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Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

“You and I are going to have a talk,” Philip said the moment Eleanor stepped into the study. He did not even glance up from the paperwork on his desk, as if sensing her reluctant appearance.

She had been expecting this, of course.

Philip sighed and set down his quill. “You are being too reckless.”

“Reckless?”

He raised an eyebrow, as if to say, You know what I mean. And Eleanor did know just what he meant. She was clever enough to make sense of it beforehand, but that did not mean she wished to be chastised by her brother for it.

“What if he does not marry you?”

“Nothing happened⁠—”

“It does not matter if nothing happened. You were seen.”

He was right, and she hated when he was right. Eleanor had put herself in the most precarious of situations, and if word got out in the ton, she would be ostracized, made a mockery of in whispered conversations, even losing invitations for events—which in itself did not feel like a punishment for her. If anything, it was a blessing in disguise.

Her heart fluttered at the memory of her intimate moment with Dorian. There was an airy lightness in her chest, and her lips tingled at the reminder of his kiss. But those feelings were fleeting, as her brother glared up at her.

“You must marry him, Eleanor,” he insisted with a frown.

Her gaze shifted to the papers before him, zeroing in on the scribbled numbers. She realized then that what she was looking at was paperwork pertaining to her dowry.

Eleanor stepped closer, hoping to get a better look, but Philip was quick to snatch the sheet away. He shoved it into the top drawer of his desk with a frown. “It does not concern you.”

“Does not concern me? It’s how much you’d offer to get rid of me.”

“Do not say it like that.”

Clenching her fists, she turned away from him before she would say something she would regret later. Her heart was pounding like a drum in her chest, the blood rose to the surface of her skin, and she wanted to do nothing more than to stomp her foot and curse him.

“I meant what I said.” Philip raised an eyebrow. “You will marry him.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I will consider it.”

“Eleanor—”

“I am leaving!” Eleanor called out as she moved for the door.

Philip had been confined to his study all morning, and it seemed he had no intention of leaving—until then, of course. She heard the rustle of movement, the chair legs scraping across the floor, and the quick footsteps to the closed door. He opened it quickly and looked at her.

“Where?”

Eleanor arched an eyebrow. “A walk with Grace. Is that allowed?”

He looked exhausted, as if he had not slept in days. Her brother had always been one to keep himself well-groomed, but it seemed evident that he had not bothered this morning, based on the dark stubble that covered his jaw.

“I do not appreciate your tone,” he said with a deepening frown. “And you would do well to ensure that you behave yourself, Eleanor. You have already all but ruined your reputation, why⁠—”

“I have not done anything to ruin myself,” she scoffed. Yet, she silently added.

“Even if that were true, you know how word travels…”

“May I go, Philip?” she asked as she turned on her heel, making for the staircase without looking back for an answer. She heard him curse under his breath, a mix of defeat and annoyance in his tone.

Beth stood at the door, waiting patiently. Her smile faltered when she saw Philip at Eleanor’s heels, no doubt fuming as she ignored him.

“Beth, go and prepare the carriage, will you?” Eleanor gave her maid a small smile.

Beth hesitated, but then slipped out the door without a word.

At the bottom of the stairs, her brother stopped in front of her, blocking her path with a determined look on his face. “Save yourself the embarrassment, Eleanor, and just stay inside.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, but an order.

She crossed her arms. “There’s been no mention of my name in any of the scandal sheets.”

If there had been, Beth would’ve brought it up first thing in the early hours that morning, since she was always so anxious to read them. And even if Eleanor had been named or mentioned, it would do her no good to hide away from the world.

She stepped around him and grabbed the door handle.

“Eleanor, stop!”

For a brief moment she hesitated, but then she stepped outside, ignoring his commands as she walked down the path toward the street and the awaiting carriage.

I have a feeling I will regret this later.

“The Duke of Dayton has asked me to consider marriage,” Eleanor said as she walked alongside Grace down the winding path.

Vauxhall was busier than usual, with countless men and women roaming the gardens. And that was to be expected, as there was a firework display scheduled that night.

Beth followed behind them at a leisurely pace. She was unusually quiet, Eleanor had noticed, but she had not put much thought into it.

Perhaps she is just tired.

“What will you do?” Grace asked, her tone a mix of concern and genuine curiosity. She was glowing in the fresh air, her face turned up toward the hovering sun, soaking in the last few minutes of sunshine while she could.

Eleanor frowned. “I am truly not sure. It is a good match, I know.”

“He is also quite handsome,” Grace added with a chuckle.

That he is.

Eleanor had not stopped thinking about his proposal all night and into the next day. It seemed to haunt her mind. She liked the duke well enough. He had proven to be good company in more ways than she dared to admit.

“You could do much worse,” Grace said as looked ahead, her eyes narrowing as she took in the winding path before them. “Speaking of worse.”

Approaching them were the Marquess of Jameston and the Earl of Amsbury. Nicholas smiled nearly from ear to ear at the sight of them, whereas the marquess barely seemed to acknowledge their presence.

Is his ego still sore from the theater?

“Lady Eleanor, Lady Grace,” Nicholas greeted as he bowed. “I take it you two have come to see the fireworks as well! Are you in the company of anyone else? Would you care to join us?”

“I am sure the ladies have plans,” the marquess said stiffly.

Eleanor smiled, her head tilted. They had planned to meet with Violet and Xander in a short while, but suddenly her plans had changed. “Why, that does sound lovely, Lord Amsbury! Grace—” She turned to her friend, whose eyes sparkled with mischief. “Is that agreeable with you?”

“Oh, certainly! I cannot think of finer company,” Grace replied.

“Then it is settled,” the earl said, his smile not once wavering.

