Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

“It looks like it might rain.” Eleanor sighed, looking up at the sky.

The morning in Hyde Park was a gloomy one, with the sky draped in muted gray tones. Eleanor walked alongside Diana on the narrow footpath. There was no doubt in her mind that there was a promise of rain in the air, and so the park was unusually quiet. That is not to say that there were no other visitors, but the number was small.

Behind them, Beth followed with a bored expression, her eyes flicking to the Serpentine. The water was tranquil and reflective, flowing gently while mirroring the overcast sky. Ducks glided across the surface, creating ripples that fractured the reflections of the surrounding trees.

Diana had been more quiet than usual, no doubt stewing over her thoughts. “I do not wish to be rude,” she began softly, genuine worry in her tone. “But you appear exhausted, Eleanor. Did you not sleep?”

Sleep had eluded Eleanor, to say the least. Her thoughts had been consumed by the duke, no matter what she did to put him out of her mind. Her body had ached in a way she could not describe without causing a flush to creep up her cheeks, turned even more intense at thoughts of their kiss.

“I did not sleep well,” Eleanor said in a dismissive tone.

Leaning in closer, so no one else would hear, Diana linked her arm with Eleanor’s. “I am concerned about you, Eleanor,” she said in a hushed, pleading voice. “The Mad Duke⁠—”

“The Duke of Dayton,” Eleanor corrected her firmly.

Diana faltered, her cheeks turning a sweet shade of pink from embarrassment. Despite her stumble, she pressed on, her voice now sounding tinged with apprehension. “He is a dangerous man. He… he killed his own father. You are fortunate to have escaped him unharmed.”

“Escaped? I was not held hostage, Diana.” Eleanor chuckled.

“Of course not, but still.” Diana frowned. “I only mean that he was truly guilty of this, was he not? He was put in an asylum for it. There is a reason he has earned his name.”

The mention of his time in an asylum sparked a fleeting curiosity within Eleanor. She could not help but wonder what his experience in such a place had been like, or what had he endured there. However, those thoughts left an uneasy knot in her stomach, and she quickly pushed them aside.

Diana’s warning of his madness echoed in her mind as they continued to walk, chattering about this and that, though she was not focused on the conversation. She responded, of course, but with vague comments.

If he truly is mad, why was he released?

“There is Lady Martin,” Diana whispered, bringing Eleanor out of her thoughts. She glanced up as a raven-haired woman approached, a gentleman at her side whom Eleanor did not recognize. Behind them was a shrewd-looking maid, whose beady eyes darted to Beth.

Eleanor had always thought Lady Martin to be a stylish, attractive woman. She was incredibly wealthy, with distant ties to the Crown. But she remained modest enough, save for her fashionable gowns. Today, she was wearing a beautiful gown in a rich shade of Pomona green.

“Lady Martin, it is a pleasure to see you,” Eleanor greeted when they stopped in front of them. She offered a polite nod to the gentleman but did not address him.

Beside her, Diana did the same, though in a much quieter voice, a flush to her cheeks.

Lady Martin smiled. “Enough with the formalities, Eleanor! Please, I have been begging all Season that you call me Helen. I swear, I shall not respond to anything else! And you, Diana. The same goes for you.”

Eleanor chuckled. “Forgive me, Helen, a slip of the tongue.”

Lady Martin went on, talking about how she was so upset not to have had a chance to speak to them at the ball, but she complimented their dress. “Oh, I have left my manners at home. Eleanor, Diana, this is Dominic Rosseau. He is visiting from France, of all places! I am afraid he does not speak English well, but it is quite humorous to hear him try.”

The man nodded politely to them both. “It is a plaisir.”

Eleanor noted the scowl on Lady Martin’s maid’s face, her eyes flashing with disapproval, before returning her focus to Lady Martin and Mr. Rosseau. “Well, we will leave you to your walk. I fear it’s going to rain.”

