by Naomi Boom
The way he treated her suggested she should consider such a rash act. She had never met a gentleman so thoughtful. Yes, his behavior was a bit brutish, but his promise to create a magical place at Briarthorn seemed so honest. He wanted to make her happy. She was not to be his pretty bauble, led about to impress his friends. No, he wanted her for her, and how could she resist that?
Once more she uttered a sigh. She may wish to pursue something with Logan, but it would never happen. Her mother would not allow it, and Eleanor would not fight her. No, a duke was much better as a marriage candidate than a baronet, and Eleanor knew which one she would marry, no matter how much she might desire the other outcome. Besides, if she did wed a mere baronet, she might not be able to support her aunt in the style Eleanor dreamed of.
She finally managed to drift into a fitful slumber. When she woke, the skies had darkened, signaling they neared their destination.
“Are you excited to meet your duke?” Mrs. Westfield surprised Eleanor by asking.
“Of course.” Eleanor smiled, hoping her inner turmoil was not evident.
Mrs. Westfield smiled. “We are all so very excited for this, you know.”
Eleanor was very much aware of her family’s aspirations for her, and she hid her annoyance by looking out the window. Her family held lofty dreams for her, or rather, her marriage prospects. She rather doubted they cared what became of her after she secured a titled husband, aside from Mrs. Westfield, that is. Her aunt would still care.
The carriage continued to fly down the road. Her eyes were unfocused until the outline of an enormous mansion came within sight. There were enough trees surrounding the house that Eleanor could not see it in its entirety, but she could make out enough of it to realize it was the largest house she had ever encountered.
A shiver ran through her as the carriage turned to go up the drive. A light flickered in the window, and despite all rational thought, she knew it was Logan awaiting their arrival. The carriage came to a halt in the courtyard, and the door swung open to reveal a liveried footman. He helped Eleanor down from the carriage, and she approached an intimidating set of double doors.
She could make out a few gargoyles perched high upon the walls, and a chill of foreboding crawled down her spine. Maybe by day the gargoyles would look friendlier, as they could not look any less approachable than they did now. One of the heavy oak doors swung open with a groan, and the light from within beckoned Eleanor to enter while also chasing away some of the chills of the night.
“My lady.” An aging butler greeted Eleanor with a bow and indicated she should enter. She stepped in and was greeted by the musty smell of an old house. “His Grace is most pleased to have you as a guest. He has instructed me to place you in the Gray Room as it has the best view aside from his own chambers.”
“Thank you. That sounds delightful.” Eleanor smiled and was led to her room. Mrs. Westfield and her maid trailed behind, all looking in awe at the rich décor around them. Eleanor was used to living in luxury, but nothing she had experienced could compare to the ducal mansion. Even the marble her feet currently trod spoke of riches. It must have been imported from Italy or some other exotic location.
Mrs. Westfield went to a nearby chamber, and Eleanor entered her own. A footman carried in her luggage, and the butler informed her a light supper was to be served in the dining room in one hour.
Despite her exhaustion from the trip, Eleanor was pleased by the news. She would finally meet His Grace. The sooner the better. “Olive,” she said as the door swung shut. “We don’t have much time. You must pull out a dress and do something to my hair.”
Her maid rushed to do Eleanor’s bidding and chuckled as she said, “Someday, my lady, you will get my name right.”
Eleanor was too focused on her upcoming meeting to register her error. Her nervousness increased with each tick of the clock on the mantel. She inhaled and tried to calm herself. She focused on the interior of her room to distract herself, placing her hands in her lap to hide their shakiness.
The duke did not lack in funds, as evidenced by the richness of the fabrics and intricacy of the furnishings. Her large canopied bed was a dark gray and would keep her quite warm no matter what chill prevailed in the air. The colors in the room, which were various shades of gray, soothed her, and Eleanor allowed herself to relax into her maid’s increasingly capable hands.
