Chapter 26
The rain caught Eleanor before she had traveled very far.
At first, she tried to ignore it, drawing her cloak tighter around her shoulders as the carriage continued along the muddy road.
The wind had been growing steadily stronger since she left Ashbourne, carrying the scent of wet earth and the sound of distant thunder, but she had convinced herself the clouds would pass.
Instead, the sky broke open without warning. Rain lashed against the carriage roof so fiercely that the horses slowed of their own accord, the coachman leaning down from his seat to see through the torrent.
A flash of lightning illuminated the road ahead. Moments later, the deafening crack of thunder followed, startling the horses enough that they tossed their heads uneasily.
“Are you all right?” Julian asked.
“Of course,” she lied. “I simply cannot believe that I am truly doing this.”
“Eleanor, you waited, and he did not arrive. He was too busy tending to matters he had deemed more important than you. I do not mean to speak harshly, but you have to see reason eventually.”
“I have seen reason. I am only surprised that I am daring to do this. Do you not feel the same? He is your friend, after all.”
“He might be a friend, but that is no reason for me to allow him to treat you the way that he does.”
Eleanor had to accept that. She had never expected Julian to have changed so much, and she wanted to trust it, but she did not know how to. Every man she had ever known had disappointed her, and she had begun to wonder if that had been her own fault.
“Shall we stop?” he suggested. “It would be better for the horses.”
Eleanor nodded, and soon enough the carriage lurched to a halt outside a coaching inn. The sign above the entrance creaked violently in the wind, and warm light spilled from the windows onto the rain-soaked yard. The coachman climbed down, opened the carriage door, and offered Eleanor his hand.
She stepped into the rain before he could shelter her, the cold soaking through her skirts almost instantly. Julian suggested that he assist the coachman with the horses, which Eleanor accepted as she was grateful to have a moment alone.
By the time she reached the inn, damp curls had escaped beneath her bonnet and clung to her temples. The innkeeper hurried forward with a welcoming smile, taking her cloak before ushering her toward the fire that blazed in the common room.
“You have had dreadful luck with the weather, Your Grace,” he said sympathetically. “There is warm broth on the stove if you’d care for some.”
“Thank you.”
The innkeeper ensured that they were all comfortable before turning to her again. He was a kind-looking man of middling age, his eyes dark but gentle.
“You will dry out soon enough here.”
Eleanor managed a polite smile.
“I hope so.”
The innkeeper left her to the warmth of the hearth, but the fire did little to chase away the chill that had settled inside her.
She wrapped both hands around the mug of tea placed before her, watching the rain race down the windowpanes until the world outside became little more than shifting shadows.
The room buzzed with quiet conversation as travelers waited out the storm together, yet every voice seemed distant, muffled beneath the thoughts that refused to leave her in peace.
I have done the sensible thing.
She repeated those words to herself over and over, hoping they would eventually sound convincing.
Leaving Ashbourne had been the only choice left to her. She could not remain in a house where every hopeful glance ended in disappointment, nor could she continue wondering whether Alexander would ever look at her as a husband ought to look at his wife.
She had exhausted herself trying to decipher his silences, trying to convince herself that each small kindness meant more than it did, and trying to silence the growing affection that only seemed to make the distance between them more painful.
Reason told her she had done what was necessary, but her heart stubbornly refused to agree.
The door opened with a rush of wind, and Eleanor looked up instinctively. Julian stepped inside, brushing rainwater from the shoulders of his coat before removing his gloves. The moment his eyes found her, relief spread across his face, and he crossed the room without hesitation.
“There you are.”
Eleanor’s fingers tightened around her cup.
“I wondered how long it would take you.”
“It was a simple enough task. It simply took a while longer than usual because they were in a state of panic.”
Julian pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down, leaning forward with an easy smile.
“The roads are nearly impassable. Another half hour and we’d both have been stranded somewhere far less comfortable than this.”
“I suppose we were fortunate, then.”
He studied her for a moment.
“You don’t sound as though you feel fortunate.”
She lowered her eyes to the tea.
