Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

P hillip had received word of the Duke of Bedford's ball a few weeks ago, but he had spent the last few weeks considering what to offer Eleanor by way of explanation. No doubt she would balk at the idea of appearing in public on his arm, though he suspected she would make a show of acquiescence in his presence and before the ton tonight. Still, he wanted her to look and feel every bit the duchess that she was, and so he had put a great deal of thought into what she might like as a gift to go with her ball gown.

After searching high and low, he had settled on a necklace of diamonds strung carefully on a very thin wire so that the diamonds seemed to sit like water droplets on the wearer's collarbones and breast. The necklace came with a bracelet with diamonds set onto a somewhat sturdier metal mounting and earrings to match. The delicacy as well as the strength of the wire that supported the costly gems reminded him of his wife, and he had known immediately that it was the parure he had wished her to wear. All that was left to do now was to break the news to her.

Phillip wandered in search of Eleanor, noting with approval that the new blue carpet on the winding grand staircase looked pristine and lovely against the dark sheen of the wood, which had been freshly stained and polished. Descending into the main floor of the house, he went in search of his wife, beginning with the room she liked best—the library.

He was fortunate today. She was bundled in a corner in the vast library, the sunlight illuminating her and Bella as the two of them dozed off. She'd fallen asleep with a book in her lap and made an adorable sight. He smiled sadly, wishing that moments of sleep or moments when she didn't know he was watching her weren't the only times he saw her like this, peaceful. He didn't want to disturb her from her slumber, but he needed to wake her so she would have time to prepare for the evening ahead.

He walked over and put a hand gently on her shoulder. "Eleanor?"

She stirred with a gasp and lifted her head as she blinked and looked about blearily. "Yes? What? Am I needed for something?"

"Calm yourself, Eleanor." Phillip smiled softly. "It is only I."

She finally fixed her eyes on him, and the familiar scowl returned. "Oh."

"I know I have not pressed you to spend time in my company as of late, Eleanor, but tonight, you must accompany me to the Duke of Bedford's ball."

Eleanor closed the book in her lap carefully. "Oh. Very well, Your Grace, as you wish."

He crossed his arms. "That is all? As I wish, and that is the end of the matter?"

"Do I have any say in this?"

Phillip hesitated. In truth, no. Neither of them could show up to social events without the other this early in their marriage. It would do nothing but lead to talk and gossip. He needed her by his side, even if she did not wish to be there.

"I suppose not. I would have refused the invitation on account of our recent marriage, but Bedford is a very good friend of mine, Eleanor." Phillip willed her to understand. "I would not ask you to accompany me if it were not important."

"You did not ask me at all." Eleanor rose and wandered towards one of the aisles of shelves, placing the book back carefully into its spot. "You told me."

"I suppose I did," he murmured. "I know you do not like social events, but?—"

"You need me there. I am your wife, and it is my duty to appear beside you at such events. I understand my place, Your Grace." Her voice was neutral, but the tight clench of her jaw told a different tale. She was angry about this, but she wasn't going to blame him for it this time. "We both have parts to play in this disastrous story we call life."

"I suppose," he muttered. "Though I do not think you have properly judged yours."

"I think I judge it quite properly." She turned to face him. "Would you like to choose my gown as well, Your Grace?"

"No. Wear something suitable for a duchess. Oh, and Eleanor?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Leave the jewelry off."

She pursed her lips and crossed her arms. "I will look silly if I do."

"I promise you will not. Please, humor me on this?"

"Very well."

Eleanor didn't sound pleased, but she didn't argue with him.

"We must leave at six sharp. I will see you then."

She nodded and walked out of the library, leaving him by himself to wonder how things between them had ended up in such a tangled mess. Before he'd inherited his dukedom, he had imagined he would marry a woman he loved and who loved him. He had never dreamed he would end up marrying a woman who thought he was after her money or that he would be finding himself falling deeper in love with the stubborn beauty with each day he watched her from afar, all the while knowing that she loathed him more with each passing day. It was a strange kind of pain, one he prayed would soon pass, for he feared it might break him if it would not.

Phillip glanced at his pocket watch for the fifth time that evening. It was now exactly six o'clock, which was when they had to leave, but Eleanor still hadn't appeared. He was beginning to wonder if she'd forgotten the time and was curled up by the fire, reading away the minutes. He paced the length of the entrance hall once, then twice, then thrice.

Should he go up to see if she was ready? She should be. Unless her maid had forgotten entirely about his orders to see to it that Eleanor was ready in time, he doubted his wife was still in a state of undress. Perhaps he should go up.

Was it acceptable to do so, though? If she were in the middle of putting the finishing touches on her hair or gown, she might get upset if he barged in. What if she were in the midst of changing because the first dress had not been to her liking? She would likely murder him in his sleep if he walked in on that. But she was his wife, and he had every right to enter her chambers, whether she was dressing or not. He shouldn't worry about whether she would be upset if he came to check on her after she failed to come down and meet him at the specified time.

