Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
E leanor sighed at the frown on his face.
She expected more of a reaction from him. She had thought he would be angry with her, likely claim she had deceived him.
But he seemed to have had suspicions about their marriage, which saved her from whatever disappointment he might have had.
But still?—
“I have heard your reasons for not telling me, but I do not understand why you had felt the need to withhold the information from me. You were under no obligation to spare my feelings, not if we are as estranged as you say. So why did you not bring it to my attention sooner?” He questioned with a blank expression.
“I thought you were to preoccupied with your situation to lend me any thought. I did not expect that you would have such ideas about us. And as I said, I believed that your memories would have at least begun to return by now.” She replied, clenching her hands into fists on her lap.
Frederick frowned and she sighed deeply, leaning forward.
“You seem confused. And that is why I believe we will need a few rules to coexist peacefully in this house.”
“Rules? How are those supposed to help?” His frown deepened.
“You wished to have your space in order to preserve the lifestyle you had before you left. As much as I did not like that idea initially, it seems as though we must integrate that into our lives for us to learn to dwell together peacefully. You will handle your affairs and I will deal with mine. Separately.” she explained.
Frederick exhaled. “Fine. What are these rules of yours?”
Eleanor listed them out.
“Firstly, never enter my room. If you need something from me, you can send one of the maids to fetch me. Secondly, never show yourself undressed. I do not think I need to explain that one. Lastly, never touch me.”
Frederick tilted his head to the side with a puzzled expression.
“You act as though I have never touched you before.”
The blush in her cheeks spoke up for her when her lips did not and he stared at her.
“That is not possible. Of all the most unlikely scenarios, I find this immensely hard to believe out of them all.” He stated, disbelief etched onto his expression.
“But it is the truth,” she sputtered helplessly, her cheeks a ruddy red color.
“So all of our recent interactions have been a first in our marriage?” he asked and when she nodded, he paused thoughtfully and then said, “Perhaps I should have taken my time to savor each moment, then.”
“Stop… stop saying such things.” Eleanor demanded.
“Why not? We are married. Legally so. I am allowed to express myself to my wife, am I not?”
“Do you accept the rules or not?”
It was clear he was irritated by it. And she was prepared for him to fight her on this idea.
But to her surprise, he conceded.
“I accept your rules, duchess. I will not break any of your rules. But you will.”
Eleanor had expected some form of resistance from Frederick.
After all, the man she had known did not seem like the type of man who would stand for being told what to do. By a woman no less.
But he had respected the boundaries she set and seemed to harbor no desire to get under her skin anymore.
Except he had already begun to dwell there, ever since his arrival. She found herself thinking of the kiss they had shared upon their reunion. How it had seared every nerve in her body, how it made her heart feel as though it was about to explode, how it seemed as though he would swallow her whole.
She thought about it so often, she began to wonder what would have happened if she had not pushed him away. And it was not long before her mind began to fill in the gaps for her.
Eleanor had dreams of those hands that were much bigger than hers exploring her neck. His lips trailed fleeting kisses down the column of her neck. Their shared warmth set her on fire.
She always woke up gasping for breath and yearning for more.
“What on earth is wrong with me?” she wailed one particular afternoon, dismayed as the effects of a particular dream continued to linger in her mind.
Her skin felt itchy, as though only his touch could calm it down and the very notion made her want to smack herself across the face.
“Are you all right, Your Grace?” Miss Martins queried in concern as she walked into Eleanor’s study bearing cookies and a glass of lemonade.
"Ah," Eleanor perked her, her mood greatly improving at the sight of treats. "A woman after my own heart. Thank you, Miss Martins. And please, do not worry about me. I am merely stressed by the thought of Roger's departure."
Her gardener had begrudgingly given her a time frame of when he preferred his break to start, and she had to find someone to take over his duties soon.
While she loved her gardens and was committed above all else, she could hardly manage it all on her own.
“I thought Mr. Bradley had drafted a list of replacement candidates.”
“He did,” Eleanor sighed. “I have them here and they all look well suited for the job but I just can’t seem to focus long enough to develop a preference for any one of them. I would rather he made the choice for me.”
"I'm sure he intended to. He likely felt as though you might want a say since the garden means so much to you." Miss Martins said soothingly.
Eleanor appreciated the older woman’s insight greatly, wishing her own mother listened to her the way her housekeeper did.
Miss Martins had a tendency to know Eleanor’s thoughts before the duchess even did and she always acted accordingly — carrying out decisions that favored Eleanor without fail.
