Chapter 19
The idea for the spring fête had begun as nothing more than a passing thought.
Eleanor had been walking through the gardens one morning, inspecting the progress of the flower beds, when she realized how different the estate felt compared to when she had first arrived.
The once-neglected grounds no longer seemed abandoned; the paths were clearer, the borders carefully tended, and the first hints of color had begun appearing beneath the hedges and along the stone walls.
For the first time since coming to Ashbourne, the gardens felt alive, and she thought the people who lived there deserved the same.
She had mentioned the idea to Mrs. Pembroke, who had immediately begun discussing arrangements with the servants before Eleanor had even decided whether she was serious.
“A spring fête,” the housekeeper had repeated, her expression thoughtful but not disapproving. “It has been a very long time since such a thing was held here.”
“I thought it might be pleasant.”
“It certainly would be.”
Eleanor had looked at her in surprise, for Mrs. Pembroke rarely offered such simple approval.
“His Grace has always believed this estate required order before anything else.”
“And do you disagree?”
“I believe,” Mrs. Pembroke had replied carefully, “that a house requires warmth as much as it requires discipline.”
The words had stayed with Eleanor, so she began making plans. There would be music on the lawn, tables beneath the trees, games for the children of the tenants, and displays of the flowers that had been restored over the past months.
There would be nothing extravagant, nothing that would create unnecessary expense, simply a day where Ashbourne felt less like a grand estate and more like a home.
The children came to assist a few days prior. They arrived in the gardens with endless curiosity and very little patience, gathering around Eleanor as she knelt beside the flower beds with her gloves tucked into her pocket.
“Be careful with that one, Thomas.”
The young boy froze immediately, his fingers hovering above the small plant he had been attempting to pull from the soil.
“I was only looking.”
“You were looking with both hands.”
Thomas glanced down.
“That is true.”
Eleanor attempted to hide her smile.
“I appreciate your honesty.”
The boy grinned.
“I think it is a weed.”
“It is not.”
“How do you know?”
“Because weeds are only plants growing somewhere people do not want them.”
Thomas frowned, considering the explanation.
“That sounds unfair.”
Eleanor laughed softly.
“I think the same thing sometimes.”
A little girl beside him tilted her head.
“Then how do you know what flowers are? They cannot say what they are, or what they need.”
“That is a very good question.”
Eleanor picked up a small sprig from beside her, studying it.
“Flowers tell you what they need. Some like sunlight, some prefer shade, and some simply need to be left alone.”
The little girl looked thoughtful.
“Like people?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “Like people.”
The children accepted the answer without questioning it and immediately began asking which flowers they would be allowed to plant during the fête.
“I want roses,” one boy announced.
“You will have to be patient with roses.”
“I can be patient.”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow.
“You attempted to dig up a flower less than five minutes ago.”
“That was different. I was curious.”
The children erupted into laughter, and Eleanor found herself laughing with them. For a while, she forgot everything else. She was simply Eleanor, kneeling in the dirt with children who were more interested in flowers than titles.
“You seem to have gathered an army.”
The familiar voice made her turn. Alexander stood at the edge of the garden path, and for a moment, Eleanor simply stared.
She had not expected him there.
He looked different outside the walls of his study, less like the Duke of Ashbourne and more like the man she had glimpsed only in rare moments—the man who had carried her through the rain, who had covered her with his cloak beneath the arbor, who had spoken about the estate as though he were finally beginning to see it differently.
The children immediately noticed him, and they did not have such apprehension as she did.
“Your Grace!”
A little boy ran forward before stopping suddenly, remembering himself. Alexander looked down at him.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to help?”
Eleanor expected him to refuse. Instead, Alexander glanced toward the garden beds.
“I suppose that depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether I am likely to make things worse.”
The children laughed. Eleanor looked at him in surprise.
“I believe that is the most honest assessment I have heard from anyone today.”
“Then I shall take it as a sign that I am very much needed.”
A little girl approached him carefully, holding a small lily plant in both hands.
“Can you help me?”
Alexander immediately lowered himself beside her.
“What happened?”
“I think I planted it wrong.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because it is leaning.”
Alexander studied the plant.
