Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

“Are you feeling well, Eleanor?”

Eleanor had been lost in thought, her body aching from another sleepless night. She snapped back into the sitting room. At her side, Diana wore a look of concern, her brows knitted and a soft, delicate smile playing on her lips.

The sitting room buzzed with hushed conversation. Grace was perched on the window seat, looking outside as the sun shone down on the street below. She appeared forlorn almost—no doubt wishing to be out.

Near her was Philip, who wore the most sour of looks. It was clear he also wished to be anywhere but in the room. And who could blame him? It was filled to the brim with women chatting about wedding preparations.

I will be married tomorrow. Perhaps.

Once more, Eleanor was made aware of the fact that Dorian had not called on her, nor had he bothered to write to her. Something was wrong, she could feel it in her bones, but what could she do but simply hope he would appear for the wedding ceremony? It was not as if she could go to him…

But what is truly preventing me from doing such?

Eleanor frowned, half-tempted to think of some excuse to sneak from the house and find him– to demand answers, but those thoughts were shut down from the look that her brother was giving her. It was a look that made her inwardly curse, annoyed at how he seemed to know just what she was thinking.

“Just a bit tired,” she told Diana with a small smile, not wishing to worry the younger woman with her troubles. But more so, she wanted her brother to know he had nothing to suspect her of. With that, his gaze shifted away, appearing distant once again.

In truth, Eleanor should have felt a bit embarrassed, and worried.

But instead, she was frustrated and annoyed.

“Pre-wedding jitters, then?” Diana raised an eyebrow.

Eleanor chuckled. “Yes, something like that.”

“That is to be expected,” Violet piped up from across the room.

She sat comfortably on a sofa, her gown tucked beneath her neatly. In her arms was a small, quiet bundle. The baby had been sleeping since their arrival, only stirring for the briefest moments. Eleanor had to admit that motherhood looked quite good on her friend, despite her own reservations about her choice of a husband.

It had been no secret that Eleanor had disliked Xander, who had been infamously dubbed the Dark Duke. But, over time, the man had grown on her, mostly due to the deep affection he harbored for his wife. It seemed that he would do just about anything for her, and Eleanor found herself almost envious.

Hovering nearby was Eleanor’s mother. It was surprising that she had joined them, even more so that she was so very drawn to the child. She peered down at baby Jonathan, smiling in a way that Eleanor had not seen in some time.

Her gaze flicked from Eleanor to Philip, then back again. Her eyebrows rose, realization washing over her. “I imagine I can expect grandchildren soon from one of you,” she said softly, a smile gracing her lips.

It was clear she was delighted by the idea, but the same could not be said of her children.

Discomfort settled like a heavy fog over the room, and Philip, somehow looking in an even more foul mood, cleared his throat. He was not often embarrassed, but there was a hint of color rising in his cheeks.

Eleanor couldn’t help but delight in the sight, and she seized the opportunity for a taste of revenge. After all, he had all but thrown her at the earl, despite the fact that she was clearly promised to another.

Eleanor straightened, her eyes boring into his, unable to contain the wicked smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Yes, brother. When can I expect to be an auntie?”

“Whenever I find myself a suitable wife,” he answered coolly, though it was clear he was not pleased with her taunt. His gaze swept over the room, and then he turned to their mother, bowing slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to attend to.”

“Oh, and what is that? Finding a wife?” Eleanor drawled.

“Eleanor, stop teasing him.” Their mother sighed.

Philip quickly excused himself, seeming almost half tempted to bolt out of the room. When he was gone, their mother shot Eleanor a sharp, disapproving look, before returning her gaze back to the baby in Violet’s arms.

Eleanor stifled a sigh. As she watched the child in her dear friend’s arms continue to sleep soundly, she couldn’t help the thought that her mother was right. Sooner than later, she would have children of her own. Eleanor had never even considered it before, never letting the thought take root in her mind, but now it was anchored there.

She would likely become a mother to Dorian’s children. An image formed in her mind, a portrait of them all together as a family, but she quickly shook it away. Her stomach was in knots, her chest tight with conflicting emotions.

Something was wrong with the duke, or perhaps something was wrong with her. Either way, his absence had left a hole, as much as she did not wish to admit it.

Eleanor was sensible—too sensible for this nonsense—and yet she wanted nothing more than to see him. To ask him why he had been avoiding her, for she was nearly certain he was.

And as much as she wished for the thought to remain somewhere hidden, she couldn’t help but think of the pretty maid in his employ. The maid who had eyes for him, so blatantly. Was he avoiding her because of the maid? Or perhaps another woman?

“Something is the matter,” Celia noted in a quiet voice as she sat at Eleanor’s side. She smelled of smoke and something spicy, something exotic—like cigars—but in the form of expensive perfume. “I can see it on your face, Eleanor.”

Eleanor did not doubt it was obvious, in her sleep-deprived state. She could feel her well-rehearsed mask cracking and splitting. She hesitated, her eyes turning downward as she tried to gather her thoughts and think of some excuse.

