Chapter 3
Eleanor woke before the house did, as it had taken until the sun had begun to rise for sleep to come to her, only for it to soon escape her again.
The unfamiliar room she had been given at Ashbourne House felt too large for a single night’s rest and too empty for anything resembling comfort. She lay still for a moment, listening to the silence press against the walls, before the awareness of what day it was settled fully into her chest.
Her wedding day had arrived.
The thought arrived with a slow heaviness that made everything else feel slightly out of reach. She turned her head toward the pale light drifting through the curtains and tried to recall whether she had ever truly imagined this moment for herself. If she had, it was not the way it had happened.
When she finally rose, she moved quietly through the ritual of preparing herself, though there was little comfort in the actions.
Her hair was arranged into gentle chestnut brown waves, and she wished it was in fashion for them to remain as such rather than the carefully pinned style that she would have later that day.
Her pale morning gown felt unfamiliar against her skin, and she assumed that that was because it was far more luxurious than anything else she owned herself. She wondered if it was simply her future husband trying to impress her, or if it was a sign of how her life was to be.
By the time she was dressed, the house had begun to awaken. Servants moved beyond her door carefully, as though they did not wish to disturb her. Eleanor expected someone to come looking for her to assist her, but nobody did, and she was grateful for that.
There would be little time for her to spend alone that day, and she wished to take advantage of the small moments that she would have.
Eventually, Eleanor knew that it was time to at least leave her room, and so she stepped out into the corridor, her fingers brushing the wall as she moved, as she needed something solid to anchor her thoughts.
She told herself she was only looking for air, but she did not walk toward the front entrance. Instead, the library appeared at the end of a corridor lined with tall windows. Light filtered across the floor in long pale strips, illuminating dust motes that drifted in the air.
The room felt removed from the rest of the estate, which was precisely what she was in search of. Eleanor stepped inside without hesitation, closing the door softly behind her.
Shelves lined the walls in ordered rows, filled with books that she would have read in other circumstances.
She moved slowly between them, her fingertips hovering near the spines without quite touching them.
She had not gone to read, rather to find something to pull her away from the fact that her life was about to change, and she had had no say in it.
That was when she saw a servant.
He stood among the shelves with an ease that did not match the stiffness of the household around her, and dressed far more simply than she had come to expect from anyone within the estate.
There was nothing immediately remarkable about him, and yet there was something that made her pause all the same.
Eleanor hesitated, then stepped forward to greet him. He seemed rather eccentric, but she was to be the duchess starting that day, and it was better that she was acquainted with them all.
Then again, what if she did not have to?
She could leave, she supposed, and escape to the country. It would be a different life, a difficult one where she would have to work rather than enjoying the finer things in life, but then at least she would not have to marry someone thrice her age, as she heard the Duke of Ashbourne was.
The idea came to her in an instant, and in spite of her better judgment, she reasoned that it was her last hope. If she wished to better her life, she had to do something drastic.
She had to get away.
“I need your help,” she said.
The words came out more directly than she intended.
There was no polite introduction, and under other circumstances she might have felt bad about that.
The man turned toward her slowly, his attention settling on her.
He did not say anything, only studied her, and Eleanor realized that he was waiting for an explanation.
“I do not belong here,” she said. “I am here against my will, and I need to leave before the ceremony begins. I do not know where I would go, of course, but I cannot remain in a place where everything has already been decided for me without my voice being part of it. I…Well, if nobody cares to listen to what I think, then I might as well not be here at all.”
He listened without interrupting. There was no shock in his expression, nor an immediate refusal, only a measured quiet that made her question whether she had made a mistake in speaking at all.
Still, he did not dismiss her. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, as though considering the structure of her request rather than its emotional weight.
“Do you honestly believe leaving will solve everything?” he asked.
The question was not unkind, but it landed heavily all the same. Eleanor hesitated, her hands flexing briefly at her sides. She did not have a better answer, only the certainty that staying felt impossible, but even then there was so much risk that she would not survive alone.
“It will at least give me a choice,” she said with a heavy sigh.
Something flickered in his eyes then, too subtle to name properly. He did not argue further. Instead, he turned and motioned for her to follow, leading her through a narrower passage that branched off from the library’s main structure.
The corridor beyond was older, less maintained, as though it had been forgotten by the rest of the estate. Eleanor followed, for though she had only just met the man, there was something about him that she trusted.
The air grew cooler as they moved. At the end of the passage stood a small door. He stopped there, studying it briefly before turning back to her.
“Here is a way out,” he said. “You need only open this door, and then there is a path nearby that leads beyond the main grounds.”
Eleanor looked at the door as though it was her final chance, and for a moment, hope rose in her chest. It was absurd that escape could look like this, and part of her willed herself to turn back and accept her fate, but she found herself stepping forward anyway.
She hesitated only briefly before pushing it open, and the cold air met her immediately.
The estate grounds stretched beyond, damp with early morning mist. She stepped through carefully, her breath catching slightly at how quiet and still it all was.
For a moment, she almost believed that she was going to leave.
Then a voice carried across the distance, her father calling her name.
It cut through the air, and Eleanor froze instantly.
The man beside her did not move to stop her, nor did he intervene as she turned toward the sound.
She could see him in the distance, and the illusion of choice collapsed quickly after that.
Her father reached her within moments, his jaw set and his brow furrowed. There was no discussion, only a firm grip on her arm and words spoken low enough that only she could hear.
“If you have half a mind, you will do what is expected of you,” he said in a quiet voice. “If you would prefer a life on the street, then by all means go, but secure my future first, before you go ruining your own.”
Eleanor did not struggle. She had learned long ago that resistance had no effect on the outcome; it only put it off. The man from the library remained where he was, watching without interference. She did not look at him again.
Preparations resumed around her as though nothing had happened, and Eleanor moved through it all with as much composure as she could muster.
By the time she was alone again, she had begun to wish that she was not.
Everything was too quiet, and it meant that she had nothing to distract her.
Fortunately, it was then that Bessie entered.
“I heard about before,” Bessie said softly, closing the door behind her.
Eleanor did not respond immediately. She stood by the window instead, watching the faint movement of the gardens below.
“There was nothing to hear,” she said finally. “There could have been, but…”
Bessie hesitated, then moved closer.
“You do not have to do this alone, you know. I will be with you.”
Eleanor did not know what to say to that. She liked Bessie a good deal, and that was the complication. It made it harder to dismiss her words entirely, even though she knew that in truth she was, indeed, alone in her predicament.
“It will take time,” she continued, “but you will find a way through it. You may even find that you enjoy your new life.”
“You are even more of a dreamer than I am.”
“Perhaps, but you cannot see the future any more than I can. Either one of us could be right, and if you ask me, it is better that we follow my beliefs.”
Eleanor listened and tried to see things the way her lady’s maid did. She had once believed similar things, but she no longer did. It was difficult to do so in circumstances such as hers.
When Bessie left, Eleanor remained by the window for a long time, though she was no longer looking at anything in particular outside. Eventually, she crossed to her belongings and began to prepare herself again, not because she felt ready, but because there was no other way to delay.
Suddenly, she remembered the rugged man in the library, and the way he had moved to do as she asked without questioning her.
She wondered if it was because he already saw her as someone to take instruction from, but then that did not make sense either; if he knew she was to be the duchess, why would he help her escape?
He was only risking himself in doing so.