Chapter 25
For several days after the trial, Ravenscourt seemed to breathe again.
No one declared that the danger had passed, but the constant urgency that had settled over the household began to lift. Even Sophie seemed to understand that something had changed, for she spent her mornings running through the garden without glancing over her shoulder.
William’s recovery brought the greatest relief. He was still thin and easily tired, yet he had begun taking his meals outside whenever the weather permitted. On the third morning, Eleanor found him sitting beneath the old elm with a blanket over his knees and a book resting unopened beside him.
“You are reading very slowly,” she said, lowering herself into the chair beside him. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.”
She studied him, unwilling to accept the answer without looking for herself. His color had improved, and the feverish weakness that had once kept him confined to his bed seemed to have loosened its hold.
“Truly?”
“Truly. I find myself increasingly offended by everyone’s determination to treat me as though I might collapse whenever someone opens a door.”
“You were very ill.”
“I was. Everyone seems happier now, though.”
“They are.”
“Does that include you?”
Eleanor hesitated before giving him a small smile. “I think so.”
His mouth curved. “Good. I am pleased that my brother’s efforts to please you were not in vain. He cares a great deal about you, Eleanor.”
She could not help but smile at that.
Their conversation was interrupted by Sophie, who came racing across the lawn with a small basket tucked against her side. She stopped beside William and lifted the lid with considerable excitement.
“Uncle William, I found three worms. I wanted to show you.”
“I see.”
Sophie turned toward Eleanor. “May I keep them?”
“Only if they are kept in the garden.”
Sophie sighed dramatically. William laughed, and Eleanor felt something warm settle inside her.
The sound of laughter had once seemed impossible, particularly during the worst of William’s illness and the weeks when Julian’s accusations had hung over them.
The simple sound made the house feel almost ordinary again.
Gabriel was everywhere. He appeared beside her at breakfast, asked whether she had slept well, and disappeared before she could decide whether his question meant anything beyond politeness.
He joined her in the library when she reviewed correspondence, lingered in the doorway when Sophie was taking her lessons, and somehow found reasons to accompany Eleanor whenever she walked through the grounds.
She suspected he was doing exactly what she was doing.
Waiting.
They had survived the trial. They had survived the misunderstandings that had kept them apart, and they had finally spoken truths that had been buried for years, but the most important conversation remained unfinished, and neither seemed willing to be the one who began it.
That evening, Eleanor found herself sitting alone beside the library fire. The house had gone quiet. Sophie had been put to bed, Beatrice had retired upstairs, and the dowager had withdrawn early. William was resting, leaving the lower rooms unusually still.
Gabriel entered carrying two glasses.
“I thought you might still be awake.”
“I am.”
He crossed the room and offered her one.
“What is it?”
“Wine.”
She accepted it and looked at him with mild suspicion.
“After everything we have endured,” he explained, “I thought we deserved something stronger.”
He smiled and took the chair opposite her. For a while, they said nothing. The fire crackled softly, casting warm light across the room, while Eleanor watched the flames and felt Gabriel’s attention resting on her.
Eventually she looked at him, but he spoke before she could.
“I have wanted to speak to you since the hearing.”
Her heart quickened.
“So have I.”
“Then perhaps we should.”
Eleanor placed her glass on the table.
“Yes.”
Gabriel leaned forward, resting his forearms against his knees.
“There are things I should have told you long ago. I should have told you that I—“
Her breath caught, and the words she had wanted to hear for so long seemed almost unreal now that they were about to be spoken without anger, fear, or accusation surrounding them.
“I do not think you understand how long I waited,” he continued.
“I thought you had chosen another life, and I believed you had left because you did not love me, but I always did. I wanted you more than I knew how to say, and perhaps if that had not been the case, then you would have known that I loved you, and it could all have been so different.”
Her voice trembled. “I loved you too.”
Eleanor could hear the fire, the faint ticking of the clock, and the sound of Gabriel breathing as he moved closer to her. He reached for her hand, and she let him take it just as he had in court. His thumb moved slowly across her knuckles, the tenderness of the gesture making her throat tighten.
