Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
E liza stood at the window of her chambers, gazing out at the sprawling gardens of Redfern Castle. The flowers were in full bloom, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the grayness she felt inside.
It had been five days since she and Anthony had visited the Rutherfords; she'd tried to coax him out of his study by inviting him to dinner, or for ride out, yet he seemed to be busy every time she asked.
She knew something was off, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was starting to grow tired of her again.
The sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway drew her attention, pulling her from her thoughts. A moment later, Mrs. Hayes, the housekeeper, knocked softly on the door and entered.
"Your Grace," Mrs. Hayes said with a curtsy, her tone apologetic, "Lady Lymington has arrived and is waiting for you in the drawing room."
Eliza's heart sank at the news. A visit from her aunt was the last thing she needed. She knew what to expect: criticism, condescension, and not-so-thinly veiled insults. Lady Lymington had never been one to mince words when it came to expressing her disappointment in her niece.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hayes," Eliza replied, forcing a smile. "I will be down shortly."
As Mrs. Hayes left the room, Eliza took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The past few days had been a struggle, and she knew Lady Lymington would seize on any perceived weakness.
Gathering her courage, Eliza left her chambers and made her way to the drawing room.
When she reached the drawing room, she paused outside the door, steeling herself for what was to come.
Pushing the door open, Eliza stepped into the room to find Lady Lymington already seated, her expression as severe as ever.
"Eliza," Lady Lymington said by way of greeting, her tone clipped, "you took your time."
"My apologies, Aunt," Eliza replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "I wasn't expecting you."
Lady Lymington's eyes narrowed as she looked Eliza up and down, her lips pursed in disapproval.
"Clearly," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "Where's your husband?"
"I am afraid I do not know, Aunt. I assume he's either working in his study or away for business," Eliza responded.
Her aunt's eyes narrowed, "What do you mean you do not know where he is? He's your husband!"
"I am aware of that, I was at the wedding," Eliza replied, her patience running thin, "But I do not have to know where he is at all times, and neither does he with me."
Lady Lymington clicked her tongue in disapproval.
"You have allowed yourself to become too comfortable here. I warned you, did I not, that marriage is no excuse for complacency? And if my eyes do not mistake me, your complacency extends to your eating. I warn you, His Grace will not tolerate a gluttonous wife."
Eliza bit back the retort that rose to her lips, knowing it would only make things worse. "I assure you, Aunt, I have not been complacent. I have been working with Mrs. Hayes to learn my duties as the mistress of the house."
Lady Lymington sniffed, unimpressed. "And yet, I see no word of improvement in your relationship with the Duke. Have you even consummated the marriage?"
Eliza felt a flush of shame rise to her cheeks.
"I beg your pardon?" she asked indignantly.
"Answer my question," Lady Lymington insisted.
"Is this why you came here all the way from London, Aunt? To interrogate me about my marital bed?"
"Do not be ridiculous. I am residing at my country estate, which is not far from here. And I am here because you are my niece; your reputation is linked to mine. Even though you are a duchess now, your origins and the hastiness of your wedding have not been forgotten by the ton."
"Allow me to remind you that the hastiness of my wedding was due to you , Aunt."
"Oh, please," Lady Lymington waved her hand dismissively, "You wouldn't even be a duchess were it not for me."
Eliza clenched her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms.
"You act as though I owe you. But I owe you nothing, Aunt," Eliza's anger finally spilled out.
Lady Lymington's nostrils flared, "You owe me nothing? Who took you in when your vagabond parents perished, eh? Who gave you food and roof over your head? But you were ungrateful back then, just as you are now, acting like a wild animal instead of a lady! But of course, since you eat like an animal, you behave like one too."
The words stung, each one landing like a blow. Eliza fought to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. She would not give her aunt the satisfaction. Not now, not ever.
"Enough!" her voice boomed out of her, and Lady Lymington flinched. "Don't you dare to insult my parents' memory like that ever again!"
Her aunt blinked, shocked by her outburst. But oh no, she was not done.
"You are a cruel, heartless woman who is completely hollow, save for her obsession with appearances. I will not tolerate your cruelty anymore. Not about my body, not about my parents, and certainly not about my marriage!" she added, her breaths coming out in pants.
"A wild creature, indeed," her aunt replied with a disdainful glance, "It is little wonder the Duke has wearied of you. He has witnessed this unbecoming hysteria, not to mention the unsightly excess of flesh you carry, and has, quite wisely might I add, chosen to withdraw from your company."
