Chapter 5
Alexander had not meant to watch his wife and her maid out in the garden, but he could not help himself.
There was no denying that she was a beautiful young lady, and when she was around nature, there was a serenity in her that he scarcely saw in a person.
It was a far lovelier sight than the one in his study, where the papers remained aligned in precise stacks on the desk, and the ink sat dried in the well from the night before.
He stood by the window for a time without moving, watching as she breathed life into a part of his estate that he was convinced died long before.
Ashbourne Manor had always been quiet, but it had not always felt empty. There had once been the sound of his father’s voice carrying through corridors, and his expectations that were so difficult to reach that he never allowed the house to truly settle.
Now there was only stillness, as though the estate had finally accepted that nothing new would ever replace what had been lost.
Alexander moved at last, fastening his cuff. His attention drifted toward the desk, but it was not enough to keep him distracted. Outside, the gardens stretched beneath a bright blue sky, though it did nothing to improve the sorry state that the grounds were in.
Eleanor stood near one of the older flowerbeds, the ones that had long since fallen into neglect, where stone edges had cracked, and weeds had claimed more space than anything deliberately planted.
She was crouched slightly as she worked, her sleeves pushed back with no concern for propriety, and her gloves already marked with soil that clung stubbornly to the fabric.
Her hair had loosened, strands falling forward as she bent over the earth, and there was a faint smudge of dirt along one cheek that she did not seem to notice at all.
There was something almost absurd about the sight, and yet Alexander found himself watching longer than he intended, caught by the steadiness of her attention as she gently separated roots and cleared away broken stems with a care that he rarely saw.
Her maid, Bessie, stood nearby with a basket of tools, shifting her weight as she watched on. She clearly understood that she was not to interfere with what was taking place, and Alexander wondered how long it had taken for them to agree that Eleanor would be the one to do the actual work.
He thought he should have minded seeing his wife doing labor, but she did not seem displeased about it. On the contrary, she was entirely at ease as she carefully picked her way through it.
At one point, Eleanor said something that made Bessie exhale and fold her arms, but there was fondness beneath it rather than frustration.
Eleanor did not stop what she was doing, instead brushing a strand of hair from her face with the back of her wrist and continuing as though the garden was the only thing that existed.
A laugh followed a moment later, carrying faintly through the open air and up to his window.
It was not a sound that belonged to the house; it did not match its weight or its history.
It belonged somewhere lighter, somewhere that had not yet been ruined.
Alexander felt it land more sharply than it should have, although it was quite a beautiful thing to hear.
He told himself, immediately and without hesitation, that it meant nothing.
It was inappropriate, perhaps even careless, to find amusement in tending to a ruin. The gardens were not meant to be revived by someone who barely understood the history of what had been lost there, and yet she moved through them as though she did not accept that they were beyond repair.
Eleanor leaned forward again, examining a plant that had been half-consumed by weeds. Alexander’s hand tightened slightly against the edge of the window frame before he realized it had moved at all.
He watched as she straightened, brushing soil from her fingers even though she must have known that there would be no removing it entirely.
There was a streak of earth along her sleeve now as well, and she looked, for all practical purposes, entirely out of place in a way that should have bothered him more than it did.
It did bother him, of course, just not in the way it should have, for she was not the sort of woman that she was supposed to be.
She should have been distant, careful, a woman newly bound into a household that demanded restraint and awareness of every movement she made. Instead, she looked as though she had always belonged there, as though the ruined garden had been waiting specifically for her attention.
He stepped back from the window, turning away as though the act itself could sever whatever was drawing him to her. The room felt colder again as soon as he did, or perhaps it had not changed at all, and he had simply become aware of how warm the outside was.
Alexander drew in a steady breath and accepted that he would not get anything done at that time.
Breakfast would be served shortly, and whatever had passed through his mind in the last few minutes was irrelevant. It had been a momentary distraction, nothing more than that.