“I have imagined this conversation so many times,” he said. “I never imagined it would be this difficult.”
“Neither did I.”
He smiled faintly. “Perhaps because there is too much to say.”
“There is.”
He lifted her hand and held it against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath her fingers, and the simple intimacy of the gesture made her eyes sting.
She moved closer, and Gabriel’s gaze dropped briefly toward her lips.
Eleanor felt her breath catch as he leaned toward her, the distance between them narrowing until she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin.
Then a small sound came from the doorway.
“Mother?”
They broke apart at once. Sophie stood there clutching her blanket, her curls disordered and her eyes heavy with sleep. Eleanor was on her feet immediately, crossing the room and gathering her daughter into her arms.
“Sophie, what happened?”
“I had a bad dream.”
Eleanor held her tightly against her shoulder and smoothed the curls away from her face. “I am here.”
Gabriel rose and came toward them. “You are safe.”
Sophie looked at him sleepily. “Can I stay with you?
Gabriel glanced at Eleanor, and she smiled.
“Of course.”
He took Sophie gently from Eleanor’s arms and carried her toward the sofa. Sophie curled against his chest, still clutching her blanket, while Eleanor sat beside them and tucked the edge of it around her daughter.
For several minutes neither adult spoke.
The confession remained between them, unfinished as it always was.
Eleanor looked at Gabriel, and when he smiled at her, she returned it with a warmth she no longer felt the need to hide.
There would be time for the rest. For tonight, Sophie needed them, and Eleanor found that she did not mind at all.
The following morning, Eleanor found the house in an unusually industrious mood.
The servants moved with greater purpose than usual, and more than once Eleanor noticed conversations ending when she approached.
There was nothing particularly alarming in it.
After the strain of the trial, everyone had grown accustomed to keeping certain matters quiet until they were settled, but the secrecy still made her curious.
She had gone looking for Gabriel after breakfast, intending to ask whether he had heard anything further from the solicitor concerning Julian. Instead, she found the library door standing slightly open.
Inside, Gabriel sat at the writing desk with several papers spread before him.
Cassandra stood beside him, leaning over the documents while he pointed toward something near the bottom of a page.
Their heads were bent close together, and the concentration on both their faces suggested it was a matter requiring care.
Eleanor stopped in the doorway. Neither noticed her immediately, but then Cassandra looked up and the conversation ceased. Gabriel lifted his head, and something in his eyes told Eleanor that they had been discussing something they had not intended her to see.
She felt the smallest pang.
It was an entirely human one, born less from jealousy and more from the sudden realization that there were still corners of this household into which she had not been invited. Once, such a sight might have sent her heart racing with suspicion.
Now, she simply stood there, waiting.
“I hope I am not interrupting,” she said.
Gabriel pushed one of the papers farther beneath the others. “You are not.”
Cassandra’s mouth twitched. “Although you have caught us at a rather inconvenient moment.”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow. Cassandra glanced at him.
“You are terrible at keeping secrets.”
“I am aware.”
Eleanor stepped into the room.
“I was looking for you,” she said lightly.
Gabriel rose from the desk. “Is something wrong?”
“No. I wanted to ask whether you had heard from the solicitor.”
“I have. Everything is proceeding as it should.”
Eleanor studied his face. There was something else, she could feel it, but she also knew Gabriel would tell her when the time came, and the trust she had fought so hard to rebuild was too precious to surrender to a moment of uncertainty.
“Very well,” Eleanor said, turning toward the door before pausing. “Whatever you are planning, I hope it goes well.”
“It will.”
She left them to their papers without another question.
She had spent too many years suffering through constant vigilance, and she no longer wished to live that way.
If she wanted her marriage to be happy, then she had to trust her husband, even if she wanted more than anything to truly feel as though she was part of his family.
Gabriel found her the following morning. He looked toward her as he entered, and the faint smile that had become increasingly familiar over the past few days softened his face.
“I have been looking through the investigator’s notes,” he explained. “About the hunting accident.”
She stopped beside him. “I have been thinking about that.”
Gabriel placed the papers on the desk. “Then perhaps we should stop treating it as a separate matter.”