Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

“Your Grace, a wedding gift has arrived,” the butler announced in his usual steady voice.

Dorian, standing near the door and fully prepared to leave, turned his attention toward the older man, raising his eyebrows in question. “Already? I haven’t even married her yet.” He chuckled nervously.

He was already running behind and was certain he would be late, but something at the back of his mind told him that he should investigate. His curiosity was piqued.

Dorian followed John into the sitting room without another word.

Leaning against the sofa, a large rectangular shape, covered in a crimson sheet, waited for him. Dorian paused in the doorway as his eyes fell on the gift, and immediately his stomach churned. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of what it could be.

“John, tell the driver I will be there in a few minutes,” said he instructed.

With a bow, the butler left the room.

Dorian found himself alone, standing there and staring down at the red sheet. Slowly, he approached the gift, his mind racing.

Why am I wasting time with this?

He was going to be late, and no doubt his bride would be worried—if not furious with him. But his instinct told him he had to know what this was.

He hesitated only briefly before pulling the sheet away. It slithered down to the ground, pooling into a puddle of blood-red silk. The air in the room grew heavy, and Dorian found himself staring down at the painting with a furrowed brow.

It was a winter landscape, with a carriage barreling down the road. Admittedly, it was a beautiful piece, well done and vibrant despite the muted colors. Dorian’s eyes fixated on the image, and he knelt before it. There was something unsettlingly familiar about it, though he was sure he had never laid eyes on it before.

Why would someone send us a painting of a carriage as a wedding gift?

A chill ran down his spine.

“Dammit,” he muttered as the realization washed over him.

The carriage rumbled down the bustling streets, but Eleanor hardly noticed the bumps and dips. Seated across from her mother and Philip, she turned her gaze to the window and watched with wide, excited eyes as they approached the church.

Outside, it was perhaps the most perfect of days. The sun was warm, bright, and soft. A slight breeze whispered promises of the day to come. There was nothing to suggest that this day would be anything but perfect, and the feelings of uncertainty were ebbing away by the minute. Eleanor’s heart was thundering in her ears, and her chest felt light with excitement.

The carriage came to a gentle halt, and Eleanor peered out of the window where her friends all stood outside the church. Violet and Xander stood side-by-side, close and thick as thieves as they whispered amongst themselves. Diana was watching the carriage with a set of wide, sweet eyes, while Grace looked stiffer than usual. Eleanor saw Celia lean toward Dorian’s mother, whose face was pale.

Immediately, Eleanor’s stomach dropped.

Something is wrong.

As she alighted from the carriage with the help of her brother, her eyes frantically swept over the others. Everyone was there, dressed elegantly. Everyone, it seemed, but the groom himself.

Blinking, as if willing him to suddenly appear, she shifted her gaze to the Dowager Duchess of Dayton.

Has something delayed him? He surely must be on his way…

“He did not come with you?” Philip asked the dowager duchess, a mix of concern and budding anger in his tone. His shoulders tensed, and he balled his hands into fists at his sides.

The dowager duchess shook her head. “He had planned to leave shortly after me, but he has not arrived yet. Perhaps… Perhaps there was an issue with the carriage.”

She sounded as if she were grasping at straws, they all could feel it.

Eleanor forced a smile, trying her best to maintain her composure. She turned to the rest, her practiced smile making her cheeks ache. “He will be here.”

He promised he would.

Her heart clenched, and she silently begged him to appear. She glanced down the road, watching as carriages pulled up to the church and people filed in without a care in the world.

She willed him to appear, in any way.

As she joined the others, she engaged in the usual excited—though apprehensive—conversations, forcing a laugh at the light jokes and basking in the compliments paid to her dress.

The chatter soon faded into an awkward silence, and it was clear that everyone was thinking much of the same thing. Had the duke bailed on this wedding? Had he truly jilted her at the altar, so to speak? Eleanor tried to convince herself that there was a reason, an excuse, but the longer they stood there, the more doubt crept into her senses and darkened her mood.

“You are all welcome to join us inside,” the Priest, a short man with wisps of graying hair, called as he stepped outside. His eyes fell on Eleanor, a small and polite smile playing on his thin lips.

She smiled back, though her cheeks ached from pretending.

“Shall I go to Dayton Hall and see if he is there?” Xander suggested after a while, his voice deep and low.

Violet turned to him, smiling up at him and his small act of goodwill.

Eleanor, however, shook her head vehemently. Her rage was bubbling beneath the surface, soon prepared to boil over in a mess of emotion. “There is no need,” she replied tersely, her voice shaking with frustration. “There will be no wedding, so there is no need for a groom.”

Philip turned to her, opening his mouth to speak, but Eleanor did not wish to hear him. She held up a shaking hand, her entire body vibrating as she tried to contain the curses on the tip of her tongue. “I do not wish to hear it, Philip. Keep your snide comments to yourself.”

With that, Eleanor turned away from the group, her steps purposeful as she walked toward the carriage. She eyed the driver, who had been watching pensively, and then gave him a curt nod.

It was time to go, she would not suffer this humiliation any longer. She did not wait for the door to be opened for her. Instead, she jerked it open and climbed inside with a huff.

Her mother and Philip rushed to join her, but before they could reach the carriage, she slammed the door shut.