After a short period of time, Eleanor’s hair was swept into a simple but charming chignon, and she was dressed in a tasteful powder blue gown that brought out the vivid hue of her eyes. She would make a positive impression on the duke tonight. She floated to Mrs. Westfield’s chambers and rapped on the wooden door.
Mrs. Westfield opened the door and smiled when she saw Eleanor. “You look lovely, my dear. I daresay I have never seen a more ideal duchess.”
“Thank you, Aunt. Shall we?” she asked and moved aside so her aunt could exit the room.
Mrs. Westfield smiled, and the two returned to the foyer. There, a footman directed them to the dining room. As they entered, Eleanor’s gaze landed on Logan’s and seemed glued to him until she tore her eyes from his. His heated gaze followed her to her seat, where she gained enough control of herself to look around at the others in attendance. Much to her surprise, only Logan and Lord Gammon were seated at the massive dining room table.
“Where are His Grace and the countess?” she asked.
Logan smirked at her and said, “Good evening to you, too. Lord Gammon and myself are well, thank you for asking. Lady Gammon and His Grace are indisposed. The duke has a cold or something of the sort.”
“Oh, how dreadful. I hope Lady Gammon has not also caught the cold,” Mrs. Westfield said with a touch of concern.
Lord Gammon chuckled as his chest puffed out in a self-satisfied manner. “Oh no, my countess suffers from a different ailment entirely. One that cannot be caught.”
Eleanor had no notion what he spoke of but was more concerned with the duke’s health. “What ails him? Has the doctor been called?”
Logan’s dark brown eyebrow lifted in reproach. “Oh, the duke’s needs have all been seen to, fear not.”
Eleanor eyed him, unsure why he had used such a cryptic tone. He stared back at her until the silence was broken by the meal’s arrival. The butler and the same footman from earlier carried in food trays and deposited them on the table. Eleanor stared in wonderment at the two. In an estate this size, there should have been a staggering amount of servants, yet so far she had only seen two.
“How far along is the countess?” Mrs. Westfield asked.
Lord Gammon beamed with pride. “We believe the child shall arrive mid-October. Do you have any children of your own, Mrs. Westfield?”
Mrs. Westfield shook her head as sorrow filled her eyes, and she began to tell the tale of her marriage. She had married the man she loved, only to find out he was a degenerate wastrel. After a short period of time, Mr. Westfield had succumbed to his poor choices and left his wife a widow at a young age. Eleanor had heard the sad tale many times and felt sorry for her aunt. She did not, however, wish to hear the story again.
She took a sip of her wine and eyed her food. The fare was simple. Not the sort she would expect from a wealthy household, much less that of a duke. She took a dainty bite of her shepherd’s pie and changed her mind. This was just the sort of food a duke would offer. It was delicious.
Mrs. Westfield continued to speak, and Eleanor entertained herself by toying with her food. When she finished, she sat back and observed the room. The walls were burgundy, and a massive chandelier hung in the center of the room. The ceilings were vaulted, and an extremely large fireplace took over much of the opposite wall. If she were to hazard a guess, she would say this dining room was very old. Most likely, in the past, this was the place where everyone gathered to feast every day and to be kept warm by the fire.
The meal came to an end, and Eleanor poured herself a touch more wine. She hated sleeping in unknown places, and wine always
helped her. Mrs. Westfield was the first to stand. “I think I will see myself to bed. Are you ready, Eleanor?”
Eleanor shook her head and indicated her wine. “I will go upstairs soon.”
Mrs. Westfield smiled, wished everyone a good night, and departed. Lord Gammon spoke when she disappeared from view. “I think I shall also depart for the night as Lady Gammon would be sorely disappointed if I remained. Good evening.” He bowed, winked at Logan, and also left.
Silence filled the room, and Eleanor was acutely aware of how alone she was with Logan. She sent him a penetrating look and said, “You planned this, didn’t you?”
He swirled the wine in his long-stemmed glass. “Hardly, my dear. You are the one with the absent chaperone.”
