Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

“Oh, no, Juliet…” Diana trailed off as she leaned over the railing of their box. Wide-eyed, her mouth slightly open, she was completely absorbed in the unfolding drama, and Eleanor could swear she detected a tears in her eyes.

Under other circumstances, Eleanor too would’ve been immersed in the play, but tonight her thoughts wandered far beyond the packed theater.

She was quite excited to attend, even going so far as to wear a stunning new dress in a rich shade of emerald. Beth had taken care of styling her hair, letting it frame her face in a way that seemed to accentuate the best of her features. Eleanor knew she looked good, and she felt it.

But he wasn’t there.

She didn’t know why she expected anything else. She should have told him yesterday that the invitation was withdrawn. But it seems a more foolish part of her still hoped he’d show… especially after that kiss.

She knew he was holding himself back, but she had hoped…

When Beth had handed her the letter, she had been elated. It was their first correspondence, and her heart had skipped a beat as she opened the envelope. The message had been short, curt almost.

He wasn’t coming because he was feeling ill, which in itself was not a concern. But it was the briefness of the note—the lack of thought. Eleanor had hoped for more, and the disappointment was smothering her.

It’s so foolish to be this vexed.

And yet that was exactly how she felt. Vexed.

Eleanor continued to feign interest in the play, her gaze sweeping over the audience below before turning to the stage again. Her chest felt hollow with each breath. Her mind wandered, and her thoughts turned to the duke.

She was to marry him in a few days, and yet she had a strange feeling about his absence. He was perfectly fine the previous night. The more she thought about it, the more she was certain that he was well enough. He just wanted to avoid her. Again.

And then there was the maid.

Eleanor had seen the pretty Margaret looking at him, her gaze on him as if she knew him in the most intimate ways. She had tattled on Eleanor to Philip, no doubt in a callous act of jealousy.

Was the maid with him at this very moment?

Eleanor shuddered at the thought. She had always been skeptical of men and their honeyed words, promises, and advances. She had never been so concerned about them, so jealous and full of doubt. And then a sense of worry, new to her, washed over her.

I sound like a jealous wife, already.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Philip said as he stood up, his voice flat yet polite. His eyes flicked toward her, leveling her with a look that almost screamed, Behave yourself, before he slipped out the door.

Diana had barely noticed that he had left, her attention completely focused on the stage. Her hands gripped the railing as her shoulders tensed in anticipation. Eleanor couldn’t help but smile at the sight. One would think Diana was Juliet at this moment.

Leaning over Philip’s seat, Nicholas chuckled. “I have never seen anyone hang on each and every word as she does. Have you, my lady?”

“I cannot say that I have,” Eleanor whispered with a smile.

“How are you enjoying it?”

Eleanor’s smile faltered for a moment. “Quite so. And you?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing her. Nicholas turned his gaze back toward the stage, his eyes lazily wandering over the actors. “I will be honest,” he said, not looking at her. “I am not one for such things at all. I would much prefer to read the plays.”

This surprised her, for she hadn’t thought the Earl of Amsbury someone who was well-read. He was an intelligent man, but nothing had quite struck her as someone who would rather read a piece than watch it.

“Then why come?” Eleanor asked.

Nicholas’s eyes flashed for a moment. “Your brother asked me to join you. Did he not tell you? Forgive me, I assumed he had.”

Why would Philip want the earl here? Unless…

She considered what Philip had said about not wishing for her to marry the duke. Was this some ploy to get them closer?

Thinking on it more, she was certain this was the case. After all, her brother had never expressed much like for Nicholas. That’s not to say they weren’t friendly. They were, as duty demanded, but it seemed bizarre that Philip would invite the earl to a play.

And also strange that the earl would accept.

Eleanor frowned, half-tempted to press the issue. She was about to pry, to see if the feeling in her gut was correct, when the earl leaned over the seat between them. He was close to her, his voice barely above a whisper. “I did not wish to embarrass your brother when he asked me. I thought perhaps he did not wish to see it alone.” He offered a small, uncomfortable smile. “I often struggle with saying no.”

“Perhaps he wished for you both to suffer together,” she chuckled, though doubt lingered in the back of her mind.

His explanation made perfectly clear sense, and yet she was not keen to believe it, but she did not dare say so.

His gaze turned back to the stage, where a tender moment was happening between the star-crossed lovers below. “I will say one thing about the play,” he added as he watched. “I wish for a love like that.”

“I hope you will find it,” Eleanor said with a smile.

She couldn’t stop thoughts of the duke from rising to the forefront of her mind at the mention of love. Immediately, she shook them off, refusing to let them return—though they lingered still, only quieter.

The very idea that the duke should come to her mind at the word love was enough to make her shudder.

“Can I expect you to join us tomorrow?” Nicholas asked.

Eleanor blinked. “What for?”

“Ah, I suppose Philip failed to mention that as well.” He gave a sympathetic smile. “I have invited you all to a dinner at my estate.”

