Chapter 10
Morning arrived in the very same way that Ravenscourt had observed for generations.
By the time Gabriel came downstairs, the servants had already opened the shutters to let in some light, and the long dining table had been laid with warm bread and preserves. The household seemed determined to continue as though nothing extraordinary had happened the day before.
Only Gabriel knew how extraordinary everything had become. He paused outside the dining room for the briefest moment before entering. Eleanor was already there.
She stood near the window with Sophie beside her, fastening the little girl’s bonnet ribbons after an early walk through the gardens.
The morning sunlight caught in Eleanor’s dark chestnut hair, softening the strain that still lingered in her face.
For a moment he simply watched them together, mother and daughter speaking in low voices while Sophie fidgeted impatiently.
Then Eleanor looked up, and their eyes met.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning.”
Neither seemed entirely certain what should come next. Fortunately, Mrs. Dobson appeared at precisely the right moment.
“Breakfast is served.”
The small interruption spared them both. Without hesitation, he walked to Eleanor and offered his arm. A flicker of surprise crossed her face before she accepted it.
“Thank you.”
Together, they entered the dining room. Every servant present noticed. Gabriel was aware of it without looking. Years spent managing Ravenscourt had taught him exactly where eyes rested even when heads remained respectfully lowered.
Appearances mattered. If Eleanor were to stand before the county as Mrs. Hartley, mistress of Ravenscourt, then there could be no uncertainty within the walls. He drew out the chair at the head of the table for her, and Eleanor hesitated only briefly.
“This is your place now,” he explained.
She searched his face for a moment before nodding and taking the seat. Mrs. Dobson’s polite smile remained, though Gabriel noticed the almost imperceptible satisfaction in the housekeeper’s eyes before she turned away to direct the footmen.
The meal proceeded as it should have. Sophie filled much of the conversation, proudly informing William that she had counted twelve rabbits from the nursery window before breakfast.
“Are you certain there were twelve?” William asked.
“There might have been thirteen. It was difficult to count them. They kept hopping!”
William laughed softly, which was rather rare for him to do. Across the table, the dowager listened with increasing amusement while Cassandra gently encouraged William to finish another spoonful of porridge before it cooled.
Eleanor spoke little, though whenever a servant addressed a question regarding the household, Gabriel allowed the answer to come from her.
“Mrs. Hartley,” Mrs. Dobson asked, “would you prefer to take your luncheon in the small drawing room today, or would the terrace be better if the weather remains fair?”
Eleanor glanced instinctively toward Gabriel. He simply waited, and she seemed to understand.
“The terrace, I think,” she replied.
“Very good, ma’am.”
A few moments later another question followed.
“The florist is expected before noon. Shall the roses remain in the front hall?”
“If there are enough,” Eleanor said after only slight consideration, “perhaps some might be placed in the blue drawing room as well.”
Mrs. Dobson smiled. “An excellent suggestion.”
Gabriel said nothing. He did not need to.
Every small decision quietly established Eleanor where she belonged, not merely in title but in practice. By the time breakfast ended, the servants no longer looked toward him first whenever the management of the house arose. They looked to her, exactly as they should have.
When the ladies rose, Gabriel instinctively offered Eleanor his arm once more. She accepted it with the same careful politeness that had marked every exchange since the wedding. To anyone watching, they appeared every inch the devoted newly married couple.
Only the family knew how much distance lay hidden beneath such faultless manners.
The moment the drawing room door closed behind them and the last servant disappeared down the corridor, Gabriel felt the careful performance fall away.
“I have several estate matters requiring attention,” he said.
Eleanor nodded. “Of course.”
“If you should need anything—“
“I shall send word.”
He nodded, and then before the conversation had the opportunity to become awkward, he turned toward the study. Closing the door behind him brought with it an unexpected sense of relief. The silence suited him better, or so he tried to believe.
His desk stood exactly as he had left it the previous afternoon, ledgers stacked neatly beside the correspondence that was awaiting reply.
He opened the estate accounts, dipped his pen into the inkstand, and attempted to lose himself among columns of figures, but the numbers refused to hold his attention.
