Chapter 24 #2
“I said I would, and I am a man of my word. Eleanor, are you certain that this is what you want?”
Suddenly she was not certain of anything. She looked back toward Ashbourne. She had written a letter to explain why she had to leave, and she had taken the first step, but even after she had left the estate she had not yet decided if she truly wanted to leave.
“Give me a moment,” she whispered.
Julian frowned slightly. “Eleanor?”
“I need to wait.”
“For what?”
She tightened her grip around the rose. She did not know how to explain it. How could she tell him that after everything, after all the pain and doubt, some part of her still hoped?
“I need to know.”
“Know what?”
She looked toward the road behind her. “If he changes.”
“What change could possibly be enough for you after everything?”
Eleanor did not answer. She did not need to. Her heart had already made the decision, and she knew he could see it in her eyes. She had spent her entire life waiting for someone to choose her, and so she would wait one final time.
“I suppose I shall have to see if he follows.” She sighed, and Julian seemed satisfied with that.
If Alexander did not come, then she would know, and she would leave permanently, having finally accepted that she had never truly been chosen at all.
Chapter 25
Alexander had always preferred the nearby village to the drawing rooms of London.
There was less of a need to perform there, and nobody who wanted to harm him in the same way they did in London. The people of Ashbourne spoke plainly because they had little time for anything else. Their concerns were practical, and so were the conversations they brought to their duke.
He dismounted outside the steward’s office and was almost immediately greeted by Mr. Fletcher, who removed his cap with a respectful nod.
“Your Grace, I was hoping to catch you before you left.”
“You have done so,” Alexander replied. “What is it?”
“The fencing along the northern pasture has finally given way. The storm weakened it more than we realized.”
Alexander accepted the folded plans the farmer handed him and studied them for a moment before looking up again.
“How many posts need replacing?”
“Nearly half of them.”
“Then replace them all.”
Mr. Fletcher frowned. Alexander had anticipated that.
“That is a great deal more timber.”
“It is also less expensive than repairing the same stretch every spring.”
The older man chuckled quietly.
“Your father never liked spending money before he absolutely had to.”
“My father and I seldom agreed on such matters.”
“So I have noticed.” Mr. Fletcher smiled as he tucked the plans beneath his arm. “The men will be pleased about that. I will have the order sent this afternoon.”
Alexander nodded before continuing further into the village.
He stopped at the blacksmith to confirm an order for new horseshoes, spoke with the cooper about replacement barrels for the estate brewery, and spent several minutes with the grocer discussing flour, salt, lamp oil, and seed deliveries for the coming month.
Each conversation demanded his attention, yet his mind refused to remain on the figures written before him.
More than once, he caught himself thinking about Eleanor.
He wondered whether she had spent the morning in the gardens despite the cool weather and the threat of a storm. He pictured her kneeling beside one of the flowerbeds with soil on her gloves, explaining some obscure detail about roses to whichever servant had wandered over to ask questions.
The image arrived so naturally that it unsettled him. He had spent weeks trying to convince himself that distance was for the best, yet every mile he placed between himself and the house seemed only to make her absence more noticeable.
“Your Grace?”
Lady Cordelia Ashworth emerged from the doorway of the village dressmaker with her lady’s maid close behind.
She held the skirt of a new pale blue walking dress away from the ground as she descended the steps, turning just enough to admire herself in the shop window before offering Alexander a smile.
“What an unexpected pleasure.”
“Good afternoon, Lady Cordelia.”
She made a slow circle, inviting his attention. Alexander noted the dress, but all he could do beyond that was wonder how Eleanor would look in it instead.
“Well?” she asked. “Mrs. Henshaw insists this color suits me better than lavender. I told her she was merely trying to flatter me.”
“It is well made.”
Her smile faltered.
“Only well made? Is that all that you have to say?”
“I am hardly an authority on ladies’ fashions.”
“You used to notice more than stitching, at least.”
“My priorities have changed. I am older now.”
“And duller?”
“I should hope wiser.”
She laughed, though there was disappointment beneath it.
“I had almost forgotten how impossible you can be. In any case, might you be able to take tea with me?”
