Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

This place looks more like a palace than a house…

Eleanor stood at the entrance of Dayton Hall, her eyes wide as she took in the massive structure before her. It was, by all accounts, a wonder to gaze upon, and she could feel the house bearing down upon her like a mountain. She had no idea that the Duke of Dayton lived in such a stunning estate, and she was surprised that he had not spoken of this.

Somewhere, far from the house, the distant rumble of thunder could be heard, like a roar from a beast in the night. Eleanor glanced over her shoulder toward the sound and watched as the sky lit up, illuminating the dark clouds for a brief moment.

“It looks like it will rain,” she said to her brother, whose attention seemed to be somewhere else at the moment.

Philip’s gaze was fixed on the other carriages as her friends stepped out to join them. She could not be sure who he was looking at, but there was a deep-set frown on his face.

Eleanor watched as Diana and Grace emerged from the same carriage, both giddy at the sight of the house, whispering amongst themselves in hushed, excited tones.

From the last carriage, she could see Xander stepping out first. He turned back and extended a hand to Violet, helping her down from the step. Celia all but hopped out after them, immediately pointing toward Dayton Hall in awe.

Philip continued to watch. What or whom, she was uncertain.

He turned to her when she nudged him with her elbow. “What, Eleanor?”

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

Philip turned his gaze to the house rather quickly. If he had heard her question, he did not bother to answer her. Instead, he stepped forward, with a look of determination on his face.

“Let’s not keep our host waiting.”

Standing in the doorway, dressed in an olive-green gown, was the Dowager Duchess of Dayton. She was a thin woman, of average height, with the tell-tale signs of old age visible around her eyes. Her hair was pinned to the back of her head in tight curls. Her smile bore the warmth of the sun as her gaze settled on Eleanor.

Eleanor, with a quiet Philip at her side, approached slowly. Her mind was awash with a newfound discomfort. The woman before her was the duke’s mother, and she felt the sudden urge to make nothing but the best impression. But how could she be expected to do such a thing with thoughts of the night in the garden still so fresh in her mind?

Offering a stiff but polite bow, Philip addressed her. “Duchess, we thank you for inviting us to your home. May I introduce my sister, Lady Eleanor Burton?”

Though Philip was speaking directly to her, the older woman’s gaze seemed fixed on Eleanor. Her smile did not waver, but there was something behind her dark eyes—something that made Eleanor feel uneasy.

“Lady Eleanor,” the dowager duchess greeted with a nod. “It is a pleasure to meet you, at last. I fear we did not have a chance to speak at the Duke of Edwardsburg’s ball. We will have to make up for such lost time.”

“Certainly, I would be delighted to,” Eleanor replied, her voice steady despite the churning in her stomach.

There was something about the look on the dowager duchess’s face that made her stand ever-so-slightly straighter, as if she were being judged on each movement and breath.

After introductions were made, Eleanor, Philip, and her friends were all escorted to the entrance hall. Immediately, Eleanor was met by the sight of a large crystal chandelier that illuminated the large space, and a grand staircase that stretched to the second floor. Underneath her feet, the floor was decorated with a stunning mural of what looked like ivy, painted into the hardwood.

Eleanor was not the only one in awe of the house. Diana, who was dressed in a soft rose-colored gown, could barely keep her jaw from dropping as she glanced around. “This place is incredible,” she whispered, leaning closer to Eleanor. “It looks like something out of a fairytale.”

One thing that struck Eleanor as odd was the sparse staff. Since their arrival, she had only seen a handful of servants. With a house as large as Dayton Hall, she had expected to see many more. But she reminded herself that this was truly a small, intimate gathering. Perhaps they did not need many servants for such an event.

Where is he?

Behind her, she heard Violet quietly murmur to Xander, “I could use this place as inspiration for my next novel.”

Eleanor could not seem to stop herself from looking for Dorian. Her eyes swept over the staircase and the hallways that branched off the entrance hall, but there was no sight of him.

As if reading her mind, the dowager duchess smiled at her almost knowingly and said, “do not fret, Lady Eleanor. He will be joining us shortly⁠—”

“I am here,” a deep, commanding voice called from the top of the stairs.

Glancing up, Eleanor’s breath hitched, and her eyes locked on him. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow, creating shadows that danced across his chiseled features. He was impeccably well-dressed, even more so than at the ball, and he appeared better groomed as well. His hair was tied back, slick and smooth, accentuating the sharp edges of his jaw and cheekbones.