He read the same line three times before realizing he had not understood a word of it, and with irritation, he closed the ledger. Another pile of papers waited beneath it. These, at least, concerned something capable of commanding his full attention.
He untied the ribbon securing the documents and spread them carefully across the desk.
The first was a copy of Lord Marbury’s will, the second contained the solicitor’s notes regarding Julian’s petition, and then several pages followed in Gabriel’s own hand, recording any names, dates, and questions that had steadily accumulated over the previous week.
A fresh letter lay to the side, which had arrived before breakfast.
Mr. Hartley,
As requested, I have begun making inquiries concerning Mr. Samuel Tibbs, formerly assistant to Mr. Henshaw, apothecary of London…
Gabriel read every line. His instructions had already gone beyond preparing a response to the guardianship petition; he had directed his solicitor to investigate the poisoning accusation itself, to examine the witnesses, trace their histories, and uncover anything that suggested Julian’s claims had been nothing more than lies.
Another draft lay beside it. It concerned Eleanor. Not the case, but her. It was a formal request that respected members of the county be prepared, if necessary, to speak to Mrs. Hartley’s character and conduct.
Gabriel leaned back slowly. He was placing every connection Ravenscourt possessed behind her without hesitation, and not because she had asked, as she would never have asked, but because she should never have to stand alone again.
He folded the letters carefully and returned them to their place inside the portfolio.
Outside the study window, he caught sight of Eleanor crossing the rose garden with Sophie, the child skipping ahead while Eleanor paused now and then to admire blooms that had only just begun to open beneath the morning sun.
He watched them longer than he intended.
Then, with a quiet sigh, he forced himself back to the waiting papers.
There was work to be done, and if he could not offer Eleanor the love she deserved, he could at least ensure that when she stood before the court, she would stand with the full strength of the Hartley name beside her.
***
Gabriel had always considered the library the safest room in Ravenscourt.
It was a place of order. Books remained where they were placed, ledgers recorded facts rather than speculation, and the quiet crackle of the fire and the faint scent of leather bindings offered a kind of certainty that people rarely did.
And it seemed that Eleanor had discovered it as well.
Gabriel entered late in the afternoon carrying a stack of correspondence that required reviewing, only to find her already there near the shelves, one hand resting against the spine of a book while Sophie sat on the window seat nearby with a picture book open across her lap.
The sight of them there stopped him for a moment.
It was such a domestic scene that his mind struggled to reconcile it with the careful arrangement they had created.
Eleanor looked as though she belonged among the old books and polished wood, as though the room had been waiting for her arrival.
Sophie, entirely comfortable, had made herself a little corner beneath the window where the afternoon light spilled across the carpet.
Neither appeared to notice how much the sight affected him until Eleanor turned.
“Mr. Hartley.”
He nearly smiled at the formality of it. “Eleanor.”
The use of her name surprised them both. He cleared his throat and placed the papers on the nearest table.
“I did not realize anyone was here,” he said softly.
A faint warmth touched her eyes, gone almost before he could be certain he had seen it. Sophie looked up from her book while pointing to it, and he glanced toward the illustrated page.
“Gabriel, this lady has a very large hat. She looks uncomfortable.”
“I imagine fashionable ladies often are.”
Eleanor hid a smile. The small exchange should have been insignificant. Instead, it left him strangely unsteady. He moved toward the desk, intending to retrieve the account book he had left there earlier, but before he could reach it, Eleanor spoke.
“I was told Mrs. Dobson received a letter regarding a governess.”
Gabriel looked back toward her. “Yes.”
“She claims you have already engaged one.”
“I have.”
“You did that so quickly.”
He looked toward Sophie, who had already returned to her book. “You have enough to manage.”
The words came out more quietly than he intended. Eleanor watched him.
“Gabriel…”
He looked away, suddenly aware that he had stepped too close to the line he had drawn between them.
“It was practical,” he said.
“Was it?”
His gaze returned to hers. For once, he did not have an immediate answer. He set the account book down.
