Chapter 25
James entered the breakfast room with a deliberate steadiness he did not entirely feel.
Eleanor was already seated near the window, a porcelain cup cradled in her hands, her posture composed but not rigid. Morning light filtered in around her, softening the line of her shoulders, catching faintly in her hair.
She looked up as he approached.
“Hello, husband,” she said.
“Hello, wife,” James replied.
Both of them wore a sly smile as he took the chair opposite her, noting the careful politeness of the exchange.
They ate in silence for a few moments, the clink of silverware the only sound between them.
“I must meet with Roderick later this morning,” James said at last, his mouth still slightly full.
Eleanor glanced up. “Will he be arriving here?”
“Yes,” James replied. “I suggested luncheon, but he refused.”
“I should like to send food up to the study anyway,” she said easily. “Mrs. Hargreaves will be pleased to do so.”
James nodded. “That will be good.”
A faint smile touched Eleanor’s mouth.
James hesitated, then added, “You look well today.”
Her brows lifted slightly. “Do I?”
“Yes,” he said. “The color suits you.”
She glanced down at her gown, a soft shade of green that echoed the gardens beyond the window. “I thought it appropriate for the morning.”
“It is,” James replied. “I like it.”
The words felt strangely intimate for something so ordinary. Eleanor’s fingers tightened slightly around her cup.
“Thank you,” she said.
He cleared his throat. “And you. What are your plans today?”
Her expression brightened. “The modiste is calling later this morning. I must respond to the flood of calling cards from last night as well.”
“I imagine there were many,” James said.
“There were,” Eleanor replied. “It seems Blackmere has captured the imagination of the ton.”
James studied her. “You managed that very efficiently.”
She met his gaze. “It is part of the role.”
“And you wear it well,” he said.
She smiled faintly, then hesitated. “I was also considering whether we might take up Langford House in the coming days.”
James stiffened almost imperceptibly. “In London?”
“Yes,” Eleanor said. “Most of society has returned. It would be… expected.”
He took a sip of coffee to buy himself time. “I will consider it.”
Her expression was neutral, but he sensed the restraint beneath it. “Of course.”
James rose. “I should prepare for Roderick’s arrival.”
“Very well,” she said.
He paused, then inclined his head. “Have a good day, Eleanor.”
“You as well,” she replied.
He left the room with the faint, unsettling sense that he had just sidestepped something important.
Roderick arrived just before noon, boots muddy and expression alert.
“You look tired,” Roderick said by way of greeting.
“So do you,” James replied.
They did not bother with pleasantries. Roderick followed James into the study, closing the door behind them.
“What have you found?” James asked.
Roderick leaned against the desk. “Harrowby is involved.”
James’s jaw tightened. “To what extent.”
“Not as directly as we hoped,” Roderick said. “But not as innocently as he claims.”
James gestured for him to continue.
“He hired a man,” Roderick said. “A footman. Temporarily.”
James frowned. “For what purpose.”
“One of his own fell ill,” Roderick replied. “He required a replacement for a single evening.”
James’s pulse quickened. “Which evening?”
Roderick met his gaze. “The last ball your parents attended.”
Silence settled between them.
“And the terms,” James said carefully.
“The man was not Harrowby’s,” Roderick continued. “He was borrowed. His employer required substantial payment for the service.”
James’s fingers curled against the edge of the desk. “That is unusual.”
“Yes,” Roderick said. “And telling.”
James exhaled slowly. “Do we know the man’s name?”
“Not yet,” Roderick replied. “But we know who employed him.”
James’s gaze sharpened. “Who?”
“A minor household in Kent,” Roderick said. “Small. Discreet. Loyal to no one of consequence.”
James nodded. “Convenient.”
“Exactly,” Roderick said. “And Harrowby claims it was a simple arrangement. One evening. One payment. No further contact.”
James’s mouth tightened. “Do you believe him?”
“I believe,” Roderick said, “that he is telling the truth in the way liars prefer. Narrowly.”
James straightened. “Then we pursue the employer.”
“Yes,” Roderick replied. “Quietly.”
James turned toward the window, his thoughts racing. The pieces were aligning, but not yet forming a picture.
“And Eleanor,” Roderick said carefully.
James did not turn. “What about her?”
“She mentioned Langford House,” Roderick said.
James stiffened. “She did.”
“And you did not commit,” Roderick continued.
“No,” James replied.
Roderick sighed. “You cannot keep her at Blackmere indefinitely.”
“I am not keeping her,” James said.
“You are delaying,” Roderick countered. “There is a difference.”
James turned back to him. “London complicates matters.”
“It also clarifies them,” Roderick said. “The men you seek move more freely there.”
James hesitated.
“And she belongs there,” Roderick added.
James’s expression hardened. “She belongs where I say she does.”
Roderick raised a brow. “Careful.”
James exhaled. “I will think on it.”
“You should,” Roderick said. “Before she decides for you.”
James said nothing.
Roderick glanced toward the door. “Shall we join her for luncheon?”
“In a moment,” James replied.
“The hired man’s employer has been named. Not publicly, of course, but enough for me to begin asking questions,” Roderick said quickly.
James leaned against this desk. “You intend to speak with Harrowby directly?”
“If necessary,” Roderick replied. “And it may be.”
James considered it for a moment. “It might be for the best.”
Roderick laughed. “You agree too easily.”