At his side, the marquess struggled to maintain his composure, but he still managed to force a half-hearted smile and a nod. His eyes met Eleanor’s for a brief moment before he turned to assess the gardens, as if finding something quite interesting among the flowers and bushes.

It was clear his ego was still bruised from what had happened, but Eleanor had all but forgotten about it. She stood, deep in the idle conversation. Though not one for small talk, she did not wish to appear rude—and of course, if her brother were to discover she had been impolite, he would likely lose his mind even more.

The longer they stood there, the more her mind wandered. She made the occasional comment, but she could not seem to focus on the conversation entirely. As they often did, as much as she willed them not to, her thoughts wandered to the duke.

She wondered if he would be present for the fireworks, if she would come to see him, and just how the flashes of light would look against his skin. Eleanor had always enjoyed the displays, finding them almost magical. Was it something that the duke liked as well?

Nicholas made a joke, something about a man from France, and the group erupted in laughter. Not because the joke in itself was overly humorous, but because of the dramatic way he told it.

“You could be in the theater, Lord Amsbury.” Grace chuckled.

Nicholas grinned. “Ah, but I must admit, I have terrible stage fright. You could say I have issues when it comes to performance!”

More laughter erupted, and in its midst, Grace nudged Eleanor suddenly, her eyes darting down the path, where an unmistakably tall figure approached. Eleanor’s heart skipped a beat as she turned to face the duke, only to realize that his gaze was not on her but on the men behind her.

“Ah, the Duke of Dayton!” the earl said with his trademark smile.

The duke nodded curtly. “I fear I missed the joke. What was so amusing to make my betrothed laugh so loudly? I must hear it.”

A collective freeze swept through the group, Eleanor included, as the weight of his words sank in. She looked up at him, her brow furrowed, almost certain she had misheard him.

Betrothed?

The duke met her gaze, his eyes boring into hers unapologetically. This, she realized, was not only for her benefit, but for the others’ as well. He had singled her out, thus making it known right then and there who he meant.

“A word, Your Grace?” she asked, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

The duke raised an eyebrow. “Of course, my lady.”

Eleanor turned to the rest. “Would you all excuse us for a moment?”

She led him to the shade of a large tree, still within view of the others, who were shamelessly stealing glances their way, but not within earshot. Still, she kept her voice low as she spoke.

“In what way was that appropriate, Your Grace?”

“I see no issue in what I said,” he stated in a firm, unwavering voice.

Eleanor clenched her fists at her sides, struggling to compose herself as she looked up at him. The last bits of sunlight had faded, and the lanterns had been lit along the paths. She watched the shadows dance across his face, and she cursed him inwardly for being so disarmingly handsome.

She studied his features and watched as his eyes flicked back to the others for the briefest of moments. A thought stirred in the back of her mind, edging toward the front.

“Is it possible… that you are jealous?”

He just shook his head and bent slightly, so he was whispering in her ear. “Have you already forgotten?”

“Forgotten what?”

“I told you last night, my lady.” He stepped away from her and folded his arms across his chest. “You are mine.”

She raised an eyebrow and gave him an incredulous look, her temper beginning to rise. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and tried her best to keep her tone level. “I am not some item that can be owned, Your Grace. And, as of yet, I am not your betrothed.”

“Do you mean to decline, then?”

Eleanor frowned. “You have yet to ask.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Will you marry me, Lady Eleanor?”

“Yes. But know this, and listen well, for I shall not repeat myself.” She held his gaze as she spoke, with no intention of looking away. “I do not belong to you.”

The look in his eyes turned ravenous, and he shamelessly looked her up and down. “Oh, sweetheart, tell me that the next time you find yourself moaning my name.”

Eleanor opened her mouth to respond, but before she could get a word out, the duke stepped around her and went to join the others.

She turned and watched his back as he moved, his steps graceful, his posture straight.

He acted as if he had not just said such a crude thing in public.

Dorian stood amidst the massive crowd that had gathered, anticipation mounting as they all waited for the firework display to begin. He was not one for crowds, but this once, he found himself grateful for it. Eleanor was at his side, closer than would normally be appropriate, the societal rules relaxed just for a short while.

Dorian would never admit it—not out loud, at least—but she had been right. He had been jealous, and he still was. The marquess showed little interest in Eleanor, and no one could fault him for that, but Dorian could not ignore the stolen glances the Earl of Amsbury cast her way as the evening progressed.

They were subtle, barely noticeable. In fact, Dorian was sure that Eleanor herself was not aware of them, but he was. He had taken every liberty to step between them, to block the earl’s view of her, and he did so shamelessly.

If the earl noticed, he did not show it.

As the fireworks commenced with a resounding boom, echoing through the night and illuminating the sky above, Dorian found himself captivated by the sight. The colors burst against the pitch-black sky.

Eleanor had remained quieter than usual, though she still managed to feign interest in the conversations around them. He could not shake the nagging feeling that he might have pushed too far, creating a rift between them. He had not thought carefully before mentioning a betrothal, but he could not bring himself to regret his words either.

I will have to make this up to her.

Lost in thought, he suddenly felt something soft and subtle—a gentle brush of her fingers against his. Without looking down, he closed his fist around her hand and simply held it as the show continued. She did not look at him, her face was turned up to the sky.

Colors flashed across her features, the sparks reflected against her spectacles, and he could make out the awe on her face. She looked beautiful at that moment, stunning enough to draw and hold his attention despite the display above them.

The urge to kiss her right then and there had him drawing closer, but Dorian somehow managed to hold back. He looked down at her lips, his gaze lingering. When he looked into her eyes, he was surprised to see she was now looking back at him.

A strange feeling swelled in his gut, rising to his chest.

No.

Dorian quickly turned his head away. “Goodnight, Lady Eleanor.”

And with that, he left her there.

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