Without looking at them, knowing that if she met either of their eyes, she would shatter into a million pieces, she called out, “I need to be alone.” Her voice was firm, but still on the very precipice of breaking. “Please, just leave me be for now.”

They both hung back, reluctantly. Philip turned his attention to the driver, who was waiting for his permission to either stay or go.

With a heavy sigh, Philip nodded his head. “Take her home. See to it that she gets inside without incident.”

The carriage pulled away from the church, from her friends and family, and Eleanor broke down in her seat. She buried her face in her hands, gasping for air as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. Sure, she had had her doubts about the duke, but never had she imagined him to be this cruel.

“He’s not mad, he’s a damn monster,” she whispered as hot tears flowed freely into her hands, rolling down her arms to the white fabric of her gown.

Eleanor peered down at her dress and cursed at it.

By the time the carriage returned to Berkley Estate, her tears had stopped. She did not know how to feel, how to make sense of it all. Dorian had gotten what he wanted from her—perhaps what he had been chasing after from the moment he laid eyes on her. But what about her? She had allowed him to ruin her, and now she would be the one to truly suffer the consequences.

The carriage had stopped for only a brief moment, before she all but kicked open the door. Hiking her gown to her ankles, she stormed up the pathway and through the front door with nothing but rage fueling her.

“My lady?” Beth seemed shocked to see her.

Eleanor did not stop walking. “Leave me be, Beth. No visitors.”

Dorian rushed out of the room. His heart was beating like a drum in his chest, his blood roaring in his ears. The painting, much like the notes he had received, seemed to have been a threat. As he rushed to the front door, he pushed past John, barely acknowledging him.

There was one thing on his mind. One person.

Eleanor.

Something told him he needed to divert attention from himself, and he also k that taking the carriage would take longer than if he rode his horse. He rushed to the stables, moving so quickly that everything seemed to blur into one motion. One moment he was preparing the saddle, the next he was flying down the road with a cloud of dust behind him.

His mind raced just as fast as the mare beneath him. The sound of thundering hooves only seemed to reflect the pounding of his heart. His thoughts were consumed images of Eleanor, and though he did not consider himself a religious man, he could not help but pray for some sense of guidance.

The landscape shifted from fields to the bustling city, and as he had expected, he was arriving faster than if had he taken the carriage. But suddenly, the rush of wind and the pounding of horse’s hooves were interrupted by the sight of two carriages in the middle of the road ahead. Dorian slowed his mount, cursing under his breath, wondering what idiot would stop in the middle of the road.

He slowed to a halt, ready to steer his mare around them, when the carriage doors flew open and six men emerged onto the street. The suddenness of their appearance was enough to make his mare recoil. She reared and snorted, her eyes wide and wild as the men approached.

Though Dorian tried to steady her, there was no controlling the beast as she twisted her head. In an instant, he was thrown out of the saddle. He braced himself, but still, he hit the ground with a resounding thud. A loud grunt escaped his lips.

“Is he dead?” a voice asked.

“Of course, he’s not,” another answered.

Dorian forced himself up, ignoring the dull ache in his side as he looked up at the half dozen men who surrounded him. Before he could pull himself to his feet, he felt rough hands grabbing him and pulling him up. He pushed against them, cursing, but his struggle was futile. The men overpowered him, though not without a struggle.

With a forceful shove, Dorian was propelled into the small, dingy carriage. Three men joined him, one brandishing a shiny knife, pointed and ready. The door slammed shut, and he struggled to maintain his composure. More than anything, he wanted to kill them all, but there was no room for opportunity, otherwise he would have seized it right then and there.

“Stay still, or we will deliver you to your sweet, little wife in pieces,” a lanky, rat-faced man on his right snarled.

The smell of smoke and sweat filled the carriage like a miasma.

Dorian responded with nothing more than a glare, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. The tension in the small, confined space was thick enough to slice through with the man’s blade.

The windows of the carriage had been boarded up, and as the vehicle jolted forward, he had no idea of where they were going. But he could assume it had something to do with the address on the back of the note he had received recently.

As the carriage trundled down the uneven road, the rat-faced man leaned forward, addressing his two companions on the opposite bench. “Have ye seen the bride?” he asked, his intentions clear from the sideways glance he shot Dorian as he spoke.

“Nah, I haven’t—I have heard she is quite the sight, though.” The shorter, fat man shrugged.

The rat-faced man turned to face Dorian. “How is she, Your Grace? I bet⁠—”

Before he could finish, Dorian lunged forward, connecting his forehead with the rat-faced man’s nose. The impact echoed through the carriage, loud over the sound of the horses’ hooves and the sound of the wheels hitting the ground. It was a sweet sound to Dorian’s ears, the sound of breaking bone. Blood spurted out of the man’s crushed nose as he recoiled in pain.

In the dim, tight confines, Dorian wasted no time bringing up his feet and kicking the other two. Their yells were enough to stir the driver, and the carriage came to a sudden halt.

Living up to his name, Dorian laughed madly as the door flew open and the other three men from the other carriage appeared.

“You mad son of a⁠—”

Dorian’s victory was short-lived. Seizing the opportunity, another one of the men struck him. He landed a heavy blow to the back of Dorian’s head. The impact made the world around him, the sounds and sights, blur. Darkness crept over the corners of his vision until it swallowed him whole.

As he fell forward, the only thought that crossed his mind was her.