Eleanor knew better than to even attempt to lie to Celia, who seemed to sniff out such things like a hound, so she was careful to stick as close to the truth as possible.

“I am just a bit worried about the duke,” she admitted.

Celia frowned, tilting her head to the side. “How so?”

“H-he’s been quite ill,” Eleanor said quickly. “And⁠—”

“Oh, please, Eleanor,” Celia scoffed. “Do you think me a fool?”

Celia was many things—troublesome, meddling. But a fool was not one of them.

Eleanor sighed, letting her shoulders drop. She leaned in, lowering her voice so no one could overhear them. “I do not truly believe him to be ill.”

“And why not?”

“I saw him on the street.”

Celia raised an eyebrow. “Then I suppose he owes you an explanation.”

“I agree, of course, but⁠—”

“You ought to go to him, Eleanor.”

Eleanor could see the cogs turning in her friend’s head.

Suddenly, a wicked smile crossed Celia’s face. “Why, I do believe you were meant to join me this evening, were you not?”

Eleanor was not, but it was clear to her that Celia had something planned—something that would help her see the duke. But did she truly wish to? And if she saw him, what would she say to him?

Eleanor glanced about the room once more, knowing that this may be her only opportunity to sneak away to confront him. Then she turned back to Celia. “Why, yes, I believe so.”

“Are you sure this is wise? It is a big day tomorrow,” Philip cautioned, hovering near the doorway, with his hands behind his back. He was watching her, a hint of suspicion plain on his face. It was clear that he was doubtful, to some extent, of her plans for the evening.

She did not think he was truly suspicious of her meeting with the duke, but it was clear he was not too pleased with the idea of her stealing away into the night the day before her wedding. And any rational mind would not blame him. It was strange that she planned to leave the house at such an hour.

The sun had long since set, and the streetlamps illuminated the cobblestone streets. All of her friends had left much earlier, save for Celia, who had just climbed into the carriage parked down the road. Eleanor could see her peering through the open door, waiting impatiently.

“Celia’s maid will be doing my hair tomorrow,” Eleanor lied.

Philip frowned. “And your own maid cannot?”

“Beth is very skilled, but not as up-to-date on the latest fashions in bridal coiffure. You know as well as I do that Celia is very keen on the latest fashions,” she argued, taking a step toward the exit, testing the water.

Her mother had already encouraged her to go after she had given her the same excuse, but Philip was an entirely different story—and he was much, much harder to convince. Eleanor had hoped to slip out before he noticed, but he had spotted her as she made for the door.

“Yes, you’re right.”

She blinked, surprised by his comment. “I’m glad you agree, brother.”

“Celia is keen on the latest fashions, indeed. You, however, have shown no such interest before now.”

He made a valid point. There was no denying that Eleanor had never been one to keep up with such matters.

Eleanor frowned, determined. “But I wish to look the part—like a duchess.”

Philip could not argue against that.

He let out a defeated sigh. Stepping aside, he nodded toward the door. He did not like the idea, it was clear, but he was not about to prohibit her from going.

“You will be home before the sun rises, sister,” he warned.

Without another word, she walked past him with her head held high.

She could feel his eyes boring into her shoulders as she walked down the stone path leading to the carriage. Though she had convinced him to allow her to leave, she knew he was not pleased at all.

“I thought he was about to lock you inside,” Celia huffed as Eleanor climbed into the carriage. The compartment was luxurious and plush, which was only to be expected from Celia.

Eleanor settled in her seat as the door closed behind her. Looking out the window, she could see her brother standing in the doorway, watching her. “I’m sure the thought crossed his mind.”

“I will say, Philip is more clever than I have given him credit for,” Celia admitted as the carriage pulled out onto the street. She looked at Eleanor, her eyebrows raised in question. “I will drop you off on my way home. If anyone asks, you were simply with me all evening, styling your hair for tomorrow.”

Eleanor nodded slowly and then turned her gaze out the window, watching as they passed the still-busy streets. The lamps had been lit, and there was an eerie glow, paired with the slight fog that hovered above the ground.

How on earth did she get to this point? Sneaking away to confront the duke?

Eleanor frowned and then returned her gaze to the woman across from her. “You know, this is entirely your fault.”

Celia chuckled. “Ah, yes. You can thank me after the wedding.”

I’m not so sure if I will have anything to thank you for, at this rate.

“So, am I to storm into the duke’s estate and demand answers?”

“No, I would suggest sneaking in quietly.” Celia shrugged.

It took Eleanor a moment to realize that her red-haired friend was being all too serious. Sneak into Dayton Hall? Was such a thing even possible?

It did, as much as she did not want to admit it, make the most sense. No one knew that she would be there, and it was best to keep it that way.

She would have to avoid the staff, the dowager duchess… and that maid.

Though a part of her wanted nothing more than to turn back, go home, and pretend that nothing had happened, she knew she had to do this. Her fists clenched in her lap as she looked out the window once more, watching as the busy streets turned into the quieter country roads.

She would get her answers from the duke, one way or another.