Chapter 13 #2
By the time the footman announced that a carriage had been sighted on the south drive, the winter light had already begun its slow retreat toward afternoon.
Lady Tamblyn arrived precisely as promised.
The carriage wheels crunched over the gravel with unmistakable authority, the sort that did not hurry because it had never needed to. Eleanor stood in the entrance hall with Mrs. Hargreaves beside her, her hands folded neatly, her posture impeccable, her nerves decidedly less so.
The door opened.
Frances Stapleton entered Blackmere Park as though she had been expected by the walls themselves.
She was not tall, but she carried herself with an ease that made height irrelevant. Her hair, silvered rather than grey, was arranged with deliberate care beneath a bonnet that suggested taste rather than fashion. Her eyes were sharp, observant, and very much alive.
“Ah,” Lady Tamblyn said, her voice warm and ringing. “There you are, my dear.”
Eleanor blinked. “Here… I am.”
Frances smiled broadly. “You must be the new Duchess of Langford.”
“Yes, Lady Tamblyn,” Eleanor said, curtsying. “Welcome to Blackmere Park.”
Lady Tamblyn waved a hand. “My dear, we are family now. I should like you to call me Aunt Frances, please.”
Eleanor straightened, a little startled by the familiarity. “If you insist, Aunt Frances.”
“Much better.” Frances stepped closer, her gaze assessing Eleanor with frank interest. “And you must be the young lady who managed to get my nephew married without setting the ton on fire.”
Eleanor flushed. “I am not certain I managed the latter just yet.”
Frances laughed, a rich, delighted sound. “Oh, nonsense. If the ton were aflame, we would all know it by now.” She took Eleanor’s hands suddenly, squeezing them with surprising strength. “I have been longing to meet you.”
“You have?” Eleanor asked, startled.
“Of course I have,” Frances replied. “Any woman who can unsettle James is worth knowing. And, again, we are family now.”
Eleanor’s blush deepened.
Before she could respond, footsteps sounded from the corridor beyond.
James entered the hall.
Eleanor felt the change before she saw it.
He did not stride in with the clipped efficiency she had come to expect. He did not wear the tight control that usually sat on his shoulders like armor. His expression softened, the severe lines easing as his gaze landed on his aunt.
“Aunt Frances,” he said.
Frances turned, her smile widening. “There you are, my dear.”
James stepped forward and embraced her.
It was brief, proper, and yet unmistakably affectionate.
Eleanor watched, transfixed.
She had not seen him touch anyone like that. Not with warmth. Not without calculation.
When James stepped back, there was a smile on his face.
Not the dry, restrained curve she had glimpsed at breakfast. A real smile. One that reached his eyes and softened them until they looked almost young.
Eleanor’s heart did something foolish.
She looked away at once, mortified by her own reaction, and very nearly collided with a footman carrying Lady Tamblyn’s gloves.
“Forgive me,” Eleanor murmured, steadying herself.
James’s gaze flicked to her. “Are you well?”
“Yes,” she said too quickly.
He moved closer, his voice lowering as he leaned toward her ear. “You look flushed.”
Her breath caught.
“I am quite well,” she whispered.
His presence, so near, made the words feel unconvincing even to herself. She could feel the warmth of him, the faint brush of his coat sleeve against her arm. Her senses sharpened, traitorous and eager, and she hated herself just a little for it.
James murmured, “You need not look as though you are about to bolt.”
“I am not,” Eleanor replied, though her pulse suggested otherwise.
Frances watched them with keen interest, her eyes flicking from one face to the other.
“Well,” she said briskly, clapping her hands together. “I see I have arrived at an inconvenient moment.”
Eleanor turned. “No, not at all–”
“Nonsense,” Frances said kindly. “You are both exhausted. Newly married, newly everything.”
James straightened, a hint of his usual reserve returning. “You have only just arrived.”
“And I am staying for several days,” Frances said cheerfully. “There is no need to crowd this first hour.”
She took Eleanor’s hands again. “We shall have plenty of time to speak. I expect you will tell me everything.”
Eleanor smiled, grateful. “I look forward to it.”
Frances nodded approvingly, then turned to James. “Walk me to my room.”
James inclined his head. “Of course.”
As they moved away, Frances’s voice drifted back, warm and unguarded. “She is charming, James.”
Eleanor froze.
James said nothing.
But when he glanced back at Eleanor, there was something unreadable in his gaze.
She stood where she was until they disappeared up the stairs.
The house seemed quieter without them, as though Blackmere Park itself were holding its breath.
Later, Eleanor sat in the small sitting room off the main hall, attempting to read but failing spectacularly. Her thoughts kept returning to the image of James smiling at his aunt, the way his shoulders had relaxed, the way his voice had warmed.
He was not always the man of rules and schedules.
That knowledge unsettled her more than his severity ever had.
James escorted his aunt to the guest room.
“Nephew,” Frances said, patting his hand warmly. “This house feels very different with your new wife in it.”
James’s brows lifted slightly. “Different?”
“Yes,” Frances said, nodding. “Less like a fortress.”
James cleared his throat. “Aunt Frances you sound almost common with all of that sentiment.”
“Do not sound so disapproving,” Frances chided lightly. “I am merely suggesting that perhaps it is time you stopped hiding behind your walls.”
James’s jaw tightened. “This is not the time.”
“It is always the time,” Frances replied gently.
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “She has done remarkably well. I can tell.”
James cleared his throat. “Yes.”
His expression remained unreadable.
Frances sighed softly. “Perhaps you were right before, nephew. I think I shall lie down before supper. The ride has been longer than I care to admit.”
James turned down the corridor and continued to lead her toward her rooms. “I will see you settled, Aunt Frances.”
As they neared the guest room, Frances paused, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “James.”
“Yes.”
“As you are in the ton first, you should take it upon yourself to host the start of the season ball. Or rather, your bride should host.”
James stiffened. “That may not be –”
“It would be good for her,” Frances continued. “And for you. A first outing after the bridal tour. A proper appearance. Plus society will be drooling to see inside Blackmere Park properly.”
James hesitated.
“I will consider it,” he said finally.
Frances smiled knowingly. “It really was not a suggestion, James, but if you wish to think on how you wish to host a ball. Do so quickly before the timing becomes disagreeable.”