Before Eliza could retort, the door to the drawing room swung open, and Anthony strode in, his expression thunderous.
"Lady Lymington," Anthony said, his voice cold and authoritative, "How dare you speak to my wife in that way?"
Eliza's heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. She had not expected him to be here and certainly not at this moment.
Lady Lymington blinked, momentarily taken aback by his sudden appearance. She quickly recovered, her lips tightening into a thin line.
"Your Grace," she said, inclining her head slightly, "I was merely offering some advice to my niece."
"Advice?" Anthony's voice was laced with sarcasm. "It sounded like nothing of the sort. If you think that belittling my wife will gain you any favor in this house, you are sorely mistaken."
Eliza stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest.
She had never heard anyone speak to her aunt in such a manner. Frankly, she reveled in it.
"Your Grace," Lady Lymington began, clearly flustered, "I was only trying to?—"
"Your ‘trying' is no longer needed," Anthony cut her off, his tone brooking no argument. "Eliza is the Duchess of Redfern, and she is perfectly capable of managing her own affairs. She does not need your interference."
Lady Lymington's eyes narrowed, her composure slipping. "With all due respect, Your Grace, Eliza has always needed guidance. She is inexperienced, and if she does not receive proper instruction, she will make a mess of everything. Surely you can see that."
"You underestimate her," Anthony retorted, his gaze never wavering from Lady Lymington's. "And I will not tolerate anyone in this house who cannot treat my wife with the respect she deserves. Since you have not done so, then perhaps it is best you take your leave."
The silence that followed was deafening. Lady Lymington's face flushed with indignation, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to find a retort.
Eliza could hardly believe what she was hearing.
Finally, Lady Lymington seemed to recover her voice.
"Very well," she said stiffly, rising from her seat. "I will take my leave, but I do hope you realize the gravity of the situation, Your Grace. Eliza's future depends on?—"
"Eliza's future is secure," Anthony interrupted, his voice cold and final. "You need not concern yourself with it any longer. And from now on, you will address the Duchess properly."
Lady Lymington's eyes flashed with anger, but she said nothing more. She turned to Eliza, her expression unreadable.
"Good day, Your Grace ," she said curtly to Eliza before sweeping out of the room.
As the door closed behind them, the tension in the room remained thick, but it had shifted.
Eliza found herself staring at Anthony, unsure of what to say or how to thank him for stepping in.
His expression was hard, and though he had defended her, there was still a distance in his eyes, a barrier she could not seem to break through.
"Thank you," she said softly, hoping to bridge the gap, even just a little.
He nodded, his jaw tight, and for a brief moment, his eyes met hers.
"I will never let that woman set foot in our house again," he promised, "No one can talk about my wife like this."
Her heart quickened at his words, a warmth spreading through her chest. The fierce protectiveness in his voice both comforted and confused her, stirring emotions she had long kept at bay. She wanted to say more, to reach out to him, but the words evaded her somehow.
"No one should speak to you like that," he continued, his voice going deeper, more intimate, sending shivers down her spine.
As she stood there, searching his eyes, Anthony took a step closer. His gaze softened just a fraction, and Eliza felt the pull, the undeniable urge to close the distance between them.
For a brief, tantalizing moment, it seemed as though he might do the same. His hand lifted slightly, hovering near her cheek, and Eliza leaned in ever so subtly, her breath catching in anticipation.
Their faces were inches apart, and she could almost feel the warmth of his breath mingling with hers.
But just as she dared to hope, Anthony's expression hardened once more. He drew back, the moment shattered like fragile glass, and his hand fell away.
"We should retire," he said, his voice steady but distant. "It's been a trying day."
Eliza felt like she had plunged into an ice bath, and suddenly, her aunt's words echoed in her mind, grim and dark like funeral bells.
It is little wonder the Duke has wearied of you.
Unbecoming hysteria… The unsightly excess of flesh you carry…
"No," she swiftly grabbed Anthony's wrist before he could go, "we should not."
Anthony glanced at her grip, then back up at her in confusion, "What?"
"You have been avoiding me, Anthony. Why is that?" she asked, her voice steady.
"I have been busy with work," he said, "To which I must return, so let me go."
"No," she insisted, "that is not true."
Anthony clenched his jaw, "Eliza. Release me."