Eleanor met his eyes, and at that moment, the world seemed to freeze. The air was charged with an undeniable intensity as Dorian’s eyes bored into hers. It was clear that his attention was solely on her, as if there was no one else around, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

As he descended the steps with a measured grace, his eyes never once left hers. There was something between them, something palpable drawing them together, and she felt her pulse quicken. He was looking at her as if he was starving and she was a feast.

And how she longed for him to feast on her.

When his feet finally touched the floor, he slowly turned his gaze to the other guests, as if only just realizing they were there. His demeanor shifted, and he greeted them with a polite nod, a formality that bordered on chilly. His emerald eyes, darkened by shadows, swept over their faces.

“I welcome you all. It is a pleasure to have you here,” he spoke in a commanding tone, drawing all the attention to himself. “If you would join me in the sitting room, dinner is being prepared and shall be served shortly.”

Grace looped her arm through Eleanor’s and leaned in. Her hair was down, wilder and more untamed, unlike the others in attendance. This in itself was not surprising. Grace did not often obsess over her appearance, though she did wear a lovely silk gown for this occasion.

“What do you think he will be serving? I am famished.”

Eleanor managed to stifle a smile. “When are you not, Grace?”

Grace raised an eyebrow, looking deep in thought. “A good point.”

Diana took Eleanor’s other arm. It must have been quite a sight, for the duke was watching her with an amused look on his face. Eleanor could almost see herself through his eyes, towering over her friends while being sandwiched between them.

The sitting room, much like the rest of the house, was exquisite. It was much finer than the one at Berkley Estate, which seemed to bother Philip to some degree. He was seated awkwardly in a plush chair, his eyes subtly wandering over the walls and taking in the decor with a slight frown.

The dowager duchess turned to Eleanor. “I trust the journey was pleasant?”

Unsure how to respond, Eleanor nodded with a small, polite smile. She still felt uneasy about the look that the dowager duchess was giving her—a prying look. She felt a knot forming in her stomach.

Is it possible that she knows about what happened in the garden?

It was a silly worry, but it niggled at her, nonetheless. “Indeed, it was quite smooth. Dayton Hall is stunning, Your Grace.”

“It is a bit too large for my liking.” The older woman chuckled. “But the Crawfords have been nothing but indulgent throughout history. Perhaps after dinner, Dorian would be willing to give you all a tour of the house?”

Eleanor was not accustomed to hearing his name, and for a moment, she could not make sense of it. She turned her attention to him and immediately swallowed back a laugh at the expression on his face. He regarded his mother with an incredulous look, a look that all but screamed, Did you truly just say that?

“I should very much like to see more, and certainly Eleanor would as well, Your Grace,” Celia said with a knowing smile, her eyes darting from Dorian to Eleanor. She then turned her attention to the dowager duchess and began to ask about the history of the house. But that conversation seemed to fade into the background.

Dorian’s eyes were once again fixed on Eleanor, boring into her, and she returned his stare with a sense of defiance. That hungry look lingered, even more intensely than it had been minutes ago.

“Would you enjoy that, Lady Eleanor?”

I would prefer a private tour more, I should think.

Eleanor smiled. “Very much so, Your Grace.”

“You said you are well-traveled.” Philip turned his attention to Dorian, his gaze icy. He knew he was interrupting something between them, whatever that was, and he was more than happy to do so. “Where is this fine collection you teased us with? And where have you been as of late?”

Eleanor had all but forgotten about the collection Dorian had mentioned the day before, her mind too preoccupied with everything that had happened since they arrived.

Dorian turned to Philip. “I would be glad to show you the collection after dinner, of course. And as to your other question…” He paused, reflecting on where he had been last. “I was most recently in the Scottish Highlands, visiting family near Wick.”

“My brother is stationed there for a spell,” the dowager duchess added.

Eleanor had not traveled outside of Great Britain, though she was always interested in hearing others’ accounts. She had heard countless stories of the Scots and the land they occupied, but she had, admittedly, never heard of a place called Wick.

Just then, an old man—the butler, no doubt—entered the sitting room. He was a short man with a receding hairline that drew attention to his forehead.

“Dinner is ready, Your Grace,” he said to Dorian.

Dorian shifted his gaze to Eleanor. “Shall we?”