“I am tired.”
“I know,” his voice softened. “You have carried this alone for far too long.”
Eleanor remained silent. Julian reached across the table, resting his hand lightly over hers.
“You do not have to keep suffering.”
She looked at his hand before quietly withdrawing her own.
“I have already made my decision.”
“Then come with me. We can go far away, somewhere where nobody knows us, and all will be well.”
“It is not that simple.”
“It can be.” He smiled reassuringly. “We can leave tonight, as soon as the storm passes. By tomorrow, Ashbourne will be behind us, and none of this will matter anymore.”
Eleanor looked toward the rain beating against the windows.
“You make it sound very easy.”
“It is easy.”
“No,” she shook her head. “It really is not.”
Julian frowned. “What is keeping you there?”
She laughed quietly, though there was no humor in the sound.
“I wish I knew.”
“You have just left. You have written your letter. You have said goodbye.”
Her grip tightened around the warm mug.
“I know.”
Julian watched her carefully.
“Then why do you look as though you are waiting for something?”
Eleanor could not answer immediately, because she did not know how to explain the feeling herself. She had left Ashbourne. She had packed her belongings and written every truth she had been too frightened to speak aloud. Logically, there was nothing left, and the sensible course lay before her.
She could leave with Julian, begin again somewhere else, and finally escape the constant ache that had become her daily companion. It was the only path that promised an end to the uncertainty. It was the only decision that made sense.
Yet her heart remained stubbornly fixed on the road outside.
“I do not think I can go.”
Julian stared at her.
“You have come this far. Why stop now?”
She swallowed hard.
“Because leaving Ashbourne was easier than leaving Alexander.”
Julian’s expression hardened at once.
“He has given you every reason to walk away, and yet you are still defending him.”
“I am not defending him!”
She drew a slow breath, struggling to put words to feelings she scarcely understood herself.
“I am simply…tired.”
“Tired enough to stay with a man who does not, and never will, love you?”
Eleanor closed her eyes briefly. “I do not know that.”
Julian leaned back in his chair. “Eleanor, listen to yourself.”
“I have been listening to myself for weeks.”
“No, you have been listening to hope.”
She looked at him sadly.
“Hope is all I have had. It is the only thing that I have ever been able to believe in.”
“It does not have to be.”
He reached toward her once more, but Eleanor rose before he could take her hand. She walked to the window overlooking the road, watching rainwater cascade from the eaves as travelers hurried between stables and coaches with their heads bowed against the storm.
Her reflection stared back at her in the glass.
She scarcely recognized the woman looking back.
She had left because remaining at Ashbourne had become unbearable.
Every day had brought fresh uncertainty, fresh heartache, and another reminder that she could not continue living between hope and disappointment forever.
Walking away had seemed like the only decision that could bring her peace, the only path that still offered the possibility of breathing freely again after weeks spent feeling as though her heart were caught between two lives.
Yet standing safely beneath the roof of the inn with every opportunity to leave the past behind her, she found herself watching the road instead of the future.
Some irrational part of her still listened for the sound of galloping hooves.
Some foolish part of her still wondered whether anyone would come.
Whether Alexander would come.
Eleanor remained by the window long after Julian had stopped speaking. The rain continued to fall with relentless force, turning the road beyond the inn into a blur of mud and silver water.
She watched the passing figures through the glass, though she barely registered any of them. Her thoughts had become tangled beyond reason, pulling her between the life she had known and the life she had almost chosen.
Julian was waiting for her; Alexander was not. At least, that was what reason told her.
She had left because she could no longer endure the uncertainty. She had left because she had spent too long hoping for something she could not force another person to give.
Yet once the choice was before her, and there was someone willing to offer her the affection and devotion she had once believed she wanted, she could not bring herself to accept it without hesitation. That hesitation shamed her.
She turned from the window.
“I think I need to rest.”
Julian looked up from his chair.
“Of course.”
“I have not slept properly in days, and the journey has been more exhausting than I expected.”
His expression softened immediately.
“You should have said so sooner.”