“She is only absent because she knows you do not pose a threat to my virtue. If His Grace were here, no force on earth would convince her to depart.”
All traces of humor left Logan’s face as he said, “Oh yes, the duke. You have yet to meet him, yet you are so set on marrying him.” He downed the rest of his wine and stood with a reproachful frown. “I should hope tomorrow you can at least have the manners to acknowledge the others present in the room with you.”
Eleanor also stood. She was annoyed that he would question her manners, although she supposed she had been remiss by not addressing those at the table. “It is not ill-mannered for me to show consideration for my host.” She picked up her wine glass and also tossed back its contents. The warmth spread through her limbs, and she smirked.
“That may be,” Logan said, his voice sounding unusually cold, “but ignoring everyone else is ill-mannered. You spent the majority of the dinner in a brooding silence, while your chaperone attempted to fill the gap.”
Eleanor glared at him as he stood so elegantly across the table from her. She would not stand here to be lectured by him. “I do not need to answer to you.” She spun on her heel and walked to the door. She paused under the doorframe to add, “Now, please excuse me. I wish to retire for the evening.”
He stood in place and smiled a cold little smile. “Good night. Just remember your precious duke may sound ideal now, but in the light of day he could be the opposite of what you think.”
He would say something aggravating before she left. She slammed the door shut that she had just opened and turned once more to Logan. Eleanor marched up to him and scanned his face. “Are you jealous?”
A wicked light appeared in his eyes, and Eleanor swallowed. She always liked to get the last word, although now she worried that was not the most intelligent decision tonight. A small part of her thrilled at the idea that he could be jealous, and she waited with anticipation for what he would say.
“Do you want me to be jealous?” His finger came up to trace the outline of her rosebud lips, and her mouth went bone dry.
She swatted his hand away and tore her eyes from his. “Of course I do not want that. I gain nothing from your jealousy.”
Logan ignored her wishes and turned her face toward his until she met his gaze. His green eyes searched hers until he found the hidden answer he looked for. Then, he dropped his hand from her face and stepped away.
Surprised by his sudden departure, Eleanor stood dumbfounded for a moment. “Do you have no response?”
“None whatsoever.”
When Logan had grasped her chin in his large, masculine hand, she had thought they were on the precipice of a kiss. The moment he stepped away without quelling the building tension, she felt robbed of something. Now his complete disengagement from their altercation left her beyond confused. With a disgruntled cry at the myriad of emotions he forced her to feel, Eleanor spun around and exited the dining room. She would go to bed and not give one more thought to the infuriating man.
Upon entering her room, she flung herself under the canopy on her mattress. His smug face came to mind, and she threw a ferocious and unladylike punch at her pillow. She closed her eyes, shutting out his infuriating touch. The only thing she saw was Logan’s green eyes and sensuous smile. Tonight would be a long one for her, of that she was certain.
****
Logan spent the morning taking a long, vigorous ride through his estate. He hated to admit to himself how possessive he felt of Ellie, and he definitely did not want to admit the strong feelings of jealousy that had overtaken him the previous night.
He chuckled as he remembered their encounter. Ellie had a temper and a need to win that bespoke her passionate nature. He was looking forward to their interactions today.
Once his ride was complete, Logan entered the stables, dismounted, and handed off Raphael to the sole groom. He had sent almost all the servants on a holiday, so he would not worry about one of them calling him “His Grace” around Ellie.
His butler had not taken the news of his plan well, and Logan had worried the poor fellow would have an apoplectic fit from the very idea. Fortunately, his loyal butler had gained control of himself and agreed to act as an accomplice. Logan had let him choose which servants remained, and he had sent away all but a select few. Evidently, only one groom was deemed necessary to keep the stables running.
Once his task was complete, Logan entered his house where he happened upon Reuben. “Good morning, how does Opal fare this morning?”
“Not too well,” Reuben said with a dour shake of his head. “She cannot keep anything down and lies about moaning and cursing at me. I needed a break from the abuse.”