“I fear I cannot stay. There are matters awaiting me at Ashbourne.”
Cordelia tilted her head.
“Does your wife keep such a close watch over your schedule?”
“My wife has nothing to do with it.”
“Then she is more patient than I imagined.”
Alexander met her eyes without returning the smile.
“You appear determined to speak of the duchess.”
“I am merely curious. Society has wondered how the marriage fares.”
“Society concerns itself with many things that are none of its business.”
“And what of me?” she asked quietly. “Am I included in that?”
He paused before answering, choosing honesty over politeness.
“Yes.”
For the first time since the conversation had begun, Cordelia had no ready reply. She looked away briefly, smoothing an imaginary crease from her sleeve before recovering her composure.
“I see marriage has made you very direct.”
“No,” Alexander said evenly. “It has merely taught me not to encourage conversations that serve no purpose.”
He nodded in farewell and mounted his horse before she could stop him again.
As he rode away, he heard her call his name once, but he did not look back.
The encounter should have stirred memories of the future he had once expected to live, yet all it left behind was a strange emptiness that surprised him by its certainty.
It had been so long since he had last truly imagined a life with Cordelia, and he realized as it happened that it was not something he wanted. He had never wanted it.
The road home wound through open fields where wildflowers swayed in the afternoon breeze, but Alexander scarcely noticed the landscape. His thoughts returned, as they always seemed to—to Eleanor and the changes she had brought to Ashbourne. The servants smiled more often when they spoke of her.
The gardens, once neglected, had become the pride of the estate. Even the tenants mentioned her kindness whenever they visited the house, speaking of the duchess with a warmth they had never shown toward any previous mistress of Ashbourne.
She had asked for so little in return…Only a husband willing to let her into the guarded corners of his heart, and he had not provided it.
Instead, he had offered restraint where she deserved affection and distance where she had sought understanding. Julian’s words had lodged themselves deep enough that Alexander could no longer dismiss them outright.
What if Eleanor’s smiles had been born of duty rather than happiness, given that every attempt she had made to bridge the distance between them had been met with another wall of his own making?
He had believed he was protecting them both from disappointment, yet the more he reflected upon the past weeks, the more he feared he had ruined everything.
The gates of Ashbourne came into view, but the familiar sight did nothing to ease the growing unease in his chest. It was an instinct more than a reasoned thought, the same warning that had kept him alive during the war, and it settled over him with increasing force as he urged his horse into a faster pace.
He could not have explained why the feeling had taken hold, only that it refused to loosen its grip, leaving him with the dreadful conviction that something precious was already slipping beyond his reach.
The storm reached Ashbourne before Alexander did.
The sky had turned almost black, the last traces of daylight swallowed beneath thick clouds that rolled over the countryside.
The wind tore through the trees lining the road, bending the branches and scattering leaves across the gravel path, while thunder echoed across the fields with enough force to make his horse uneasy beneath him.
Alexander barely noticed.
The unease that had followed him from the village had only grown stronger as he approached the house.
He had tried to dismiss it as nothing more than exhaustion, the result of too many restless nights and too many thoughts left unresolved, but the feeling remained.
It sat heavily in his chest, warning him that something had changed while he was away.
The moment he rode into the courtyard, he knew he was right.
Mr. Thornton appeared at the entrance before Alexander had even dismounted. The sight of his butler moving with such urgency immediately caught his attention.
The older man was never anything but controlled and precise, yet his coat hung open, his hair was damp from the rain, and his face carried an expression Alexander had never seen before.
It was a look of concern.
“Your Grace, thank goodness you have returned.”
Alexander handed the reins to the nearest groom without taking his eyes from the butler.
“What has happened?”
Mr. Thornton descended the steps quickly.
“I have been searching for you for nearly an hour.”
“Why?”
The butler hesitated before answering, and that hesitation told Alexander more than the words that followed.
“Her Grace has left the estate.”
For a moment, the storm seemed to become the only sound surrounding them. Alexander stared at him, wanting to know what had happened, but also not wanting to hear something he was not ready for.
“Explain,” he said at last.