As Eleanor and Diana resumed their walk, Eleanor’s mind remained filled with thoughts of the duke. It did not matter what caught her eye, who glanced her way—she couldn’t stop thinking about him. She could not seem to dismiss the disparity between the ton’s perception of him and the reality.

She did not know why he was accused—she could not know. And of course, Eleanor was not about to ask him, no matter how curious she was.

She was still uncertain if he had been serious about what he said in the garden. Did the duke truly wish to persuade her to marry him? Or were those just honeyed words, leading to that kiss? Either way, for now, she had no regrets about the kiss, but she wished he would stop haunting her thoughts.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a concerned glance from Diana, who seemed to pick up on Eleanor’s inner turmoil. Before she could offer any reassurance, the rain began to fall, starting as a light drizzle that quickly turned into a downpour.

“My Lady, we should hasten our return,” Beth urged, her voice nearly drowned out by the increasing intensity of the rain.

They quickened their pace—not an easy feat in their gowns—but despite their efforts, the rain had completely drenched them before they could even see the carriage.

Eleanor laughed, looking up at the sky as the rain pelted her cheeks. Loose tendrils of curls stuck to her forehead, and her updo became soggy and heavy. But still, the rain made her exhaustion evaporate.

She chuckled as she looked at Diana, who appeared less than thrilled, but then a smile slowly spread across her face. The two laughed while Beth watched in a state of confusion.

“You look positively ridiculous, Beth.” Eleanor chuckled.

The maid raised her eyebrows, giving her an incredulous look, as if to say, Me? Have you seen yourself?

She then flagged the carriage guided by two large dark horses. “Quickly, now. Before you both catch a chill!”

As the carriage came to a halt in front of the house, Eleanor peered out the window. It was still raining, heavier now than ever before. She knew it would be more proper to wait for a servant to come with some form of cover, but she was most anxious to change out of the sopping gown.

“My lady!” Beth exclaimed as Eleanor opened the door and climbed out into the downpour.

The rain was falling in sheets at an inclined angle due to the wind. She was shivering, but the feeling still was pleasant enough.

It felt as if she had needed that, to almost cleanse herself of him.

Diana stepped outside behind her, much to Beth’s disapproval. She grabbed Eleanor’s hand, and together they ran down the walkway, up the steps, and then through the front door, all the while laughing in a way that simply could not be contained.

Their saturated clothes dripped on the floors, leaving small puddles in their wake. Despite her waterlogged state, Eleanor could not stop smiling, even as her spectacles fogged over. She removed them, holding them tightly in her hand as her vision blurred.

As they walked slowly, and carefully, through the main entrance, they passed the sitting room. Once she had stepped just beyond it, Eleanor came to a sudden halt. She then walked backward, much to Diana’s surprise.

Her stomach dropped as she looked at the man in the sitting room. There was no mistaking the height or the shape of his broad shoulders. The smile that had been etched on her face, pulling at her cheeks, dropped as realization dawned on her.

“What is it? What is the matter?” Diana whispered as she moved to her side. Her own smile still lingered, though now it appeared less certain, until it was altogether gone.

She, too, was now looking at the man in the sitting room, her face paling.

Eleanor did not know why, but the duke was in her home.

“It is normally considered less than appropriate to call on someone without prior notice,” the Duke of Berkley stated, his eyes turned toward the window in an obviously annoyed fashion. Those eyes, the same shade as that of his sister’s eyes, flashed at Dorian with nothing more than contempt.

It seems I have made quite an entrance.

It was no surprise that Lady Eleanor’s brother would be less than pleased to have the infamous Mad Duke in his home, but Dorian had half-expected Philip Burton to show a bit more decorum.

Glancing about the sitting room, Dorian could almost feel the eyes of the portraits on him. The room was decorated tastefully enough, but it did not reveal much about the house’s inhabitants, aside from their wealth. Everything was lavish, pristine, and absolutely boring. It was not a room that he would remember, save for the one portrait on the wall across from him.

