Chapter 29 #2
The weeks that followed their return to Ashbourne passed in a way Eleanor had once thought impossible.
The house seemed to breathe again, as though it had been waiting for its inhabitants to finally stop living as strangers beneath the same roof.
There was such peace in it all that Eleanor wondered how she had ever lived any other way.
Alexander no longer disappeared into his study from dawn until midnight without explanation.
He still had responsibilities, and he still spent hours reviewing estate accounts and meeting with tenants, but he no longer treated work as a place to hide.
More than once, she found him searching for her opinion over breakfast, asking what she thought of improvements to the village or whether the tenants would benefit from certain changes.
At first, she was startled every time, but as she gave her opinion more often and was valued each time, she realized that he was not asking out of any presumed obligation. He truly did want to know what she thought, and once she understood that, she was more willing to assist him.
She belonged beside him, and everyone saw it at last, including her.
The garden became the heart of Ashbourne once more. Eleanor spent her mornings among the flowers, speaking with the gardeners and planning new arrangements, while Alexander would occasionally join her despite claiming he had no understanding of plants.
“You are holding that incorrectly,” she told him one afternoon as he attempted to prune one of the rose bushes.
He looked down at the shears in his hand.
“I was not aware there was a correct method for cutting a branch.”
“There is when you are attempting to save the plant rather than murder it.”
A faint smile touched his lips.
“I fought in a war, Eleanor.”
“And yet a rose bush has defeated you.”
He glanced at the flower.
“I am beginning to think it has.”
She laughed, and Alexander looked at her in a way that told her he was not simply hearing her laughter, but treasuring it.
The servants noticed the difference too. Mrs. Thornton no longer watched the duke and duchess with caution. The household moved with a renewed warmth, and Bessie took great pleasure in reporting every improvement she saw.
“I believe the house has become happier,” she told Eleanor while helping her prepare for dinner one evening.
Eleanor smiled at her reflection. Love, she decided, made her look prettier than she had ever been.
Alexander and Eleanor learned each other slowly.
Alexander learned that Eleanor did not need him to solve every problem, only to listen when she shared them.
Eleanor learned that his silence was not always rejection, but sometimes simply the habit of a man who had spent too long carrying burdens alone.
They still disagreed, they still misunderstood one another occasionally, but they knew that the best way to settle it was to discuss it.
They no longer allowed pride or fear to create the distance they had once mistaken for safety.
Never again would they feel such a distance; they would both make sure of that.
***
One evening, as they walked through the garden beneath a sky painted with a striking sunset of bright pinks and yellows, Eleanor paused beside the rose bushes.
“I used to think I would never feel at home here. Now I cannot imagine leaving.”
“Good. I have become rather attached to having you here, and I cannot fathom the idea of you not being here anymore.”
The teasing remark made her laugh. “Only rather?”
He considered that, pretending to think about it even though they both knew what he truly thought.
“Perhaps considerably.”
She shook her head, but her smile remained. Their lives no longer felt like something uncertain waiting to be endured, but something they were creating together.
By the following month, Ashbourne had become known not only for its restored gardens but for the warmth of its duke and duchess. The spring fête had been spoken of for weeks, and plans were already being made for future gatherings.
For the first time in years, Alexander was no longer a man people described as untouchable. He was simply a husband, and Eleanor was no longer a woman searching for where she belonged. She had found it.
Or so she believed.
The afternoon had been unusually warm when Eleanor returned from the gardens, a basket of freshly cut flowers resting against her arm. She was halfway through the entrance hall when she noticed the unusual silence among the servants. Bessie stood near the doorway, her smile uncertain.
“What is it?” Eleanor asked.
The maid hesitated. “There is a visitor, Your Grace.”
Eleanor glanced toward the drawing room. “Who?”
Before Bessie could answer, the door opened. A woman stepped out with effortless elegance, dressed in the finest London fashion. Her golden hair was perfectly arranged, and Eleanor knew her immediately. She had not expected to ever see her again, and she was happy about that.
Lady Cordelia Ashworth had returned. Eleanor wondered why she had finally decided to appear, but she also did not care all too much. If anything, she was annoyed that her family’s peace had been disturbed.
Cordelia’s gaze traveled across the room before settling on Eleanor, at which point a polite smile touched her lips.
“Your Grace.”
“I was not aware we were expecting company.”
“Nor was I,” Cordelia replied smoothly, her eyes moving briefly toward the garden flowers Eleanor carried. “Though I suppose there are many things that have changed since I was last here.”
The words were carefully chosen, and Eleanor felt it immediately. Her appearance at the estate was not merely a visit. Cordelia had returned to society.
And she had come to Ashbourne for a reason.