Chapter 26 Tenth Day of Wooing a Wife
Chapter twenty-six
Tenth Day of Wooing a Wife
Eleanor sat in her bedroom as the afternoon light made the gold on her mother's pearl earrings sparkle in her palm.
Luncheon the afternoon past had been perfect. More than perfect. It had been magical in a way she'd never dared hope for. The children had been delighted with the roasted chicken and Christmas pudding and had opened their gifts with genuine joy.
But then Aubrey had stood—painfully, slowly, leaning heavily on both canes—and announced there was one more surprise.
Eleanor had watched in stunned disbelief as Mr Whitby from the village entered the dining room.
The performance of A Christmas Carol had been extraordinary.
The children had been transfixed. Little Susie sitting in Eleanor's lap with her thumb in her mouth, the older boys leaning forward with rapt attention, even the usually sullen Jenny smiling and gasping at the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.
And Aubrey…
Eleanor pressed her hand to her chest, remembering.
She'd watched him listen to Thomas describe his dream of becoming a soldier someday.
Had seen him gravely shake hands with Robert and tell him that David Copperfield in his gift package was chosen to show that there is no easy way or direct way to obtain happiness.
Had witnessed him gently wipe tears from little Emma's face when she'd confessed this was the best Christmas she'd ever had.
He'd been so gentle, so patient. So genuinely interested in each child as though they were the most important people in the world.
The man who had seemed so distant and cold had sat with children who had nothing. Who were nobody to him except that they mattered to her.
And afterward, when the children had finally been bundled into carriages to return to St. Catherine's, when Eleanor had turned to him with tears pooling in her eyes, he'd caught her hands and apologised.
"I should have paid attention," he'd said, his voice rough with emotion.
"To your finances. To how tightly you were managing everything.
Mrs Williams told me you'd given up the puppeteer this year because of the expenses my care created.
Eleanor, if I'd been paying attention, I would have done something about it. "
"You couldn't have known," Eleanor had whispered. "You were injured. Bedridden."
"I was selfish." Aubrey's grip on her hands had tightened.
"I’d even examined your account ledgers, knew how disciplined with your budgeting, but I still failed to notice.
Should have ensured you weren't sacrificing things that mattered because of me.
No more, Eleanor. From now on, I'm paying attention.
To everything. To what you need, what you want, what you're giving up. I swear it."
Eleanor opened her eyes now, staring at the pearl earrings in her palm. He was paying attention. The small sacrifices. The quiet needs. The things she'd stopped even hoping for because hoping hurt too much.
Mrs. Duncan had been right that morning. This wasn't about certainty or guarantees or protecting herself from disappointment.
This was about choosing to be brave.
Choosing to believe that the man who had stood on injured legs to make orphans smile was the real Aubrey. Not the hurt, angry man who had fled from their marriage.
Eleanor carefully fastened her mother's pearls in her ears and looked at herself in the mirror.
In three days, she was supposed to leave for Somerset.
Supposed to.
Eleanor touched one of the pearl earrings gently, thinking of her mother. Of the woman who had worn these every day and told her daughters that love was worth the risk. That family was worth fighting for.
A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts.
"Come in," Eleanor called.
Mr Davies appeared in the doorway of her bedroom, his expression carefully neutral in a way that immediately set her on edge.
"My lady, you have a visitor."
Eleanor looked up from the list of puddings and roasted meats. "A visitor? I wasn't expecting anyone."
"No, my lady." Davies' voice was flat. "Miss Rose Beaumont is in the entrance hall. She is requesting to speak with you. Urgently."
Eleanor felt her stomach plummet.
Rose. Here. At Willowbrook Manor.
"Shall I tell her you are not receiving?" Davies asked, though something in his expression suggested he already knew the answer.
"No." Eleanor stood, her hands trembling as she smoothed her skirts. "No, I'll see her. In the entrance hall. And Davies, ask your wife to attend as well. I want witnesses to whatever is about to be said."
If Davies was surprised by the request, he didn't show it. He simply nodded and withdrew.
Eleanor followed him through the corridors, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had seen Rose after her childbirth to ensure her and the babe’s wellbeing. Even then, she had not mentioned her role in destroying her marriage. Had not looked the least bit apologetic.
