Chapter 20
Alexander had faced battlefields with fewer doubts than he carried into the gardens that morning.
The estate had never been so alive. From the moment the sun rose, Ashbourne had been filled with movement, and at the center of it all stood the garden Eleanor had created.
Alexander had walked through those grounds countless times since returning from war. He had seen them empty and forgotten for so long that he had never expected them to be any other way.
He had certainly never seen them as alive as they were.
The flowers that Eleanor had carefully planted were finally in bloom, filling the space with color.
The stone paths were bordered with fresh greenery, and the old arbor where he had found her sleeping weeks before was covered with climbing flowers. It was beautiful.
Much like the woman who had planted it all, though Alexander did not want to admit that.
“Your Grace?”
Alexander turned to find Mrs. Pembroke approaching. The housekeeper looked toward the gardens, her face showing a clear sense of pride.
“Everything is prepared,” she continued.
“It appears so.”
She studied him carefully.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
“By the fête?”
“By the fact that it is happening at all, yes.”
Mrs. Pembroke smiled faintly.
“That is because you have spent a great deal of time believing Ashbourne could only be one thing.”
“And what thing was that?”
“A place of duty.”
He did not respond. Mrs. Pembroke had always possessed an irritating ability to say precisely what others avoided.
“I admit,” he said after a moment, “I am uncertain about what is to take place today. This was Eleanor’s idea, and I do not know if I have the right to stand here and accept praise for something I did not create.
Our guests shall congratulate both of us, which will be most unfair, given that I am not responsible for any of it. ”
“Perhaps not,” she said softly, “but you have at least allowed it to happen, and allowing something beautiful to exist is the first step toward appreciating it.”
He looked away.
“Do you not think that I appreciate it?”
“I think you are afraid to. You have always been very good at surviving difficult things. It is the easier things that seem to trouble you, because there are no interesting plans to devise.”
Alexander almost argued, almost, but he could not because he knew exactly what she meant. Eleanor had brought something into Ashbourne that he had not known how to accept, and that frightened him more than he wanted to admit.
The first guests began arriving shortly after.
Nobles from neighboring counties filled the estate grounds, their carriages lining the drive as familiar faces greeted one another beneath the spring sunshine.
Alexander moved through the gathering as expected, offering polite conversation and accepting compliments, performing the role that he had been given.
And every few moments, his attention found Eleanor. She made her way through the gardens with effortless grace, speaking with guests and children alike.
She seemed to belong among the flowers she had planted, as though the garden had always been waiting for her. Alexander wondered if Ashbourne had ever looked more like itself. The thought surprised him.
When the time came for his speech, Alexander stood before the gathered guests with the intention of keeping it brief. He would acknowledge the visitors, thank them for attending, and recognize the efforts of the staff. Nothing more.
He had no desire to make himself the center of attention.
“My friends,” he began, his voice carrying across the lawn, “I thank you all for joining us today at Ashbourne. The gardens you see before you have required considerable work and dedication, and I wish to acknowledge those who contributed to restoring them.”
His gaze moved briefly across the guests. Then he found Eleanor.
She stood near the edge of the crowd, watching him. And suddenly, the prepared words felt wrong. They were too empty, too distant, because the garden was not simply about flowers. It was about what happened when something forgotten was given another chance.
His voice slowed.
“A garden is not restored in a single day.”
The change in his tone caused several guests to look toward him, but Alexander barely noticed.
“It requires patience, not to mention the willingness to believe that something damaged does not need to remain damaged forever. Every season changes what came before it. Winter may leave a garden barren, but it does not mean the roots beneath the soil have disappeared. Sometimes, all that is needed is time, and someone willing to tend what has been neglected.”
A quietness settled over the gathering. Alexander looked at Eleanor, and for once, he did not look away.
“Spring is a reminder that renewal is possible, that things once thought lost may return in unexpected ways, and that is worth celebrating.”
For a moment, he forgot the watching guests, and all of the expectations and the distance that he had built over the years. There was only Eleanor, the woman who had brought life back to his garden.
The woman who had begun bringing life back to him.
Then the applause began. Alexander stepped back, the moment broken, and returned to the role he knew how to play, but something had changed. For the first time in years, the words he had spoken had not been simply said out of duty. They had been true.
It was Eleanor who had looked away first when their eyes met. The movement had been small, almost invisible to anyone else, but Alexander had become far too familiar with the smallest changes in Eleanor’s expression.
He noticed when her smiles were genuine and when they were simply polite. He noticed when she retreated into herself. He noticed when she wanted to speak but decided against it.
“Well said, Your Grace,” Lord Harrington called, offering an approving nod.