“I only thought you should have some assistance. You have the child to care for, and the court matter. You have entered a household that is unfamiliar to you, despite you having known it once. It seemed unreasonable that you should be expected to manage every part of it without help.”
Eleanor remained very still. The words were simple, perhaps that was why they reached her.
Since returning to Bath, she had received sympathy from some, suspicion from others, and polite consideration from nearly everyone, but no one had spoken as though the weight she carried was something worth noticing.
“I cannot believe you thought of that.”
Gabriel frowned slightly. “Of course I did. You should not have to carry everything alone.”
For one brief moment, there was no marriage arrangement, no scandal, no years of hurt standing between them. There was only the man who had once known her better than anyone and the woman who he had never truly stopped wishing could explain why she left.
Eleanor looked at him, and Gabriel saw something in her eyes that made him want to say more, something that made him want to forget every careful boundary he had built.
Then he realized how much of the old Gabriel had slipped into those words, how close he had come to speaking from affection rather than duty, and his shoulders stiffened.
“The governess will arrive next week,” he said briskly. “Mrs. Dobson has already prepared suitable rooms, and I have instructed the steward to see that the necessary arrangements are made.”
The warmth disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Eleanor blinked once.
“Of course.”
He hated the disappointment he saw there. More than that, he hated himself for causing it, but he had spent six years teaching himself how to survive the absence of her. He did not know how to survive having her near again.
“I should return to my accounts.”
“Of course.”
He nodded, then he left. The door closed quietly behind him, and he remained in the hallway for several moments.
Gabriel had barely reached the corridor outside his study when Cassandra stepped from the shadowed alcove near the window. He stopped, as did she.
“Cassandra, what are you doing?”
Her expression was troubled rather than angry. “I have been looking for you.”
“That rarely means good news.”
Under different circumstances, she might have smiled. She did not.
“You are going to your study again.”
He glanced toward the closed door behind him. “I have work.”
“You always have work.”
The quiet accusation made him pause. Cassandra folded her hands before her.
“Do you know what frightens me? It is not Eleanor being here, before you say that.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “I thought you disapproved.”
“I am cautious,” she corrected. “There is a difference. I watched what happened before. I watched you after she left.”
“Cassandra—“
“No. You will hear me. You carried on as though it did not matter. You worked until there was nothing left of your days except duties and obligations. You told everyone you understood why she had gone, and that there was no point dwelling on it. William and I knew better.”
Gabriel looked away, and at last she softened.
“My fear is that she will hurt you again.”
“Eleanor did not come here intending to hurt me.”
“I know.”
“Then why speak as though she did?”
“Because good intentions do not always prevent pain. You have already begun caring for her.”
“That is my duty,” he sighed. “I am her husband.”
“That is not what I mean. Gabriel, I—I only ask that you remember you have a heart beneath all this duty.”
Suddenly, there was a creak of the floorboards nearby, and Gabriel turned to see a figure at the far end of the corridor. Faulks stood near the servants’ entrance, a tray balanced carefully in his hands.
***
The rumor reached Ravenscourt the following morning.
It came through a letter from a family acquaintance in Bath, written with the usual polite concern that often disguised a far greater interest in scandal.
Gabriel read it twice before passing it across the desk, and Eleanor looked at the page. Her face changed as she read it.
“The marriage is a sham,” she said quietly.
The words seemed heavier spoken aloud. The letter described whispers circulating through Bath society: suggestions that the marriage had been arranged solely to protect Eleanor from legal consequences, that Gabriel had taken pity upon a disgraced widow, and that the arrangement would dissolve the moment the court proceedings ended.
It had all been discussed at length in a gossip column, which mercifully had not been included in the package.
What had been mentioned, however, was Sophie’s sizable inheritance, and that it would need to be protected.
Eleanor looked up, dark circles under her eyes.
“Julian did this.”
“Perhaps,” he replied as he folded the letter carefully. “But the question is how.”
Because someone had not merely guessed. Someone had known, and somewhere beyond the walls of Ravenscourt, someone was watching closely enough to turn their private arrangements into public weapons.