Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
“ T he gardenias are looking quite lovely already.”
Herbert grinned proudly, pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow before putting his straw hat back on his head.
“I am pleased you think so, Your Grace. Thankfully, Mr. Trew had done a tremendous amount of work already, so it was quite easy to pick up where he left off. And your love for your garden is reflected in how healthy the soil is – everything sown seems to easily flourish.” He responded with a smile.
Eleanor found herself smiling back proudly, before turning to survey the progress of her blooming flowers.
"I have given it a lot of myself," she heard herself admit gently. "And so I am glad that the land here understands the sacrifices I have made for it to thrive as easily as it seems to. Lord knows it wasn't easy at first."
“Well, it seems all your efforts have paid off,” Herbert nodded, glancing around. “Do not worry, Your Grace. I might not be as talented as your former gardener – his are some pretty big shoes to fill – but you have my word that the utmost care shall be provided to your garden and its blossoms.”
“I am grateful, Herbert. Really.” She smiled kindly at him, reaching out to run her fingertips over the petal of a rose.
“Might I ask a question, Your Grace?”
Eleanor stood straighter and nodded. “Certainly. Go ahead.”
“Does the duke not care much for the garden? Even if he has no interest in getting his hands dirty – which I do not expect him to – I thought he would at least enjoy taking walks. I haven’t seen him taking a stroll on these grounds since my arrival. And the garden is arguably the most beautiful part of the estate.”
At the mention of her husband, Eleanor felt all the shields she had put in place to keep her from thinking of him crumble.
It had been two days since their little… tryst in the library. And Eleanor still did not know what to make of it.
Frederick seemed to think nothing of it, that much was clear by how causally he addressed her, while she couldn't help but ponder on what it had meant. Eleanor had woken up in her own bed the following morning, still feeling deliciously sated. There had been a mildly embarrassing moment when her maid had informed her that some of the other maids had found her dressing gown in the library.
Other than that, her mind couldn't help but wonder how much further they could go, how hotter his hands could be, and how much deeper his kisses could feel.
It felt as though she had opened a door she couldn’t shut and now she was rendered a slave to those thoughts, unable to keep herself from craving much more than she had been shown.
And it upset Eleanor greatly, to desire the man who had deserted her without much thought previously and was constantly undermining her authority.
"He isn't particularly fond of admiring scenery. The duke prefers to do a lot of his work indoors and he does have quite a number of duties to attend to. Thus, he barely has any chance to take a stroll. He just prefers the comfort the walls of our home provide him," Eleanor tried to cover for Frederick, hoping her excuses made sense.
In as much as she still found him irritating, whoever posed a danger to him might inevitably end up changing targets and affecting his household – and her by extension.
"I see," Herbert hummed thoughtfully. "Still, I would have liked to meet him and pay my due respects. And I find it strange that His Grace would not indulge his wife's hobbies. Especially when you have committed a lot of effort and resources to it."
"It is not in your place to pass such judgment, Herbert," Eleanor stated, tone cold. "My husband does enough to indulge my interests. He does not need to prance around the grounds to take in the sights to make my work feel appreciated. Neither does his actions – or lack thereof – concern you."
Herbert nodded quickly with an apologetic expression.
“I am sorry, Your Grace. I did not mean to overstep. I see how much you do, every day, I merely wanted your good work to be thoroughly appreciated.” He said.
"I am not a child, Herbert. I do not require menial validation in order to feel proud of the work I do. This garden means a lot to me, regardless of whether or not others are as captivated by it as I am." Eleanor frowned, dusting the dirt off her hands.
But even as she said that a part of her felt slightly disappointed by the fact that Herbert had been right. Although it seemed that Frederick did seem to be interested in some of her affairs sometimes, others brought across the point that perhaps nothing had changed still, even with their year apart. He had not raised any questions about the one thing she clearly treasured above all else in the estate, despite seeing how committed she was to its upkeep.
He has more pressing matters to focus on , she reminded herself quietly, but that did little to ease the disappointment she felt.
Times like these made Eleanor wish he had not returned home. Then she would not need to expect anything from him and her husband would be a mere distant memory.
“I apologize, Your Grace,” Herbert told her earnestly once more. “I can see that I forgot my place for a moment and upset you. It will not happen again.”
"I hope not," Eleanor said curtly, fighting a shiver as the memory of her husband's hands holding her legs open for him flashed through her mind without warning. "I-I need some flowers for the dining hall. Cut up some pretty roses and send them to the housekeeper later."
“As you wish,” Herbert bowed as Eleanor turned away.
She pressed her hands to her cheeks as she walked away, praying the day would bring more peace than she had received so far.
“Bidding my time as I wait for my memories to return is not as conducive an idea as I thought,” Frederick huffed in annoyance.
Christopher tilted his head slightly to the side.
“But it is the safest idea, Your Grace? We do not wish to ruffle too many feathers as we investigate. That might just lead your attacker right to your doorstep.” The valet pointed out.
“Still, doing nothing feels more frustrating than stirring up trouble. I would much rather approach certain individuals with suspicion and hand out accusations than waste away, waiting for memories that seem to be as stubborn as I am.”
To be fair, Frederick's memories were returning, but the progress felt like a trickle, a slow arrival of the pieces of himself he had lost. He had remembered basic things – his manners, a handful of his likes and dislikes, and a little bit of his personality.
Nothing tangible, nothing that could tell him why he had been saddled with this affliction in the first place. And it was gnawing at his nerves, being unable to obtain the answers to what mattered the most.
"Caution is to be exercised, Your Grace. We do not know who would dare attempt to harm you in such a way. It would be safe to assume that they have no fears and likely would not hesitate to hurt you again if presented with the opportunity." Christopher patiently stated.