“It is leaning because the soil around it is loose.”
“Is it dying?”
“No. It simply needs help standing again.”
He gently adjusted the soil around the roots, showing her how to press it down without damaging the plant.
“Not too hard.”
“Why?”
“Because living things need support, not pressure.”
Eleanor went still. The words were simple, yet hearing them from him felt strangely significant.
She watched Alexander with the child, saw the patience he rarely showed adults, saw the gentleness hidden beneath all the restraint, and for one brief moment, she allowed herself to imagine a man who might laugh more often.
A man she could love, if only he would let her.
As though sensing her gaze, Alexander looked up. Their eyes met, and the garden seemed to fall silent around them. For one impossible moment, Eleanor felt as though she could see past everything he kept hidden, and she wondered if he felt it too. Then Alexander looked away and the moment ended.
He rose slowly, brushing the soil from his hands.
“I should return to my duties.”
The words were polite and controlled, just as always.
Eleanor lowered her gaze, forcing a smile as the children returned to their questions about flowers and the fête, but the ache remained, because for one moment, she had seen the man beneath the armor, and now she knew exactly what she was missing.
***
Eleanor had spent the better part of the afternoon attempting to convince herself that she was not affected. It was becoming increasingly difficult.
She sat near the window of her sitting room, a book open in her lap, though she had remained on the same page for nearly twenty minutes. The words blurred together without meaning, unable to compete with the thoughts that continued circling through her mind.
The way Alexander had looked in the garden, and the way he had looked away again.
She had spent so long telling herself that she wanted nothing from him, yet wanting and deserving were two entirely different things. She could not command her heart to remain untouched simply because her mind had agreed to a contract.
The weight of it all had begun to feel unbearable.
Every emotion seemed tangled with another.
Jealousy followed guilt, hope followed disappointment, and every small kindness from Alexander made her wonder if perhaps there was something more between them, only for every moment of distance to remind her that perhaps she had imagined everything.
She needed something else to think about, something that did not leave her questioning every glance and every word. A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Before Eleanor could answer, Bessie entered with a smile already brightening her face.
The sight of her maid alone brought a small measure of relief.
Bessie possessed a remarkable ability to appear at precisely the moment Eleanor needed her most. She carried no grand wisdom or dramatic declarations, but she had warmth, and sometimes warmth was far more comforting.
“Your Grace,” Bessie said cheerfully, carrying a folded piece of fabric in her arms. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”
“You never disturb me.”
The young woman smiled as she crossed the room.
“That is kind of you to say, but I suspect I have interrupted many moments when you wished for peace.”
Eleanor smiled faintly.
“Perhaps. But I am always glad when you do.”
Bessie’s smile softened before her usual brightness returned.
“I have something to tell you.”
Eleanor closed the book in her lap.
“Something important?”
“Very important.”
The seriousness lasted only a moment before Bessie’s smile betrayed her. Eleanor raised an eyebrow.
“You are about to tell me something that has nothing to do with the household.”
“Not entirely.”
Bessie laughed quietly as she sat nearby.
“It is about someone from the village.”
Eleanor immediately recognized the change in her maid’s voice. There was a softness there, happiness.
“Does it pertain to the gentleman from the stables?”
Bessie’s cheeks warmed.
“How did you know?”
“I may have noticed that you suddenly have many reasons to walk past the stables.”
The young woman covered her face briefly with her hands.
“Oh, Your Grace.”
Eleanor laughed.
“I am not teasing you.”
“You are a little.”
“Only because you make it very easy.”
Bessie smiled, though her embarrassment quickly turned into something gentler.
“His name is William.”
The way she said it told Eleanor everything.
“He works with the horses,” Bessie continued. “He is not a gentleman, of course, but he is kind, truly kind. He is the sort of person who notices things others do not.”
Eleanor listened quietly.
“What sort of things?”
Bessie’s smile grew.
“Small things. He remembers that I do not like walking alone when I go to the village, so he always finds some excuse to finish his work and accompany me. He says it is merely coincidence, but I know better.”
“And do you like him?”
Bessie looked up, almost surprised by the question.
“Yes. In fact, I think I might love him.”