Logan inclined his head in sympathy. His friend had looked so happy at the promise of an addition to his family but now was forced to deal with some of the less pleasurable aspects. “I am sure she is very understanding of your plight.”
Unable to hide a grin at his next statement, Reuben said, “Unfortunately, no. She acts as though she is the only one in pain, not realizing I feel a great deal for her predicament.”
Logan scoffed. “I cannot imagine why she is not more empathetic.”
The pair laughed at the exchange and walked to the dining room for an early lunch. After a short while, the butler came to Logan’s elbow and whispered, “She is taking a stroll in the South Gardens, Your Grace.”
Reuben burst into laughter. “You mean to tell me your servants are spying on her for you?”
Logan scowled and stood. “Of course they are. I am not going to spy on her, so who else would?”
“You could try bumping into her and allowing love to find its way,” Reuben said as he speared a sausage with his fork.
“Nobody has time for that.”
****
Eleanor slept the morning away and woke to the intense feeling of hunger gnawing at her stomach. She had not eaten much the night before due to a certain someone’s annoying presence. She rang for the maid and crossed to the vanity. Today could very well be the day she met the duke, and she needed to be ready.
“Good morning, my lady.” Her maid dipped a brief curtsy as she entered the room. “I took the liberty of calling for a tray. It should be here shortly.”
Eleanor smiled back at the girl and said, “That is perfect, Olive. Now we must do something to my hair. Something refined, but not too overdone. I don’t want anyone to think I tried too hard.”
Her maid frowned and shook her head. “You still are not getting my name right, my lady.”
Eleanor inclined her head and regarded the maid. She had thought she was doing so well, but evidently she was not. “I do apologize. If not Olive, then what is it?”
“It’s Olivia, my lady.”
Eleanor nodded. She was a bit miffed with herself for her lack of attentiveness. Yes, maids were servants, but Eleanor wished to form a loyal relationship with her maid, just like the one Laura had with hers. “Olivia it is, then.”
She was interrupted as a knock sounded on the door. Olivia crossed over and accepted a tray of food from the butler, thanked him, and closed the door.
“Olivia, do you not think it strange there are only two servants here?” Normally a butler did not perform such mundane tasks as d
elivering food to guests.
“I thought the same thing,” Olivia said as she leaned toward Eleanor and then whispered, “The cook was the only person below stairs this morning. I have not seen a single maid this entire time.”
“How can a duke lack servants at his primary estate? It almost seems as if he is not in residence.” That would explain the absence of servants at least. She shoved the idea aside. The duke was in his sick bed, and there must be an excellent reason for the absence of servants.
Once she finished dressing and eating, Eleanor left the room. Her dress was light green and spring-like and was inspired by the view from her window. Exquisite gardens lay just beyond her bedroom and were showcased by a sunny, warm day. She would go for a walk and find something interesting to paint later, and maybe the duke would make his appearance.
Eleanor trod amidst the newly budding foliage, her slippers making the barest of whispers against the pebbled path. Her mind was preoccupied with ever-present thoughts of Logan. She had hoped the garden teeming with all manner of flowers would be distraction enough, but she could have been in an empty room for all the attention she gave it.
A bright yellow tulip caught her eye, and she made a desperate attempt to focus on its beauty. Logan drifted from her thoughts as she seared the details into memory. She could paint a scene of tulips which surrounded a wrought-iron trellis. Or maybe a bench. Yes, a bench would be just the thing, and then she could add some sort of creature on the bench.
The snap of a twig interrupted her, and she glanced up. Logan strode toward her while looking much too handsome in his riding gear and not at all apologetic for interrupting her walk.
“My lady.” He smiled at her and extended his hand to help her up from her crouched position.
“I wondered how long it would take for you to find me.” She accepted his hand and stood. An electric current of awareness shot between them, and she stifled a gasp. His touch had a drastic effect on her, no matter how slight. An annoying, smug look appeared on his face. She must not have done a very good job at hiding her attraction for him.