“Damn it,” Frederick cursed, not liking that the man was right. “I still need to do something – anything to keep myself from losing what is left of my senses. What did I do? Before this unfortunate incident. What sort of activities did my life consist of?”
“Well –” Christopher cleared his throat, looking as though he had once again found himself at the end of a disconcerting line of questioning. “You lived a very… active life, Your Grace.”
“I am not asking for empty flattery. I need to know what our next course of action should be. Give me a tangible answer, Christopher.” Frederick snapped impatiently, satisfied when the man immediately straighter his posture.
“Truthfully, you were rather involved in all sorts of dangerous activities. Between your excursions to pubs and clubs, you engaged in duels quite frequently as well. And none of those are paths you need to embark on currently.” Christopher said, his eyes alight with fear.
"Did I do nothing else? Aside from making trouble, it seems." Frederick raised an eyebrow.
Christopher paused and then replied, “You worked, Your Grace. In between your rather eccentric activities, you were committed to running your business. And you did handle it, quite well.”
The thought that his life didn’t only consist of ruin and consumption eased some tension in his chest.
“Then that is an ideal point to look into. Find more information about what my business dealings have consisted of. Who my partners and investors might have been. Anything you can find at all. We need to see if my enemies might have spun from a deal gone wrong or anything of the sort.” Frederick instructed.
Christopher nodded. “I will do just that, Your Grace.”
As the valet took his leave, he passed by a wall that had a portrait of who Frederick had been informed was his father, hanging high up on it. The first time he had laid his eyes on it, the depiction of the former duke had filled him with an immense rush of displeasure.
And now, he found his eyes drifting up to it, expecting the usual crawl of dislike up his spine.
But he hadn’t expected it to come bearing some added weight, taken off guard by the sudden barrage of images and voices filtering into his head.
It only took him a moment to identify what they were – memories.
Memories of his past, instances, and situations surrounding the person in that portrait.
Frederick saw his father for the atrocious individual he was, the selfish man who lived only for himself, abandoning his wife to a lonely existence until she fell ill and eventually died. As for Frederick, he only held his father's attention when the old duke was intent on teaching his son about his responsibilities and the eventual duties his title would hold.
It was potent and thick, the hate he had for his father and the choices he had made that had greatly affected the livelihoods of those he was meant to care for. So much so that Frederick –
“ I swear it to you ,” he had grumbled, standing over his father’s grave. “ This precious line and legacy you had put above all else will end with me. I shall never marry, never sire an heir. You poisoned my life with your greed and selfish actions and I will make you grit your teeth in rage as I waste away all that you have worked for. You have my word .”
A blinding headache ended the scene abruptly and Frederick groaned, clutching the side of his head as more missing pieces seemed to fit themselves into his mind.
So that was what had molded his resolve against marriage. Suddenly it did make a lot of sense; why he had married a woman as alluring as Eleanor but had no qualms about leaving her behind to maintain his lifestyle before their paths had crossed.
After he had gotten a taste of her in the library, she was all he could think of. His dreams were haunted by her gasps, his hands could clearly recall the feel of her skin beneath his touch and his scalp yearned for her fingers to curl into his hair again.
And he had felt disappointed in himself, confused as to why a man such as himself who knew how to appreciate beauty would obtain a remarkable one and leave her behind without a thought.
The scandal that brought them together aside, he did not seem like one to waste a good opportunity.
As the headache dissipated, Frederick found himself in need of a place to sit and gather his thoughts. He made his way to his study, the fresh memories rattling in his brain giving the walls and halls around him a different look.
Oh, how he abhorred this place. After his father had passed, he had preferred to dwell in his townhouse in London. There were far too many unsavory events that had taken place here for him to willfully stay.
That was one of the reasons why he had left Eleanor here, so she and the other parts of his life that he disliked could be forgotten.
An image of Eleanor smiling in his garden crossed his mind and he sighed.
Oh, what a mess this was.
He made his way to his liquor cabinet as soon as he entered his study and poured himself a glass of whiskey, downing the contents in a single gulp. He poured another glass, drank half of it, and then refilled it again, this time choosing to nurse the glass as he settled into the chair behind his desk.
What was he to do now? Surely his plan hadn’t been to ignore Eleanor for the entirety of their marriage. And now that he had heard what sounds she made in pleasure, he was unsure if he could.
But he did not need a wife. Never had, never will – that hadn't changed.
So what would he make of this messy situation?
A knock at his door pulled him out of his thoughts and he grunted, somewhat unsurprised to see Eleanor walk in.
“I was informed that you hadn’t eaten anything all day.” She said, standing before his desk. “I would not recommend you make a habit of that, lest you drive the staff to tears with worry. The cook works so hard –”
“I did not feel like it. I will eat when I’m ready.” He told her curtly.
Eleanor frowned, and then she sighed softly. "That is well and good, but perhaps you shouldn't drink spirits on an empty stomach? Shall I arrange for some lemonade to be brought to you instead? Some fruits, perhaps?"
“Since when did you care about my well-being? Were you not the one who keenly informed me that our marriage was nothing more than a sham?”
Her cheeks turned pink and she folded her arms.
"The well-being of everyone on these grounds has fallen to me to upkeep. It has been that way for a year and your current presence falls under that rule, regardless of our marriage and its irregular way of being. That is just what it is. I understand that you are quite focused on your current predicament, but this is no way to recover." She stated firmly.
He snorted and took a drink from his glass silently.
She seemed to notice he was acting odd, so she shed her abrasive aura and asked in a tone gentler than he expected.
“Is something wrong? You seem unlike yourself – even more so than usual.”
He paused, then emptied his glass. As he set it down on the table, he raised his eyes to meet hers.
“It would seem I am doing something right about your recovery methods. Seeing as some of my memories have returned.”