Eleanor forced herself to smile.
“Perhaps we should remain here tonight. We can decide what to do tomorrow when the weather has improved.”
The words felt strange as they left her mouth, but Julian seemed pleased by the suggestion.
“That is perfectly sensible.”
He rose from his chair.
“I will speak with the innkeeper and arrange rooms.”
“Thank you.”
As he walked away, she remained still, the guilt settling heavier with every passing second. She had spent so much time fearing she was trapped, yet she felt equally lost outside the walls of Ashbourne. She did not feel free. She did not feel relieved.
She felt as though she belonged nowhere.
The sound came suddenly. At first, Eleanor thought it was only another rumble of thunder, but then she heard it again.
Hooves.
Her entire body went still. The sound grew louder, cutting through the storm, and before she could stop herself, she turned toward the window. A rider emerged through the rain, and for a moment, she could not breathe. Even through the sheets of water and the distance between them, she knew him.
It was Alexander. He was riding hard toward the inn, his horse covered in rain and mud, his figure barely visible through the storm, yet there was no mistaking the urgency in his movements.
He had come.
The thought struck her so suddenly that she had to grip the edge of the table. Julian returned before she could move.
“The rooms are prepared.”
Eleanor turned away from the window quickly.
“Good.”
He smiled.
“I knew you would see sense, you know. Even you are not foolish enough to refuse the life I offer.”
The words made something inside her twist. There he was again, the condescending man that appeared when he knew he could get away with it.
“Julian?”
“Yes?”
“Would you mind going upstairs and making certain everything is arranged properly?”
His brows lifted slightly. “Of course.”
She forced herself to maintain a calm expression.
“I only need a few moments alone. I am exhausted, and I would like to finish my tea before retiring.”
“Naturally.”
Julian’s smile grew, and there was a satisfaction in it that made Eleanor look away.
“I will be waiting for you upstairs.”
The way he said it made her uncomfortable, and she did not know how to respond in a way that would not show it.
“Thank you.”
The moment he disappeared from the room, Eleanor did not hesitate. She left the untouched tea on the table and hurried toward the door. The innkeeper called after her in surprise, but she barely heard him.
The rain struck her immediately. Within seconds, her cloak was soaked through again, her shoes sinking into the wet ground as she stepped into the courtyard. The storm surrounded her completely, the wind pulling at her hair and the rain streaming down her face, but she continued forward.
Alexander had dismounted. He stood beside his horse near the edge of the road, his coat drenched, his hair plastered against his forehead, his chest rising and falling heavily from the desperate ride. He looked nothing like the composed duke she had seen before she left.
He looked like a man who had been afraid.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Eleanor could only stare.
“Alexander?”
Her voice broke on his name. He took a step toward her.
“Eleanor.”
The way he said it nearly undid her.
“I thought I had lost you.” He sighed as he approached her quickly.
The rain ran between them, but he did not seem to notice. Eleanor’s heart ached at the sight of him.
“What are you doing here?”
His expression changed, pain crossing his features. “Stopping you.”
She shook her head slightly. “You cannot simply arrive and expect everything to change.”
“I know.”
The answer surprised her. He moved closer, though he stopped before reaching for her.
“I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but please, do not leave yet.”
Eleanor looked away.
“I cannot keep doing this.”
“I know.”
“You do not understand.”
“I do now.”
The words caught her attention. Alexander swallowed.
“I spent so long believing I knew what was best. I thought giving you distance was kindness. I thought protecting myself was the same as protecting you. It was not.”
Eleanor stared at him. He looked almost unfamiliar, not because he had changed, but because she was seeing the parts of him he had always hidden, the parts that she had longed to see.
“I read your letter. I know everything.”
The pain in his eyes made her chest tighten.
“And I was wrong.”
She wanted to be angry. She wanted to tell him that apologies could not erase weeks of loneliness, that words could not undo every moment she had spent wondering whether she mattered, but she could not speak.
Alexander stepped closer.
“Please, Eleanor,” he said, his voice lowered. “Do not go until I have said what I should have said long ago.”