Chapter 7 Steven Kedleston
Chapter seven
Steven Kedleston
Eleanor was reviewing household accounts in the morning room when Mr Davies announced a visitor.
"Mr Steven Kedleston, my lady."
She looked up in surprise, then pleasure. "Steven? Show him in at once."
Steven entered with his characteristic easy grace—tall, fair-haired, with the kind of pleasant, open face that inspired instant trust. Their families had been closest friends since their childhood, spending holidays and summers together, their nurseries practically shared.
"Ellie." He crossed the room and took both her hands in his, studying her face with concern. "You look exhausted."
"How gallant of you to say so." But Eleanor smiled, genuinely pleased to see him. "What brings you to Willowbrook? I thought you were in London until Christmas."
"I was. But Mother sent an urgent summons in London.
Apparently, she's arranged for me to meet no fewer than three eligible young ladies over the next fortnight.
" Steven grimaced. "The Haversham girl, Lady Cecilia Worthing, and some niece of the Duke of Avon.
I'm fleeing to the family estate for sanctuary. "
"And stopped here on your way?" Eleanor gestured for him to sit. "Tea?"
"Please." Steven settled into the chair across from her, his expression growing more serious. "Actually, I came specifically to see you. I heard... that is, there are rumours about your husband."
Eleanor's hands stilled on the teapot. "What sort of rumours?"
"That he was injured. Thrown from his horse in Hyde Park several days ago. Some are saying it was quite serious." Steven leaned forward. "Ellie, is it true?"
She poured the tea with careful precision, buying herself time. "Yes. It is true."
"Is he all right?"
"He will recover. Eventually." Eleanor handed Steven his cup. "Severe bruising. Nothing broken, but... he requires nursing care. Constant attention."
Steven's eyebrows rose. "And where is he convalescing? Not his townhouse, surely?"
"Here." The word came out flat. "His parents brought him here three days ago. He is upstairs."
The silence that followed was profound.
"He is here," Steven repeated slowly. "The husband who has not set foot in this house for two years.
Who has publicly ignored you at every social function.
Who left you alone to face the pity and gossip of the entire county.
" His voice was rising. "That husband is now residing under your roof, requiring your care? "
"Yes."
"And you agreed to this?"
Eleanor met his eyes steadily. "I had little choice. He is my husband, Steven. In the eyes of the law, the church, society. I could not turn him away."
"You could have." Steven set down his cup with more force than necessary. "You should have. Let his parents tend him, or hire nurses, or—"
"His parents have washed their hands of him until we... sort ourselves out." Eleanor sighed deeply. "So here we are. Playing at being husband and wife for the first time in our marriage."
Steven studied her face, his expression troubled. "How are you bearing it? Truly?"
"I am managing." Eleanor took a sip of tea to avoid his eyes. "It is only temporary. After Christmas, he will return to London, and I..." she looked down at her hands, "I am leaving for St. Catherine's Orphanage on the twenty-sixth. I have accepted a position there."
"Leaving?" Steven sat forward. "Permanently?"
"Yes."
"Ellie, you cannot… Why? Because of your marriage?"
"Partly." Eleanor set down her cup. "Miss Penny is gravely ill and needs someone to take charge. At least at St. Catherine's, I can be useful. I can be surrounded by children, even if they are not my own."
Steven was quiet for a moment. Then: "I am sorry about Miss Penny. I know you are very fond of her, but you are much too young to be giving up on your future.”
“What future?”
“You could divorce him."
Eleanor stared at him. "Do not be absurd."
"I am perfectly serious." Steven's voice was calm, measured. "I know it would be difficult and the scandal considerable, but you have grounds—non-consummation, abandonment, surely. Cruelty, even, if one counts public humiliation."
"You know it’s nearly impossible to obtain a divorce, and even if I could, I dread how much time, energy, and money would be wasted."
"Marry me instead."
The words hung in the air between them.
Eleanor laughed. A shocked, incredulous sound. "You are joking."
"I am not." Steven's face was entirely serious. "You should have married me, Ellie. We both know it."
"We..." Eleanor shook her head, completely at a loss. "We have known each other since we were children. We are friends. I could never see you as… We are practically siblings!"
"I know." Steven's smile was sad. "You have never looked at me that way. And I have always known it. But Ellie, I could have made you happy. Or at least, happier than this." He gestured vaguely at the house, at the situation.
"No." Eleanor stood abruptly, moving to the window. "I am done with marriage, Steven. Done with men. I cannot have children of my own since my husband doesn’t want me—that much is clear—but I can be surrounded by them at St. Catherine's. I can make a difference in their lives. That is enough."
"Is it truly enough, Ellie? To give up entirely on your own happiness?" Steven's voice was gentle.
Eleanor pressed her forehead against the cold glass. "I… I still want to remain his wife."
Steven sighed. "He does not deserve your devotion. I am going upstairs to give him a piece of my mind—"
"You will do no such thing." Eleanor turned, her voice sharp. "Steven, I forbid it. Whatever lies between my husband and me is not your concern."
"You are my concern. You have always been my concern." Steven's hands clenched into fists. "To see you like this—exhausted, worn down, nursing a man who has treated you abominably—"
"It’s my choice," Eleanor finished. "My duty. My marriage, however broken it may be." She softened her tone. "I appreciate your concern, Steven. Truly. But you cannot fight this battle for me."