Several others joined in with similar praise, complimenting both his words and the beauty of the estate.
“You have created something quite extraordinary here,” Lady Westmore said as she passed. “Ashbourne has never seemed so welcoming.”
Alexander accepted the compliments with a polite smile, but his attention remained fixed on Eleanor. She did not join the applause. She did not step forward with the others.
She simply stood quietly, her expression unreadable, and that silence unsettled him more than any criticism could have. He had spent his entire life receiving approval for things that had never truly mattered to him, and so Eleanor’s reaction was the one thing he could not ignore.
The fête continued throughout the afternoon, and Alexander returned to his role as host. He greeted guests, answered questions about the estate, and listened as people praised the transformation of the gardens.
Everywhere he looked, he saw evidence of Eleanor’s influence—the flowers blooming along the pathways, the children laughing beneath the trees, the servants moving through the grounds with a sense of pride that had been absent when he first returned.
She had changed Ashbourne. The realization was impossible to deny.
“Your wife has accomplished something remarkable,” Lord Fairfax remarked as they stood near the edge of the lawn. “I cannot remember the last time this estate felt so alive.”
Alexander followed his friend’s gaze toward Eleanor.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “She has.”
Henry gave him a brief look, as though he noticed more in that answer than Alexander intended to reveal.
“You sound almost proud.”
“I am.”
The admission surprised even him. Before Henry could respond, however, the musicians began preparing for the dancing. Guests gathered across the lawn, and the atmosphere shifted as conversation gave way to music and movement.
Alexander remained near the terrace, watching Eleanor speak with several ladies near the fountain. She looked comfortable among them, but he knew her well enough to see the effort behind it.
Then Julian Sinclair approached.
The change in Alexander was immediate. He disliked the feeling that came with seeing them together.
He disliked the jealousy that tightened in his chest because he had no right to it.
Eleanor had never promised him affection, even though they were married, and Julian had known her long before Alexander ever entered her life.
Yet none of that made watching them easier.
Julian bowed.
“Your Grace, may I have this dance?”
Alexander watched Eleanor hesitate. It lasted only a moment, but that did not make it easier to see. Then she placed her hand in Julian’s, which made him feel even worse.
The music began, and they moved onto the lawn with the other couples. Alexander remained where he was, unable to look away. He told himself it was nothing more than a dance, a harmless moment between two people who shared a history, but every step they took together felt like a reminder.
Julian knew how to make her laugh. He knew how to draw out her warmth without effort. He knew parts of Eleanor that Alexander was still struggling to reach, parts that he was quite convinced that he never would.
When Julian said something that made her smile, Alexander felt an uncomfortable twist of emotion he could not dismiss. It was not anger toward Eleanor. She had done nothing wrong. If anything, the fault belonged entirely to him.
He had kept his distance. He had insisted their marriage remain practical. He had given her every reason to believe that he wanted nothing more. So why did he feel as though he were watching something being taken from him?
“Your Grace?”
Alexander turned slightly to find Lord Harrington nearby.
“You appear distracted.”
“I am not.”
The older gentleman glanced toward the dancers. Alexander followed his gaze and immediately regretted it. Lord Harrington said nothing further, but the knowing expression on his face irritated Alexander.
“I am perfectly capable of enjoying my own fête without requiring observation.”
“Of course,” Harrington replied smoothly. “And you are also capable of taking what you want. That comes with your position, after all.”
Alexander left before the conversation could continue. He moved toward the doorway, where a servant immediately approached with refreshments.
“Brandy, Your Grace?”
Alexander accepted the glass.
“Thank you.”
The drink burned as he swallowed, but the sensation was easier to manage than the thoughts crowding his mind.
He had spent weeks pretending that his feelings toward Eleanor were nothing more than a sense of responsibility, given that she was his wife, but seeing her with Julian had forced him to acknowledge what he had avoided.
He cared, not because she was his wife but because she was Eleanor, the woman who had filled his empty gardens with life and who had looked at him as though there might be something worth knowing beneath all the walls he had built.
And he had been too afraid to let her see him.
Alexander looked back toward the gardens, but he could no longer watch.
The thought that had been troubling him for weeks finally became impossible to ignore.
Perhaps he had feared losing Eleanor because, somewhere deep down, he already knew he had never truly possessed her.
He had given her a home; he had given her protection, but he had not given her a reason to choose him. He finished the brandy and set the glass aside, standing alone while the music continued behind him.
Nearby, he heard the dancers laughing and wished he could bring himself to be a part of it. The most painful part was not the possibility that Julian Sinclair might take Eleanor away.
It was the possibility that he himself had never given her anything worth staying for.