“I appreciate that, I really do. But I also trust his instincts. As well as his ability to make my work easier for me.” Eleanor smiled with an air of finality.
"Well done, Your Grace. I know the last two weeks have not been easy on you, but you are doing your very best and we are all so proud of you. We are also here to lend our support, in whichever way you require it. We do not care what the ton thinks of you. You are and always will be our perfect Duchess of Ironvale.” The housekeeper told her softly with a kind smile.
Tears filled Eleanor’s eyes and she let out a watery laugh.
“Thank you, Miss Martins. I really appreciate your kind words.”
The older woman smiled kindly at her and then a knock at the door broke the soft atmosphere in the study.
Eleanor and she quickly blinked back the tears and sat upright, before calling out.
“Come in.”
Immediately, Mr. Bradley stepped into his room, wide-eyed expression telling her that something was amiss.
“It seems your mother has learned of the Duke’s return, Your Grace. She is currently in the foyer demanding to speak with him.
All the blood drained from Eleanor's face and she quickly rose out of her seat and left her study. Her heart thundered in her chest as he hurried down the corridors, hastily apologizing as she breezed past servants and maids.
Oh God, please no. Please don’t let her anywhere near him ? —
“— am his mother-in-law! I have every right to come and pay my respects upon his return. Let me through, you useless cretin!”
“Mother, enough!” Eleanor snapped as she arrived at the foyer. “Please. I have told you not to come here anymore. Why do you insist on never listening to me?”
Leah frowned at her disapprovingly.
"Come now, Eleanor. I thought we had outgrown this childishness. I do not know the reasons for your tantrums, but surely we can leave them now, hmm? I merely wish to ensure that you and your husband are in good health."
Childishness? Tantrums? In the year that Eleanor had been married, her mother had never once tried to apologize for the underhanded method she utilized in finding a husband for her.
In fact, she felt as though she was owed for achieving such a feat and visited many times in hopes of getting information about Frederick’s absence or convincing Eleanor to throw a grand soiree to show off her wealth and status.
Eleanor had turned her away each time.
"You can write such inquiries to us, Mother. We will do our best to send a response within a fortnight. We appreciate you coming all this way, but next time, don't." Eleanor said quickly, leading her mother to the door.
Her mother, as stubborn as ever, wrenched herself from Eleanor’s grip and stepped back into the foyer, peering down hallways curiously.
"I really must speak to your husband, dear. After being away for so long, you must solidify your rightful place as his duchess. I aim to urge him to get you both started on the task of producing heirs." Leah said, distracted as she continued to search for any sign of the duke.
"Not, mother. Please leave my home, right this instant." Eleanor raised her voice, aghast.
Finally, she seemed to have gotten Leah’s full attention, because the Marchioness turned around to face her daughter.
“I am doing this for you. All I have ever done is for your benefit. Why must you always act so conceited and spoiled in the face of my efforts?” Leah asked lowly.
Eleanor let out a humorless laugh and said coldly.
“I did not ask you for any of this. I have never asked you to do me any favors. Stop thinking of me as a charity case who is always in need and see me as your daughter for once! Just listen —”
“What is going on here?”
Eleanor stiffened at the sound of Frederick’s voice, her heart sinking as her mother’s face lit up.
“Ah, Your Grace! It is so good to see you again —”
"Leave my house at once," Frederick said curtly.
"I… I beg your pardon?" Leah blinked, uncertain that she had heard what she thought she did.
“Why are you still here? I believe I heard the duchess ask you to leave, once before. What gives you the right to believe that you can ignore her wishes? Who do you think you are?” Frederick demanded coolly, his icy glare pinning Leah where she stood.
He reminded Eleanor then of the night they had met. The fierce self-assurance, the fearless way he stood tall, ready to knock down anyone who stood in his way and crush them beneath his feet afterward.
“I’m Eleanor’s?—”
“I did not ask you that so you could respond. Who you are is insignificant, because her title outranks yours greatly. Know your place.”
Leah’s face turned an alarming shade of red and she hung her head in shame
“I am sorry, Your Grace. I will take my leave now.”
Quickly, she turned around and walked out of the house.
Eleanor did not realize that she had not been breathing properly until her mother was out of sight and she inhaled deeply.
Her relief was short lived and regret followed closely afterwards and she found herself unable to look at Frederick properly.
“Are you all?—”
She flinched as he reached for her and stammered an apology as she turned around and hurried away from him.
