Chapter 13 #2
When he returned, he carried a soft wool shawl folded over one arm.
“Eleanor?”
She looked up to see him holding it out to her.
“You are cold.”
The simple statement caught her off guard.
“I am perfectly well.”
Gabriel gave her the faintest look of disbelief. “You have been sitting in a draft beside an open window for nearly an hour.”
She looked toward the window, then back at him. “I had not noticed.”
“I did.”
The answer was quiet, too quiet. Eleanor accepted the shawl, her fingers brushing his as she took it. The warmth of the fabric did little to explain the strange feeling that moved through her. It was such a small gesture, yet it carried the weight of something much larger.
Before she could thank him properly, Gabriel returned with a cup of tea. She stared at it.
“What is this?”
“Tea.”
A faint flicker of amusement touched him, and in spite of herself she felt it too.
“I am aware of that. I thought you might appreciate it. You used to take it with a little more milk than most people preferred, so I assumed that remained the case.”
Eleanor felt suddenly unable to speak. It had been six years since she had walked away from him without explanation, six years since she had forced herself to forget the warmth of his smile, and still he remembered her tea.
She wrapped both hands around the cup, allowing the warmth to seep into her fingers.
“Thank you.”
It was all that she could manage.
Gabriel gave a small nod and returned to his brother’s side, leaving Eleanor alone with the shawl around her shoulders and the tea warming her hands.
She did not know what to do with such kindness. It would have been easier if he had remained distant and treated their marriage as nothing more than a practical agreement. She knew how to handle duty. She knew how to endure obligation.
She did not know how to accept tenderness from a man she had once loved and might have, even after everything, still loved.
As the day continued, Eleanor watched Gabriel and Cassandra return to their familiar places beside William’s bed. Their quiet communication and trust made her heart ache, but the shawl around her shoulders and the tea in her hands reminded her of something else. Gabriel remembered, and he cared.
Eleanor found herself caught between two truths that she did not know how to reconcile.
She felt like an outsider standing at the edge of his life, yet he continued to offer her small pieces of the man she had once known.
She could not decide whether those moments were a kindness she could accept or a hope she should fear.
***that
That night, when the physician finally declared that William’s condition had steadied, Eleanor slipped away from the sickroom for a moment to gather herself.
The house was almost entirely still. Most of the candles had burned down, leaving only faint pools of light along the corridors.
The servants had retired to their rooms, and the quiet of Ravenscourt felt deeper than it had during the day.
As Eleanor passed the study, she noticed a line of light beneath the door which gave her pause.
At such an hour, she had expected every room in the house to be dark.
Curiosity gave way to caution as she stepped closer and saw the door was not fully closed.
Through the opening, she caught sight of Faulks seated at Gabriel’s desk.
The sight immediately unsettled her. The butler had always been correct and attentive, perhaps more than anyone else in the household. He had anticipated every need since her arrival and had performed his duties with flawless precision.
Yet seeing him alone at the master’s desk in the middle of the night felt unusual. Before she could decide whether to announce herself, Faulks looked up.
“Lady Eleanor.”
“I hope I have not disturbed you!” She glanced toward the papers before him. “I did not expect anyone to be working at this hour,” she explained.
“That is quite understandable, my lady. I was sending urgent word to the physician and gathering the necessary papers regarding Sir William’s care.”
His explanation was perfectly reasonable, perhaps too perfectly reasonable. Eleanor looked toward the desk again.
“Of course.”
“The master’s health requires attention to every detail, as you can imagine.”
The concern in his voice sounded sincere, and Eleanor was tired, and so she did not press him further.
The night had been long again. William’s illness had frightened everyone in the household, and she was still learning where she belonged among the people and their routines.
Suspicion without proof felt unfair, especially toward a servant who had shown her nothing but courtesy.
“I hope Sir William improves,” she said simply, the guilt rising in her throat.
“He will have the best care possible.”
The answer reassured her enough to step away.
“I know. Goodnight, Faulks.”
“Goodnight, my lady.”
Eleanor continued down the corridor, but the unease followed her.
She told herself it was simply the strain of the night, the fear and uncertainty taking hold of her, yet as she returned toward her room, she could not entirely dismiss the image of Faulks seated alone at Gabriel’s desk, surrounded by private papers, in the quietest hours before dawn.
Gabriel and Cassandra had been managing William’s illness.
So why was Fauks suddenly so involved?