Chapter 18 A Proposal Most Inconvenient #3
Damien found himself speaking honestly. “Your refusal to be anything other than exactly who you are. It’s… refreshing. In a world full of people performing roles they think others expect, authenticity is remarkably rare.”
Eleanor blinked, clearly taken aback by his sincerity. For a moment, the careful walls she maintained seemed to waver, revealing glimpses of the vulnerable woman beneath the formidable duchess.
“That’s…” she began, then stopped, apparently at a loss for words.
“Unexpected?” Damien suggested gently.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Most men find my authenticity rather more alarming than refreshing.”
“Then you’ve definitely been conversing with the wrong sort of men,” he said with warm conviction.
A charged silence settled between them as the carriage continued its journey. Then, driven by a curiosity he couldn’t quite suppress, Damien found himself asking, “Was there ever anyone? Before your marriage to George, I mean. A young man who appreciated your unusual interests?”
Eleanor’s expression grew suddenly soft, almost wistful, and a smile played at the corners of her mouth in a way that made Damien’s heart twist uncomfortably. “There was someone,” she admitted quietly, her gaze turning to the window with a faraway look that he found distinctly unsettling.
“Tell me about him,” Damien said, though he wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to hear the answer.
“Walter was Father’s assistant.” Eleanor’s voice carried a warmth that made Damien’s attention sharpen.
“He was brilliant—could calculate celestial navigation in his head and had the most beautiful hands when he drew coastlines. He treated my questions as though they were important, never once suggesting I should be embroidering instead of learning about tidal patterns.”
The sweet, reminiscent way she spoke of this Walter fellow sent a surprising spike of jealousy through Damien’s chest. “And what became of this paragon?”
“He received an offer from the Royal Geographic Society to join an expedition mapping the basin. The opportunity of a lifetime.” Eleanor’s smile grew both tender and melancholy.
“I encouraged him to go, of course. How could I not? He was meant for great discoveries, not to be tied down by a provincial cartographer’s daughter. ”
“He left,” Damien said, and he couldn’t quite keep the satisfaction from his voice.
“He left,” Eleanor confirmed, though she didn’t seem to notice his tone. “We exchanged letters for a while, but expedition life… well, it doesn’t allow for romantic attachments. The last I heard, he’d married a colonel’s daughter in Brazil and was establishing his own surveying company.”
Damien found himself irrationally irked by the fond way Eleanor remembered this Walter character. The man had abandoned her for adventure, yet she spoke of him with genuine warmth rather than bitterness. It suggested a generosity of spirit that was both admirable and deeply grating.
The contrast with Laura’s reaction to his own departure struck him forcefully—where Laura had seen his devotion to Dominic as a betrayal of their future together, Eleanor had encouraged Walter’s pursuit of his dreams even at the cost of her own happiness.
Where Laura had demanded he choose between her and his brother, Eleanor had freely released the man she loved to follow his calling.
The realization that Eleanor possessed the very understanding and selflessness that Laura had lacked made his chest tighten with longing for the kind of partnership Eleanor offered.
“You don’t resent him for leaving?” he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.
Eleanor looked at him with mild surprise. “Resent him? Why should I? He chose the path that would define his career, the start of his legacy. I wouldn’t have wanted him to sacrifice his dreams for my sake—that’s not love, it’s selfishness.”
The mature, sensible way she spoke about her first love only further aggravated Damien. This Walter had clearly captured something in Eleanor that she still treasured, a romantic ideal that made Damien feel oddly competitive with a memory.
“How very practical of you,” he managed.
Eleanor tilted her head, studying his face seemingly with growing amusement. “You sound almost disapproving. Would you have preferred that I spend years pining dramatically for what might have been?”
“No,” Damien said quickly, then paused. “A little less tender reflection might have been… less damaging to my male ego.”
Eleanor’s laugh was one of genuine delight. “Are you jealous of a memory, Your Grace?”
“Certainly not,” Damien replied with as much dignity as he could muster. “I simply think this Walter fellow showed remarkably poor judgment in leaving behind such an exceptional woman for the dubious pleasures of mapping mosquito-infested rivers.”
“How gallant of you,” Eleanor said, her eyes dancing with mirth. “Though I should point out that you yourself traveled extensively, albeit for a more dire purpose.”
Damien turned his gaze toward the window as the countryside rolled past. “I never wanted to travel, actually,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a wistful note. Eleanor’s teasing smile faded. “Before Dominic’s troubles began, I had quite different plans for my life.”
“What sort of plans?” she asked softly.
“The tediously conventional sort,” Damien replied with a self-deprecating smile.
“I wanted to settle at Westmore Hall, restore it to its former glory, take my place in Parliament. Marry a suitable woman and fill those empty rooms with children.” His voice grew softer still.
“Lots of children. Enough to make the place feel alive again.”
“You wanted a large family. You didn’t want to be lonely.”
“No,” he admitted, then laughed quietly at himself. “Rather pathetic for a duke to confess such domestic aspirations, isn’t it? I should have been plotting grand political campaigns or continental adventures.”
“It’s not pathetic at all,” she said. Then her face softened. “You still could, you know. Have that family, that life.”
Something flickered in Damien’s chest—hope warring with uncertainty. Was she offering him that future, or merely suggesting he might find it elsewhere? The careful way she’d phrased it left him unsure, and the ambiguity was maddening.
“Could I?” Damien turned to meet her gaze, struggling to keep his voice even. “I’m two and thirty, Eleanor. My estate is in ruins, my brother is missing again, and I’m in a marriage of convenience with a woman who’s made it quite clear she has no interest in a real relationship.”
The words hung between them, loaded with implications neither seemed quite ready to address. They both stared out the window, instead of at each other, and pondered all the things they weren’t saying.
As the carriage swayed gently around another curve, bringing them closer to their destination, Damien wondered if this journey would reveal more uncomfortable truths than just the state of his ancestral estate.