“Where is the duchess?”
Mr. Bradley paused his task of organizing the estate’s books at the Duke’s request and replied smoothly.
“In the garden, most likely.”
Frederick frowned, peering down at the estate grounds through the window of his study as he asked.
“Does she have some treasure buried beneath her rose bushes, perhaps? Why is she always in the garden?”
"She enjoys gardening. It was the first thing that had piqued her interest after she became a duchess."
“You mean after I abandoned her.” Frederick shrugged as Mr. Bradley winced. “You can say it. I left her here to fend for herself. That na?ve little damsel, all alone at the mercy of the ton that hated and feared me. Even I would take up some sort of vice if had been doomed to fend for myself like that.”
Mr. Bradley sighed deeply, setting down the last ledger in his hand.
"She chose a hobby that allowed her to express herself. The Duchess was phenomenal when it came to her duties as the head of the house in your absence, Your Grace. But she restricted herself to the standards of perfection. She wanted everything to reflect how she had been raised — prim, proper, and perfect. But with her garden, she made mistakes. Many of them. And there she learned it was all right to do so. That the world wouldn't crumble due to one mishap. The earth wouldn't spit reproach at her. And as her handiwork began to thrive and blossom, so did she. Her Grace loves the garden because it served as a space that helped her learn and grow." The butler said.
Interesting. That explained quite a bit about the air of proprietary Eleanor always carried around.
Her standards were perfection and she seemed to have forced herself to fit that mold for a while as well.
And the only time he had seen her ideals appear to have some sort of fault was when he had kissed her, and earlier today, as she had teetered on the verge of practically shoving her mother out of the house.
“You must be really fond of her,” Frederick noted moments later.
"She worked hard to earn my respect. Mine and everyone else's. Regardless of what they think of her, she is one of the kindest souls to ever exist." Mr. Bradley replied easily.
Frederick hummed again and shifted his attention back to the window, a part of him hoping to spot her soon.
There was an uncomfortable itch in his gut as he played this waiting game, biding his time expectantly as he anticipated her inevitable crumble.
He had started to recall some things about himself and one of the first things he learned was that he had never been a very patient person.
If he wanted something or someone, he never hesitated to take it. That was apparently how things had always worked for him.
But with her, he had felt his want threaten to consume him whole, the yearning blazing within his very being.
He wanted to own her, to consume her, to ruin her.
And it was starting to get on his nerves.
“Do her parents visit often?” Frederick asked suddenly, recalling the pained expression on Eleanor’s face as she argued with her mother earlier. He had not heard what the Marchioness told his wife, but the hurt in her eyes told him all he needed to know.
And he had felt overcome with the dangerous notion of ending that woman’s reputation and livelihood.
Perhaps I have always been stiff like she said, Frederick had mused to himself before intervening.
“Just her mother, Your Grace. Persistently, as well. The Duchess has never let her past the foyer but the Marchioness continued to visit every few weeks without an invitation or formal warning. The Duchess is often overwhelmed by the demands her mother often made.” The butler stated.
“Next time, do not let her put five feet of distance between herself and her carriage. The moment she disembarks, have footmen pick her up and toss her into her back into her carriage.”
Mr. Bradley’s lips twitched and he cleared his throat.
“I don’t think the duchess would approve of her mother being… treated harshly. But as you wish, Your Grace.”
“Her lack of willingness to be as unmoving as needed is her problem.” Frederick sniffed, looking annoyed. “She refuses to recognize when something is good for her. That is why she brought this estate back to life, rather than serve as a source of ruin to it. I wasn’t kind to her and instead of making me pay, she protected my home. I do not like having debts over needless actions. And she needs someone with a backbone to look after her.”
He couldn’t help but recall how he had come up for air during his swim a week ago to find her there. There had been dirt on her hands and her dress and her eyes were wide with worry and fear.
The image of her fragility had stayed with him for days, beckoning him to claim and mark.
“And do you intend to be that person for her, Your Grace?”
Just then, the duke spotted the duchess walking about the garden with a basket of flowers in her hand, her hips swaying in a way that should not have been seductive but he still found it difficult to look away from.
“Perhaps,” he mumbled, feeling lightheaded by the sudden rush of desire flooding through him. “I have nothing better to do, anyway.”
He was still focused on the view of his pretty wife walking gracefully through the garden she cherished more than anything, and he missed the knowing look his butler sent him.
“Very well, Your Grace.”