Steven looked like he wanted to argue, but something in her expression stopped him. He took a breath, visibly forcing himself to calm.
"Very well. But I am not leaving you to spend the evening serving the man." His tone became determinedly cheerful. "Come to dinner tonight. Julie and Sarah would love to see you, and Cook is making that roasted duck you love. A few hours away from this... situation... would do you good."
Eleanor hesitated. "I would need to return by midnight."
"I will make certain of it."
The offer was too tempting to refuse. A few hours away from this house, from the constant tension, from the suffocating silence. A few hours to pretend she was simply Eleanor, dining with old friends, maybe even laughing.
"Yes," she said finally. "Yes, thank you. I would like that very much."
Steven's smile brightened. "Excellent. I shall expect you by eight."
After he left, Eleanor stood in the morning room gathering her courage, then climbed the stairs to Aubrey's bedroom.
He was awake, propped against pillows, staring at nothing. He turned his head when she entered, his expression wary.
"I came to inform you that I shall be out this evening," Eleanor said, keeping her tone professional. "I’m dining with the Kedleston family. But I shall return before midnight."
Aubrey's expression darkened. "The Kedleston family."
"Yes. Our neighbours. I mean your neighbours, but I have known them since childhood."
"Steven Kedleston." His voice had dipped lower.
"Yes."
"The unmarried Steven Kedleston."
Eleanor blinked. "I... yes, he is unmarried. What of it?"
"You are dining at a bachelor's home. Alone." Aubrey's voice was tight. "That is hardly appropriate for a married woman."
For a moment, Eleanor could only stare at him. Then she laughed—a sharp, incredulous sound.
"I beg your pardon?" Her voice shook with something between fury and disbelief. "You—you, who have lived in London and have attended every party and ball and dinner without a thought to your wife, you are concerned about my propriety?"
"That is different."
"How? How is it different?" Eleanor moved closer to the bed, her hands clenched at her sides. "You have lived as though I do not exist. Dining with whomever you please, wherever you please. And I am quite certain those dinners included women, even while you were pining for your lost love."
Aubrey's face hardened. "Yes, but none of those women were my lovers."
His statement shocked her into silence. "I beg your pardon?" she asked finally.
His gaze met hers directly. "Steven Kedleston. There has been a rumour that you two have been lovers for a long time. Are you still carrying on?"
She opened her mouth then closed it again. "Who? Who is spreading these ridiculous claims? We have never…" Eleanor shook her head. “We have never acted improperly. There has never been any romantic notion on my part.”
“You would say that. Even if that was true, I’m sure he feels differently.”
She schooled her features into a hard line.
"I fail to see how that is any of your business anyway.
" Eleanor's voice had risen despite her best efforts. "Steven Kedleston is a decent man which I cannot say the same for you. He’s been my dearest friend since I was six years old. That’s all you need to know. "
Aubrey's eyes narrowed. "Does he harbour romantic feelings for you?"
"What Steven Kedleston feels or does not feel is irrelevant. I have never betrayed my vows, never—" She stopped, breathing hard. "Unlike some people in this marriage."
“Nevertheless—”
"Nevertheless nothing." Eleanor’s fingers dug into her skirts. "You have no right—none whatsoever—to comment on my behaviour. Not after what you have put me through."
A vein pulsed at his temple. "I am still your husband."
"Yes. You are." Eleanor's voice dropped, becoming dangerously quiet. "A fact you have conveniently remembered only now that you require my care. How fortunate for you."
They glared at each other in tense silence.
Then Aubrey looked away first. "You are right," he said, his voice hoarse. "I have no right to comment on your behaviour. I apologise."
The apology shocked Eleanor into silence. She studied his face—the tension in his jaw, the way his lips were pressed into a thin line.
"You seem quite recovered if you have the energy to concern yourself with my propriety," she observed.
Aubrey's eyes snapped back to her face. "I am in considerable pain, I assure you."
"Perhaps you are delirious then. Hallucinating. I should reduce your laudanum dose."
"You will do no such thing—" He stopped, seeing the glint in her eyes. "You are joking."
"Perhaps." Eleanor moved to the bedside table and checked the laudanum bottle with exaggerated care. "Or perhaps I am quite serious. It can be difficult to tell with wives who have been ignored during the entirety of their marriage. We develop dark senses of humour."
"Eleanor—"
"Lady Madeley," she corrected.
"Lady Madeley." Aubrey's voice was quieter. "I repeat... you are right. I have no grounds to object to your dinner plans. I was... out of line."
"Yes," Eleanor agreed. "You were."
"And you should not reduce the laudanum."
Eleanor suppressed the urge to smile. "No?"
She moved toward the door, then paused. "I shall return before midnight. Try not to work yourself into an apoplexy over my shocking impropriety in the interim."
"I shall endeavour to control myself," Aubrey said, and there was something that might have been amusement in his voice.
Eleanor left before she could examine that too closely.
As she descended the stairs, she realised her heart was beating faster than usual. And that for the first time in three days, their interaction had felt almost... normal.
Almost like a conversation between two people who didn’t resent each other.
She did not know what to make of that.