This fog is thick as smoke…

Dorian walked down the dimly lit, gritty streets of East London. The night and fog swallowed each and every footstep, giving the illusion that he was some phantom haunting the road. As he ventured deeper into the shadows, his sense of familiarity with the area seemed to return to him.

He had been here before. Years ago.

The building was nestled between two others. The stonework was crumbling, and the illuminated windows were hazy. Even from a good distance, he could hear the life roaring inside, dozens of voices calling out and the unmistakable shrill sound of laughter.

“You smell too clean to be here, Your Grace,” the woman sitting outside the front door said as he approached. She was an old, mean-looking witch who seemed to see right through him.

Dorian schooled his features to not let surprise show on his face. He nodded to the woman. “It has been a while, Madam. You look well⁠—”

“Cut the nonsense,” she snapped. “What do you want?”

“I’m looking for information.”

The old woman nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing as she looked him over. “You’ll want to see her, then. But you know as well as I do that she only lets her customers inside the room.”

Dorian reached into his jacket pocket, feeling for the small pouch that made a clinking sound as his fingers grasped it. She perked up at the sound, as he had expected.

“Of course.” He produced a shiny shilling that seemed to glisten in the dim light. “And this, if you let me inside.”

He handed the coin to her and watched as she held it up above her head, squinting at it in the light with a deep-set frown.

Satisfied, she nodded to him as she slipped the coin into a hidden pocket in her dress. “Our little secret, then,” she said as she indicated the door. “Go on.”

Inside, the air was thick with the mingling scents of spirits and sweat. The flickering candles and roaring hearth cast an amber glow over the patrons, none who regarded him at all, though the same could not be said for the women who were working. Immediately, two flocked to his sides, looping their arms through his as they leaned into him.

“Good evening,” the blonde on his right purred.

At his left, the brunette looked up at him. “So tall… is everything big?”

Normally, he would have engaged with them, at least some harmless flirting, but something twisted within him. Both women were quite attractive, there was no denying that, but they paled in comparison to Eleanor. After all, it was for Eleanor that he stepped foot into this sort of establishment.

“Ladies, perhaps you could escort me to her.” He motioned to the door across the room, the one that seemed completely ordinary. Dorian knew that the door led to a separate staircase, leading to the uppermost floor of the building. “I have some business to attend to.”

The blonde stepped away, letting the brunette guide him toward the door. She wore a curious look on her face as they passed the other patrons, noblemen with young women on their laps. Dorian recognized a few of them but did not bother to pay them any mind. And he wasn’t concerned about being seen, for his reputation could hardly become any worse.

“What’s your name?” Dorian asked the brunette.

She smiled wickedly. “Are you planning on calling for me?”

“I’m afraid I am a promised man.” He chuckled.

“And yet you’re here of all places.” She moved ahead of him, rushing to open the door to allow him through. As he walked past her, she bobbed a curtsy. “Cassandra.”

“Thank you, Cassandra,” he said.

The dark staircase was ahead of them now, only illuminated by the light from the main room.

Dorian reached into his purse again, pulling out two shillings and then slipping them into her hand. “There will be more if you’ll wait for me here.”

“Of course,” she agreed as she closed the door behind her, plunging him into darkness.

Dorian heard the soft click of the door as he made his way up. The steps were steep, and there was no railing, so he leaned forward as he went.

At the top, he could see the outline of a door. He rapped at the solid wood and listened for movement inside.

Suddenly, the door flew open.

Standing there was a tall, curvy, red-haired woman. She eyed him with a sly smile and then tilted her head to the side, her demeanor shifting immediately as realization dawned on her.

“Well, if it isn’t the Mad Duke.”

“What are you plotting, brother?”

Philip glanced up at Eleanor as they sat across from each other in the carriage. His body moved with the bumps and swaying, his eyes regarding her with a bored look. He had been completely silent during the rest of the play, only speaking to confirm that they would be attending the earl’s party.

“You should be seeking the attention of the earl instead of⁠—”

“I am marrying the duke in days,” she snapped, annoyed.

Eleanor could barely look at him without feeling like she might explode, so she turned her attention out the carriage window.

He could not be more transparent.

Philip had been adamant that she marry, and she was doing just that, and yet he still wasn’t satisfied. She had done what he had suggested, even finding a match that would benefit the family, and yet…

As the dimly lit streets passed by, her brooding contemplation was disrupted by a familiar silhouette—a very tall figure walking alone. She craned her neck to get a better look, trying to convince herself that she was imagining it. There was no way it could be him. And yet a surge of frustration and disappointment coursed through her. It was Dorian; she would recognize him anywhere.

He had been too ill to attend the show with her, and yet he was out, wandering the streets. Eleanor clenched her jaw, her gaze fixed on the figure as he faded into the darkness. The carriage rolled on, the clip-clop of hooves on cobblestone reverberating through her body.

Seething, she continued to stare off into the darkness of the streets, her mind racing with questions and doubts.

Eleanor was determined, she would get the truth from him about his absence one way or another.