Chapter 8 #3
Relief softened Eleanor’s features. She could not tell if Gabriel still resented her for what had happened, but regardless of whether he did or not, he seemed intent on ensuring Sophie’s comfort, and that was what mattered most to her.
“Thank you. That is most kind.”
“Of course. I thought it might make the change easier.”
Neither spoke again for several moments.
Outside, the familiar stone walls of Ravenscourt came into view, ivy climbing their weathered surface while late summer roses still bloomed beneath the front windows.
The carriage rolled to a gentle halt before the entrance, where servants had assembled quietly upon the steps to receive them.
Mrs. Dobson, the housekeeper, stepped forward first with a curtsy.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Hartley.”
The words caught Eleanor unexpectedly. Mrs. Hartley had become her name at last. She looked briefly toward Gabriel before lowering her eyes again.
He offered his arm, she accepted it, and together they crossed the threshold of Ravenscourt.
Mrs. Dobson personally showed Eleanor through the west wing, where the rooms prepared for her overlooked the gardens.
The bedchamber was comfortable rather than extravagant, softened by fresh flowers placed upon the dressing table and clean linen carrying the faint scent of lavender, just like her daughter.
“The nursery chamber is just through here,” Mrs. Dobson explained, opening the connecting door.
Sophie ran inside at once. “There is a window seat!”
“And shelves for your books,” Eleanor said, smiling.
“We hoped Miss Sophie would approve.” Mrs. Dobson beamed.
After the housekeeper withdrew, Eleanor wandered slowly through the rooms, trailing her fingers lightly across the carved bedpost before crossing toward the window.
This, she thought, was the perfect place for Sophie, and even though she did not feel at ease there anymore, her daughter’s happiness was what mattered most. The rose garden lay below, and beyond it stretched the familiar wall between Ravenscourt and Aunt Beatrice’s garden, though it no longer marked a boundary in a technical sense.
A quiet knock sounded behind her. She turned to see Gabriel standing in the doorway, remaining just outside the room as though uncertain whether or not he had permission to enter.
“I wished only to be certain you had everything you required.”
Eleanor looked around the chamber once more.
“Everything has been thought of. I could not be more grateful.”
“I am glad.”
Another silence settled between them, gentler than the earlier ones but no less uncertain. Gabriel rested one hand against the doorframe.
“My rooms are at the opposite end of the corridor.”
Eleanor nodded.
“I thought… until matters are settled…”
He did not finish the sentence.
“There will be separate bedchambers,” she said quietly.
“Yes.”
“I think that is best too.”
The agreement, sensible though it was, left an unexpected ache behind. Gabriel nodded with the same quiet courtesy he had shown since the wedding.
“If you need anything, at any hour, you need only send word.”
“I shall.”
He offered the smallest of smiles, one that vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. “Welcome to Ravenscourt, Eleanor.”
For the first time that day, he spoke her given name without a title or any distance between them. Then he stepped back into the corridor, closing the door softly behind him.
Eleanor remained standing where she was for a long moment, listening to his footsteps fade through the house that was now, by every law of England, her home. It was a marriage neither of them had chosen in the way they had once dreamed, yet both were seemingly equally determined to honor it.
***
Dinner was not served until early evening, allowing Eleanor enough time to settle Sophie and change into a fresh gown after the journey.
By the time she descended the broad staircase, candles had been lit throughout Ravenscourt, their warm glow softening the dark oak paneling and gilded portraits that lined the walls.
She had known the house once—not as intimately as its family, but well enough to remember summer evenings spent laughing in the drawing room with Beatrice while the Hartleys entertained neighbors, and long afternoons when she and Gabriel had wandered the gardens under the indulgent eye of his mother.
Time had altered the furnishings very little. The people, however, had changed.
The dowager rose first as Eleanor entered.
“Mrs. Hartley.”
The greeting was perfectly correct, her voice neither warm nor unkind. She crossed the room and offered her hands, allowing Eleanor the proper courtesy due to her son’s wife, though the reserve beneath it was impossible to miss.
“You must be tired after such an eventful day.”
“I confess I am,” Eleanor replied with a small smile.
“I trust your rooms are comfortable.”
“They are. Mrs. Dobson has thought of everything.”
“She prides herself on that.”
The exchange ended as politely as it had begun, leaving an unmistakable distance between them.
Eleanor remembered the dowager’s easy affection years before, the fond teasing and ready invitations that had once made Ravenscourt feel almost like a second home.
That was bound to change, and Eleanor could only blame herself for that.
William seemed happier to see her at least, though he was paler than she recalled, and much thinner.
“My dear Lady Eleanor,” he said warmly, rising with evident effort from his chair. “Or perhaps I should say Mrs. Hartley now.”
“You should remain seated,” Eleanor said at once, crossing the room before he could stand fully.
“I have been given precisely the same order by everyone in this household.” He smiled.
“I imagine for good reason.”
She clasped the hand he offered, careful of how thin it had become. His face remained pale, yet there was nothing diminished in the kindness with which he regarded her.
“I am glad you are here,” he said simply. “I only regret the circumstances.”
The sincerity of it caught her off guard.
“Thank you. I feel the same.”
William gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. “Ravenscourt has been in need of children’s laughter for far too long.”
Before Eleanor could answer, Cassandra entered carrying a tray of tea. She looked first to William, ensuring he was comfortably settled once more before acknowledging Eleanor with a graceful nod.
“Mrs. Hartley.”
“Lady Hartley.”
The title felt strangely formal after the familiarity they had once shared. Being courted by the brothers meant that they had spent a lot of time together as a group, and though Eleanor had always respected Cassandra, she had a feeling that Cassandra did not quite trust her.
And she had been proven right, Eleanor supposed.
Cassandra set William’s cup within easy reach before turning back toward Eleanor.
“I hope your rooms are satisfactory.”
“They are very comfortable.”
“I am pleased.”
Nothing in Cassandra’s manner could have been called discourteous. She fulfilled every obligation of hospitality. It was the warmth that was absent.