The painting was unmistakably of Lady Eleanor, though it seemed that some of her features had been muted. She was without her trademark spectacles, and the freckles across her nose and cheeks had been omitted, leaving her complexion blank. It was her, no doubt, but it almost seemed an idealized version of her.

Turning to Philip, Dorian offered a lazy smile—one lacking conviction—and nodded his head apologetically. “Forgive me, duke. I fear that such rules are a distant thing of the past, to me.” He paused, suppressing the wicked smirk tugging at his lips. “As they were not present in the asylum.”

The Duke of Berkley turned red. “I beg your pardon?”

I have made your dear sister blush just the same, though, under different circumstances.

Dorian straightened in his chair, offering a fake sympathetic smile. “I meant no offense, of course. I only⁠—”

“Lady Eleanor has returned,” a voice suddenly announced from the doorway.

Standing there, his mouth tight beneath his well-trimmed mustache, was the butler. He was an older man, his hair a shade of gray that matched the clouds outside. His eyes, shrewd despite his composed demeanor, beheld Dorian as if he were a leper. And truly, who could blame him?

The butler turned his gaze back to Philip. “Along with Lady Diana.”

Which one is Diana, again?

It seemed that Eleanor had a flock of hens about her, and despite the introductions, Dorian was not certain of who was who just yet.

“It is about time.” Philip sighed.

Dorian remained seated, his hands resting on his thighs as he watched the door. The sound of laughter flooded the house, echoing off the walls and flooding the tension-filled sitting room with an odd mix of warmth and trepidation.

The Duke of Berkley frowned, clearly embarrassed by the sound—a sound that was not at all becoming of a lady. But that sound was music to Dorian’s ears. It made the corners of his mouth quirk up.

Eleanor, still laughing, passed the open doorway without so much as a glance into the sitting room. Then, her laughter ceased abruptly. To perhaps everyone’s surprise, she retraced her steps, walking backward to the doorway, where the butler stood. A look of shock crossed her face as her gaze settled on Dorian. She slipped her spectacles off, wiping the fogged lenses with a handkerchief, before placing them back on her nose.

Did she think me an illusion?

The very notion elicited an inward chuckle, one he struggled to stifle. Dorian stood up first, his gaze sweeping over her shamelessly. It was clear that she had been caught in the rain. Her sodden gown clung to her body like a second skin, revealing her subtle curves. He could barely convince himself to look away, and when he did, he felt the urge to steal yet another glance.

“This is no state for you to be seen by guests,” Philip said as he stood up, a note of annoyance and embarrassment in his voice. It was clear he had more to say about it, but Dorian’s presence made him choose his words carefully. “Go and change, Eleanor⁠—”

“I do not intend to stay long,” Dorian said. In truth, he wanted nothing more than to soak in the sight of her. It was an image he was sure would haunt his mind more often than naught. “I only wish to extend an invitation to Lady Eleanor.”

“An invitation?” a hushed voice echoed.

Dorian, so preoccupied with Eleanor’s appearance, had forgotten about the other young woman at her side.

Diana, shorter than Eleanor but still tall for a woman, stood there, her expression a mix of horror and surprise. She bobbed a quick curtsy, her straw-colored hair sticking to her face. Meanwhile, Eleanor, recovering from her shock, also bobbed a slight curtsy as an afterthought.

“Yes. To an intimate dinner at my estate, tomorrow evening,” Dorian said, his eyes fixed on Eleanor.

She was holding his gaze. Her eyes seemed to bore into him as if trying to read his thoughts. And it was a good thing she could not, for they were centered on her drenched state.

“With her friends, of course,” he continued as he turned to Philip, who was watching him like a hawk. “You are welcome as well, Duke.” He had a nagging feeling that Philip would not allow it otherwise. “I am under the impression that the ladies enjoy literature, and I have procured a vast collection during my travels,” he admitted.

Philip raised an eyebrow. “I did not know you are well-traveled.”

Dorian looked back at Eleanor. A knowing smile was playing on his face, unable to be suppressed no matter how much he tried.

“Do you say yes to this, Lady Eleanor?”