"Fine, but only if you tell why you are determined to evade me," she replied.
His handsome features hardened still, "Our arrangement… It should have boundaries," he spoke clumsily, as though he were speaking English for the first time.
Eliza loosened her grip on his wrist, and Anthony wretched himself free.
"So you've been avoiding me because we've been spending too much time together?" she asked.
He looked away for a moment before speaking, "Yes."
"So, have you grown weary of my company?" she asked shakily, her composure teetering on the thinnest of tightropes.
Anthony blinked, "No. No, that's not it."
"Then what is it? Because you have been continually coming to my door, touching me, making me yours, telling me how beautiful I am and suddenly, you pull away. Is that for no reason at all?"
"Because what we're doing, Eliza… I told you that we sharing a bed would only mean pleasure and nothing else."
"You did. But does it truly mean just pleasure to you? I see the way you look at me; I felt the way you touch me. The way you just defended me."
Anthony's temper flared, and he took a step closer to her, his voice rising. "What do you want me to say, Eliza?"
Her eyes narrowed, her anger matching his. "I want you to admit what you feel for me."
His panic fueled his frustration as he desperately wanted to end the conversation. "I… I find you beautiful and I enjoy your company… But, I cannot give you what you're asking of me."
Her heart sank as she realized she wanted more from him. She wanted to see him, raw and vulnerable, as he had been with her on the anniversary of his friend's death, at the masquerade. She wanted the real Anthony, the man behind the rake.
Because she had started to care for that man. Deeply.
Eliza's jaw tightened, and she crossed her arms over her chest, her voice trembling with emotion. "You are a coward, Anthony."
"Excuse me?"
"Yes. You are afraid to be open with me, to allow this to become something deeper."
"That is exactly what is not supposed to happen in arrangements like ours. I told you from the very beginning that I could not give that to you," he responded.
"Then why have you behaved like you do feel something?"
Her tears fell freely now, and she quickly wiped them away in an effort to keep herself from unraveling completely.
Anthony gulped, his face softening again, "I… I do not know."
"Fine," she let out a frustrated huff, "I am ending our arrangement then."
His eyes widened, "What?"
She sniffed once, "Ever since my parents' deaths, I have yearned to find comfort, acceptance. Love. You can imagine that I did not find that in aunt, nor at Mrs. West's," the words tumbled out of her like a torrent from a broken floodgate, "Well, I did find it with Diana for some time, but she went on her own path, and I do not resent her for that. The truth is… I wanted to carve out my own path too, and to find love there."
"Our arrangement, Anthony… I… I cannot stay in an arrangement in which I cannot find love. So, I am done," she added with an air of finality.
Anthony looked way, the muscles in his jaw straining, "As you wish."
"Is that all you have to say?" she asked, aching for a glimpse of something, anything.
But when he looked back up at her, Anthony had placed a mask of detachment.
"I have work to do," he said brusquely, "Good day."
Eliza watched as he walked out of the room, leaving her alone once more.
The door closed behind him with a quiet click, and she was left standing in the middle of the drawing room, the echo of his words lingering in the air.
She had wanted to believe that his defense of her meant something, that perhaps there was still hope for their marriage, but the coldness in his tone and the way he had walked away without a backward glance…
It was over.
She had never felt so alone in her life.
As she stood, she looked around the room. The castle, her supposed home, now felt more like a cage than a home.
Her eyes flicked to the window, and in the distance, she saw the woods that edged the estate. The forest called to her, offering a way to escape, if only for a little while.
Without another thought, Eliza turned around and fled from the room, and out to the stables.
"Good afternoon, Your Grace," John, the stable master greeted, "how may I help you?"
"Please fetch me my horse. I'd like to go out for a ride," she said, trying to maintain her composure.
"Of course, Your Grace. Though I must tell you that it looks like a storm's coming. Perhaps you could try tomorrow?" the man gently suggested, but Eliza was far too restless and she had to get as far from Anthony as she could.
"Thank you for the warning, John but I shan't be long. And the sooner you prepare the horse, the sooner I'll return," she replied, trying not to sound too terse.
"Of course, Your Grace. I'll be right back," John said and scuttled away.
To her relief, it was only a few moment later when she would actually mount her horse.
"There you go, Your Grace," John said, "Just be careful…"
His words were swept by the wind as Eliza spurred the horse forward, and into the woods.