said. “With refinement.”
Eleanor stepped down from the dais, smoothing the fabric back into place as she wondered if her seamstress was talking about her gown or about Eleanor herself.
Would she do? Would she be enough to quell the rumors and be accepted?
She did not know, and a sense of unease about it crept beneath her skin.
“Thank you,” Eleanor said.
The dressmaker offered a polite curtsy.
“I will return in two days for the next fitting.”
And then she was gone. The room felt emptier afterward than it had before the fitting began. Eleanor remained where she stood for a moment, the maid carefully gathering fabric offcuts and pins, moving quietly so as not to disturb her.
“The preparations will be quite demanding,” the maid said gently. “They say many guests will attend, including important families from neighboring estates.”
Eleanor did not respond immediately. Instead, her gaze drifted briefly toward the window, where the garden could just be seen beyond the glass. She knew that that was where she would rather have been, but she had a job to do, and she had to do it well.
“I see,” she said at last.
The maid hesitated, then spoke more softly.
“It is a chance for you to be seen properly as the duchess. If you ask me, I think you will do it perfectly.”
The maid lowered her gaze and continued gathering the remaining items, leaving Eleanor standing alone in the center of a room that now felt noticeably less like hers than when she had entered it.
Eleanor left the sitting room once the dressmaker had gone, the instructions still lingering in her mind as she moved through the corridor. The house had returned to its midafternoon rhythm, but the preparations for the ball had made everything feel more urgent.
She did not return to the garden immediately, instead pausing in a quieter corridor near one of the tall windows.
Beyond the glass, the estate grounds stretched out, the garden visible in the distance where she had been working earlier.
Already, there was a noticeable difference in it, but it would not be to the standard she wanted in time for the ball, and it would reflect on her.
Her hand tightened slightly at her sleeve as she stood there, and for a brief moment her thoughts drifted back to the letter still folded in her room.
Her friend had gotten everything she wanted; a family and love, something that Eleanor had not been afforded, and though it was clearly also not planned and ideal, she could not help but envy her for that.
But Eleanor did not hold the thought for long, and she let it pass without allowing it to settle into anything heavier before turning away from the window and continuing on.
***
The garden was quieter than earlier in the day, though it was not empty.
The gardeners were present, but they were working at a distance from where she had marked out her plans, leaving her space.
Stakes had already been adjusted since the morning, reflecting Mrs. Pembroke’s earlier instructions, and the soil looked more structured than it had when she first began.
Eleanor stepped into the bed she had been working on and crouched there, pressing her fingers lightly into the earth as she checked the alignment she had set the day before. The work was slower than the ideas forming in her mind, but it was a start, and she wanted to feel good about that, at least.
A gardener approached after a moment, stopping at a respectful distance before speaking.
“The housekeeper said we are to follow your layout for this section, Your Grace.”
Eleanor did not look up immediately as she replied. “Good. I am pleased about that.”
The man hesitated briefly, then gave a small nod and returned to his work without further comment, adjusting his movements to match the new arrangement. It was a small victory, but it was one all the same.
Time passed as she continued on, and when she finally stood and brushed soil from her hands, the light had shifted slightly, the day passing, but she was almost satisfied with what she had accomplished.
It was all beginning to take shape, even if it was not doing so at the pace she wanted. She looked toward the house for a moment, where the upper windows caught the light faintly, and she paused there longer than necessary.
It was then that she became aware of it.
Once again, there was a figure watching her.
Unlike before, she could not quite tell who it was, but she could make her assumptions.
Her hands remained still for only a moment before she bent down again, reaching for another stake and adjusting it carefully into place as she continued working without breaking her rhythm.
There was enough happening around her that was causing her to slow without her allowing such a small thing to slow her further. She was not afraid to be seen doing what she wanted, and so she did not care who saw. Even so, the feeling of being watched did render her ill at ease.
Then again, many things about living at the Ashbourne estate did.