And yet, as he left the room, the image of her laughing and covered in dirt remained with an irritating persistence he could not quite explain.
Breakfast was already underway when Eleanor entered the dining room, the long table set with the same precise order as it always was.
Alexander was already seated when she arrived, having taken his place without ceremony, and he glanced up briefly as she entered before returning his attention to his cup, as though acknowledging her presence required nothing more than that measured moment of recognition.
It was how he greeted her every morning, and she never seemed to take issue with it until then. Then again, she did not seem annoyed by it at all. She simply smiled and ensured that he looked at her again, which of course he did.
“Good morning,” Eleanor said as she seated herself.
“Good morning,” he replied.
A servant moved along the length of the table, pouring tea and placing dishes, the soft clink of porcelain and silver filling the spaces between words rather than interrupting any true silence that might have otherwise settled.
Eleanor adjusted her napkin and studied him across the table for a moment before speaking again.
“Do you always take your breakfast in such silence?”
Alexander did not look up immediately as he answered.
“I have never had reason not to do so.”
“That sounds terribly efficient,” she said lightly, watching him closely as she spoke.
“It is a nice way to spend a morning,” he explained. “Once my day truly begins, I do not know when I will next have peace.”
“Then I suppose I ought to adjust my expectations accordingly.”
“You need not do so,” he said. “I have certain things that I would like you to adhere to, but I do not intend to tell you what you can and cannot do. If you wish to speak, then you are more than welcome to do so.”
Eleanor tilted her head slightly as she studied him, thoughtful rather than confrontational.
“Very well, but you are to tell me if you need your morning.”
His gaze lifted briefly at that, though he did not answer immediately, and the pause that followed stretched just long enough to feel deliberate before he shifted the conversation.
“I see you have tidied yourself up.”
“Oh!” she gasped, her cheeks turning pink. “Yes, I…Well, I thought it might be a good idea to help with the garden. My father told me that you would have a man to do it, but…”
Alexander had hoped to have a wife who would not ask about the gardens, but of course he had had no such luck.
“I did have a gardener,” he explained, “but he passed away not long after my father did. Even then, he had been working here for years, and in truth he was too old to continue, so it was all going to ruin, but my father insisted on keeping him.”
It was the only good-natured act he had ever witnessed his father do, and it had remained with Alexander ever since.
“Did you not find someone else?” she asked carefully.
“I did not feel a need to, as I scarcely go out into the gardens, but if you would like me to—”
“That will not be necessary. I enjoy the work. Besides, it was one of the conditions I gave my father if I were to marry you. I must continue with my botany. I refuse to give it up.”
A faint silence settled between them. Alexander had not heard a thing about her being interested in plants, but then, given that her father had eagerly married her off without even knowing that she was to marry him instead of his father, he doubted very much that he cared for what his daughter wanted.
Eleanor’s attention then drifted toward the sideboard as she reached for her tea, and it was then that she noticed the small case placed there containing his military medals, which caught the morning light in muted flashes of gold and steel.
He hoped that she would not say a word about them. He needed her not to.
“Are those yours?” she asked.
He stifled a sigh.
“Yes,” he said.
“There are quite a few,” she said after a brief pause.
“They were awarded to me during the war,” he replied.
The air shifted subtly at the mention, though neither of them acknowledged it directly, and Eleanor remained gentle as her curiosity deepened. Alexander wanted to believe that she meant no harm, but it felt intrusive, and he did not know what to say.
He had not wanted them displayed to begin with; it was expected that he would return home proud of what he had done, but he had never felt that way, and he knew he never would, but of course there were expectations that even he could not outrun.
“Did you fight for long?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“It must have been difficult.”
Alexander set his cup down more firmly than necessary, the sound of porcelain against the saucer sharper than anything else in the room, and when he spoke, his voice cut cleanly through the moment.
“I do not wish to speak of it,” he said.
The words came out clipped and colder than intended, altering the atmosphere at once.