James’s mouth tightened. “If Harrowby grows uneasy, he may make mistakes.”
“Or grow cautious,” Roderick countered.
“That risk exists regardless,” James said. “You are better suited to provoke him than I am.”
Roderick’s expression softened slightly. “You trust me, then.”
James inclined his head. “I do.”
“Langford,” Roderick stated.
“Yes.”
“Do not let the investigation become an excuse,” Roderick said quietly.
“For what?”
“For cruelty,” Roderick replied.
James did not answer.
Roderick left, the door closing behind him with a soft finality.
James closed his eyes briefly.
The investigation was tightening.
So was everything else, and it was about to get even tighter.
Moments later, the dressing gong sounded through the house, resonant and commanding.
Dinner.
James exhaled slowly, straightened his coat, and made his way to the dining room.
Eleanor was already seated when he arrived, her posture elegant, her expression composed. She looked up as he entered.
“You are late,” she said mildly.
“Barely,” James replied, taking his place.
Dinner began with the quiet efficiency Blackmere excelled at. Courses were served. Wine poured. The room settled into something almost comfortable.
Eleanor spoke first.
“The modiste was pleased,” she said. “She has had several inquiries already. It seems the ball has accomplished more than we intended.”
James nodded. “You managed it well.”
Dinner unfolded at an unhurried pace, as though the house itself were encouraging restraint.
The first course passed with little conversation, but not discomfort. Eleanor spoke of the callers who had arrived that afternoon, naming them carefully, noting who lingered and who merely paid duty.
James listened, responding when appropriate, asking questions that surprised her with their attentiveness.
“Lady Fenwick asked after you,” Eleanor said lightly. “She was quite insistent.”
James lifted a brow. “That is her way.”
“She also asked whether we intend to remain at Blackmere much longer.”
“And what did you tell her?” he asked.
“That I deferred to my husband,” Eleanor replied, her gaze steady on him. “Which appeared to satisfy her.”
James nodded, something like approval settling in his chest.
“Langford House,” Eleanor added, watching him carefully. “The subject came up more than once.”
“I imagine it did,” James said.
She hesitated. “You said you would consider it.”
“I have,” he replied.
Her brows lifted. “And?”
“And I believe,” James said slowly, “that we will speak of it again soon.”
Not a promise. Not a refusal.
Eleanor nodded, accepting it for now.
The wine warmed the edges of the room. Candlelight softened Eleanor’s features and made her seem closer than she had all day. When she laughed, briefly and without caution, James felt the tension in his shoulders ease despite himself.
It struck him, then, how easily this could become habit. Shared meals. Quiet conversation. A marriage that functioned not as performance, but as partnership.
The thought unsettled him more than the investigation ever had.
And when the final course was cleared, he knew he could not delay any longer.
Not without lying to them both.
As the final course was cleared, James set down his glass.
“There is something I wish to show you,” he said.
Her gaze sharpened. “Tonight?”
“Yes,” James replied. “If you wish.”
She studied him for a long moment, then inclined her head. “I do.”
They rose together and left the dining room, the house quieting as servants withdrew.
James led her up the stairs, past familiar corridors, to the narrow passage at the far end of the west wing. Few servants ventured here. Fewer still asked why.
He stopped before a plain, unmarked door.
“This is not a place I bring people,” he said quietly.
Eleanor’s voice was gentle. “Then why bring me.”
“Because you asked,” James replied.
He opened the door.
The attic was not what one might expect. It was not dusty or abandoned. It was ordered. Careful. Preserved.
Trunks lined the walls. Shelves held books, letters, small objects arranged with deliberate attention. A writing desk stood near the window, its surface clear except for a single framed miniature.
James stepped inside.
“This is all that remains,” he said.
Eleanor moved slowly, as though afraid to disturb the air itself. She touched the edge of a trunk. “Your parents.”
“Yes.”
He gestured toward the desk. “My mother’s correspondence. My father’s ledgers. Things no one thought worth keeping.”
His voice tightened. “I did.”
Eleanor turned to him. “You have carried this alone.”
“I preferred it that way,” James said.
“Because it hurts,” she replied.
“Yes.”
She stepped closer, lifting her hand to his cheek. “You do not have to hide this from me.”
James closed his eyes at the touch. “I did not want you to see my sorrow.”
Her thumb brushed gently beneath his eye. “It does not diminish you.”
He opened his eyes. “It makes me vulnerable.”
She met his gaze steadily. “It makes you human.”
Something in his chest fractured.
“I forgive you,” Eleanor said softly. “For the rules. For the distance. For all of it.”
He leaned down and kissed her. It was not hurried. It was not desperate. It was quiet and full and devastating in its simplicity.
For a moment, he allowed himself to rest in it.
Then the weight returned.
The investigation. The truth. The man who had taken everything from him.
James pulled back.
Eleanor blinked. “James.”
“I cannot,” he said, voice low and strained.
Her hand fell from his cheek. “Cannot what?”
“Allow myself to forget,” he replied. “Even for this.”
Her expression softened with understanding, but hurt flickered beneath it. “I am not asking you to forget.”
“I know,” James said. “That is why this is dangerous.”
He stepped away, forcing distance between them. “I have to finish this.”
Eleanor nodded slowly. “And if it costs you us.”
James did not answer.
He turned and left the room, the door closing behind him with a finality he felt in his bones.
He did not look back.
Because if he did, he feared he would not be able to leave at all.