The library, filled with old mahogany bookshelves and a lingering scent of aged leather, had not been used in some time. Earlier that morning, Dorian had the maids clear the dust and cobwebs from every surface and prep the fireplace. It was a room that harbored many memories, none of them pleasant.

Until now.

He sat in a plush chair near the crackling fireplace, a glass of fine brandy in his hand. He took a sip as his eyes fixed on Eleanor, watching as she fawned over the tomes with almost childlike excitement. And she was not alone in that sentiment.

Diana, Grace, and Violet were all behaving much the same, excited and chatting about what they had found. Celia had joined his mother for a short while, walking through the halls to learn more about the house, as her interests did not align with the others’.

“This is a fine brandy,” Xander said in a cool, reserved voice. He was a tall man, though not quite as tall as Dorian, and he had a commanding air about him. He held up his glass, swirling the liquid inside.

Philip, who had done little to hide his dislike of Dorian, nodded in agreement and muttered something along “Indeed, it is.” The tension between them was thick, and admittedly, Dorian did nothing to break it. He did not care if Eleanor’s brother liked him or not.

Dorian took a sip, savoring the taste. “I have not had much of a chance to indulge in it myself,” he admitted with a half-hearted smile. “I will make sure that each of you leaves with a bottle. It seems a waste to let it sit in a cupboard.”

Dorian failed to mention that it was his least-favorite drink. The taste was well enough, of course, and he could appreciate the quality, but there was a reason he had not bothered to sip on it until now. This brandy in particular had been a favorite of his father’s, and he was happy to see it go.

As the gentlemen continued to exchange small talk about the brandy and the subtle nuances of its flavor, the library was momentarily bathed in a flash of white light. Thunder followed, rumbling and rattling the sturdy walls of the house. Dorian’s eyes flicked to Eleanor. She was so engrossed in a book that if she had noticed the storm, she did not seem to care.

His gaze, despite his attempts to focus on the conversation, inevitably drifted toward her. The play of shadows and light in the room only seemed to accentuate her features, her beauty. The glow of the firelight turned her skin into porcelain, and the deep, red tones of her gown only accentuated her pale complexion.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he said as he stood up from his seat, setting the glass down on the side table before making his way to her.

The library was not overly large, by any means, but it was busy, and he stepped around her friends to reach her.

She was standing, the book balanced against her forearm as she flipped through the pages. It was all written in Latin, a language in which he was not well-versed.

Eleanor was so completely engrossed in the book that she did not notice him standing at her side until he spoke. “Do you like it?”

She jumped slightly, turning to him with a gasp. “I beg your pardon?”

He did not bother to hide his amused smile. He gazed down at her, soaking in the look of surprise on her face. “I asked if you like the book.” He chuckled. “And yet you look as though you have committed a crime.”

Eleanor’s expression softened, and she smiled. “It is quite interesting.”

“What is it about?”

“You mean you do not know?” She gave him an incredulous look.

Dorian shook his head and peered down at the open page, his eyes sweeping over the text as his brow furrowed. “Would it surprise you to know that I cannot read Latin? Save for the simplest of phrases.”

This did seem to surprise her.

Dorian could speak and read French quite well, even a bit of very rough Gaelic, but Latin had never come as easily to him. In fact, growing up, his tutors were certain he was simply a lost cause when it came to the language, much to his father’s ire.

“Keep it.” He motioned to the book. “Consider it a gift.”

Eleanor looked down at the book, contemplating his words. “I could not⁠—”

“You could, and you will,” he said with finality.

“Your Grace, this book is worth quite a lot. It is a special edition, and I do not think you’ll soon find another,” she argued, shaking her head as she held the book out to him. “I can’t accept this.”

“Ah, but this is the third yes I am asking of you,” he teased.

She flushed, and she lowered her voice. “Are you saying that coming here tonight is not one of the three things you asked of me?”

Dorian raised his eyebrows, struggling to keep the smirk off his face. He leaned closer, just enough to close some of the space between them without seeming improper. “I am saying just that.” He reached out, taking the book in his hand and then pushing it toward her. “And I have no use for a book that I cannot read.”

She still looked unsure but did not seem ready to argue.

Suddenly, the door opened, and his mother appeared with Celia at her side. There was a worried look on his mother’s face, one that made him turn to her with a frown.

“I fear the storm has truly taken a turn for the worse,” she said.

He could sense the next words before she said them.

His mother turned to the others. “It would be wise to stay the night.”