“I did not mean to—”
“This is why I prefer silence,” he continued. “If one does not talk, they cannot demand too much of someone else.”
Eleanor went still, her gaze lowering to her plate.
“I see,” she said.
A silence followed, and then Eleanor pushed her chair back in a sudden movement before rising from the table.
“If you will excuse me,” she said.
Alexander did not respond quickly enough to stop her, and he did not speak afterward either, as she gave a small, composed nod that did not meet his eyes and left the room, the door closing softly behind her.
The silence that followed her departure was not what he wanted. It should have returned to the steady, predictable quiet of breakfast, the kind Alexander had long since learned to tolerate without thought, but instead it felt like there was an absence.
He did not immediately move. His gaze stayed fixed on the space Eleanor had occupied, the chair now slightly pushed back, the napkin untouched where she had placed it.
The sound of her footsteps had already faded beyond the door, but it felt as though she was still in the room, watching and judging him.
The medals on the sideboard caught his attention again, though he did not look directly at them for long. Their arrangement had not changed, their order as exact as ever, yet they now felt less like objects and more like reminders of something he had wished had never happened.
He exhaled once, quietly, and turned his attention back to the table, forcing himself to finish his meal. Before he could, however, the door opened. Alexander hoped it might be his wife, but it was not.
Henry Fairfax entered as though he lived there, moving with an ease that contrasted sharply with the restraint of everything else in the room. His presence always arrived before his words, carrying a kind of carefree brightness that Alexander never had, and he envied his friend for that.
“Well,” Henry said, glancing around as he stepped further inside, “you are still alive, then. I had thought that marriage might be the death of you.”
Alexander did not look up immediately.
“Good morning, Henry.”
Henry gave a faint laugh as he approached the table.
“I was beginning to think I might arrive too late and find you reduced entirely to paperwork and regret. You have not written.”
“I am on my honeymoon,” Alexander replied, though of course that had changed nothing about his routine.
Henry studied him briefly, then glanced toward the empty seat opposite him.
“And where is your new duchess? Has she already escaped?”
Alexander’s jaw tightened slightly at the phrasing, remembering that he had almost let her do so before they were even wed.
“Henry.”
“Yes?”
“Do not start this.”
Henry smiled faintly.
“I have not begun anything. I am merely observing that breakfast appears to have lost its most interesting participant.”
Alexander did not respond, and Henry’s attention drifted briefly toward the sideboard, where the medals remained in their case. His expression shifted slightly, becoming less amused and more reflective.
“You still keep those out,” he said. “I would not have expected that.”
“They were placed there,” Alexander replied.
“By whom?” Henry asked.
No answer came immediately, causing Henry to exhale through his nose, then nod once.
“I see. So it is that kind of morning.”
Alexander set his cup down more carefully than before, the sound softer this time but no less deliberate.
“You used to argue, you know,” Henry corrected. “Back when you were a person that was willing to fight for what he believed instead of merely lying down and taking it.”
Alexander did not reply. Henry watched him for a moment longer, then leaned forward slightly.
“You were different before all of this.”
“There is no before,” Alexander said.
Henry gave a quiet, almost sympathetic sound.
“If that is what you wish to believe, then do so, but you and I both know that it is not true.”
The words lingered briefly in the space between them, not challenged but not accepted either, which Alexander supposed proved his friend’s point. Henry pushed his chair back after a moment, standing as though he had decided not to press further for a while.
“I should leave you to your duties,” he said lightly, though his tone carried less humor than before. “You appear to be collecting them again in bulk.”
Alexander remained seated for a moment longer, his gaze drifting once more toward the sideboard, then briefly toward the empty space Eleanor had left behind. Neither held his attention for long, yet both remained present in a way that felt difficult to dismiss.
Suddenly, a commotion broke through the calm of the estate outside. Voices were raised, the sound of urgency spilling into the room.
Alexander stood at once and ran to the source of it, Henry on his heels.