The entrance hall was bright with winter sunlight streaming through the tall windows. Rose stood in the centre of the marble floor, her dark cloak shabby but clean, her figure fuller than Eleanor remembered.
She was still pretty. That much hadn't changed. Dark hair, quick eyes, a face that suggested innocence even as Eleanor now knew better.
"Lady Madeley." Rose curtsied a perfect servant's curtsy that somehow felt mocking. "Thank you for seeing me."
"Rose." Eleanor kept her voice cool, distant. Mrs Williams had appeared and stood near her husband, their presence a silent witness. "What brings you to Willowbrook Manor?"
"I haven't received my monthly payment." Rose's tone was apologetic, concerned. "The bank said no funds were deposited this month. I thought perhaps there had been some mistake, or perhaps the solicitors had misplaced the paperwork, so I came to inquire."
"There was no mistake." Eleanor's voice was steady despite the rage building in her chest. "I discontinued the payments."
Rose's expression flickered surprise then calculation. "But my lady, the child needs—"
"How could you?" The words burst from Eleanor before she could stop them.
"How could you betray me like that? I trusted you, Rose.
For eight years, I trusted you. You were my friend.
My dearest friend. And you—" Her voice cracked.
"You courted my betrothed. You lied to him about me.
You destroyed my marriage before it even began. "
Rose's face went pale. "I don't know what you're talking about—"
"Do not lie to me. Not anymore." Eleanor moved closer, her voice dropping to something cold and dangerous. "I know everything. About your courtship with my husband. About the lies you told him—that I threatened you, that I had a lover, that I drove you away. All lies, Rose. Every word."
For a long moment, Rose said nothing. Then something in her expression shifted; the mask of innocence cracking, revealing the venom beneath.
"So, he told you." Rose's voice was different now. Harder. "I wondered if he would. If he'd finally admit what we were to each other."
"What you were?" Eleanor's laugh was bitter. "You were nothing. A fantasy."
"I was the woman he loved!" Rose's composure shattered completely.
"Not you. Never you. You with your title and your estate and your precious respectability.
Do you have any idea what it's like? To be born with nothing?
To serve women less beautiful, less clever, less deserving than yourself simply because they had the good fortune to be born into the right family? "
"So that justifies betrayal?" Eleanor's voice rose despite her efforts to remain calm. "Justifies lying to both of us? Justifies destroying—"
"You had everything!" Rose's face was flushed now, her hands clenched into fists. "Everything handed to you simply because of your birth. And you didn't even appreciate it. Didn't even see what you had. While I scrubbed floors and dressed hair and smiled politely."
"I worked for everything I have," Eleanor said, her voice shaking. "I saved my family's estate when I was twelve years old. I held everything together while my father drank himself into oblivion. Nothing was handed to me, Rose. I earned it."
"By being born into the right family—"
"By refusing to lie and cheat and manipulate to get what I wanted.
" Eleanor's eyes burned. "Your misfortune has nothing to do with your birth, Rose.
It has everything to do with your character.
You're poor because you're cruel. Because you betray the people who trust you.
Because you destroy what you cannot have. "
Rose's face contorted with rage. "At least I didn't get stuck with him. Your precious husband. Your viscount. He was too impotent to bed me."
The words hung in the air like poison.
"He wouldn't bed me before marriage," Rose continued, her voice dripping with venom.
"I got myself with child by another man, thinking I could seduce him into bedding me, claim it was his, force him to marry me.
But he refused to touch me. Said it wouldn't be honourable.
" She laughed bitterly. “Because he loved me.”
Eleanor felt sick. "Get out."
"But you should remember something, Lady Madeley." Rose's smile was cruel now. "He loved me. Only me. Not his betrothed. Not his wife. Me. Whatever he tells you now, whatever lies he speaks to ease his conscience, he loved me. And he could never love you."
"That's not true."
The voice came from above them—deep, strained, but unmistakably Aubrey's.
Eleanor's head snapped up. Aubrey stood at the top of the grand staircase, gripping the banister with white knuckles. Morrison and a footman flanked him, clearly supporting most of his weight, but he was standing. Standing and looking down at Rose with an expression of cold contempt.
"Aubrey, darling." Rose's face had gone white. "You’re injured."