Having convinced himself that there was no reason not to check on her, he turned and took the first step towards the staircase. A door opened upstairs, and he hesitated. Before he could take another step, Eleanor swanned into view at the top of the staircase. The light from the candle sconces on the walls glinted off her high, alabaster cheekbones and her dark hair. Her lips were reddened with some cosmetic.

The real beauty, however, was not the makeup or the hair piled atop her head with pearls decorating it. No, the real beauty was the gown. A deep blue silk and brocade ensemble, it drew out the rich mahogany of her hair and the sparkle of her brown eyes. In this light, with her delicate beauty, he could well imagine more poetic men than he composing rhymes in her praise.

Eleanor frowned and descended the stairs towards him. "Your Grace? I hope I did not keep you waiting too long."

"You are a bit late. I feared you might have forgotten or lost yourself in a book." Phillip took her arm and helped her down the rest of the steps. "I see now you were merely ensuring that every piece of your attire was perfectly chosen and placed. You look resplendent."

Indeed, she did. The evening gown hugged her ribcage snugly before flowing down from her bustline in smooth lines. The back had been pleated to give the gown a fuller effect, and the front had delicate gold butterflies and dragonflies embroidered on the straight, flat panel of blue silk. The neckline had similar embroidery, and it showed off the graceful curve of her neck and the swells of her breasts beautifully. He shifted, averting his gaze and reminding himself that such thoughts were not appropriate, not when his bride despised him.

"Thank you." She moved past him, but not quickly enough to hide the faint blush on her pale cheeks. She might feign indifference, but she was pleased he thought she looked lovely. "I am sorry I kept you waiting."

The Duke slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out the velvet-covered jewelry box containing the late wedding present he'd had commissioned for her just for this occasion. "Wait, Eleanor. Your ensemble is incomplete."

She turned to him with a frown. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I asked you not to wear any jewelry." He extended the box to her. "I had this commissioned for you as a wedding present. I know it is late, but I would like you to wear it this evening."

Eleanor returned to his side, taking the box from him and opening it up. For a long while, she simply stared down at the jewels, her face a frozen mask. Then, her expression shifted to something pained before turning strangely wistful. She traced a finger along the curve of one of the necklace's wires and over a few of the diamonds. "It is lovely, Your Grace," she whispered. "Why did you choose such an unusual design?"

He too looked down at the necklace and the matching earrings and bracelet. "The wires supporting the diamonds are delicate yet strong, and the diamonds are nearly unbreakable. Their natures remind me of yours. That is why I chose them."

She flinched and looked away. "You think I am delicate?"

"I do, but I also think you possess a stubbornness that hides that delicacy from all but those who are keen enough to notice it."

"And I suppose you have?"

"I think so. Here, allow me." Phillip lifted the necklace from the box.

Eleanor turned her back to him obligingly, standing very still as he drew closer. He reached around to put the necklace around her neck. Though there was no need to touch her to accomplish anything he was doing, Phillip couldn't resist allowing his knuckles to brush the warm skin of her throat as he adjusted the wires and then pulled the chain to fasten the necklace. He let his fingers trail briefly down the base of her neck and her shoulders before pulling away.

She tensed, and a tiny shiver worked its way through her spine. He didn't point out her reaction to his touch. If he did, he suspected it would ruin the mood between them, and he didn't want the quiet, almost romantic moment between them to end. So instead, he let the goosebumps on her arms and the little shiver pass without making a remark and turned her to face him. "Perfectly suited to you," he murmured.

The blush on her cheeks intensified, and she lowered her gaze to the remaining jewelry in the box. "Shall I put the rest on?"

"In the carriage." Phillip took her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles before slipping it into the crook of his elbow with a soft smile. "We have dallied long enough, and if we do not hurry, we will miss the ball entirely."

Eleanor followed him out of the house in silence, letting him help her into their carriage before he climbed in after her. He noticed that she put the bracelet and earrings on right away without any prompting from him. He also noticed the way she kept stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking. A tiny flicker of hope bloomed in his chest. Perhaps she could learn not to hate him and instead—dare he think it?—learn to love him. He would settle for the first, but he couldn't help hoping for the second.

Eleanor entered the ballroom of the Duke of Bedford's sprawling mansion on Phillip's arm. As much as she disliked these affairs, she had to admit that the Duke of Bedford had outdone himself with the attention he and his wife had paid to every detail of the decor. She recognized the Duchess of Bedford's distinctive touch in the decorations, and she suspected her husband had been responsible for the food choices since they consisted of heartier fare than usual. He was known for being slightly eccentric in his tastes.

The Duke of Bedford and his wife were the first to greet the newlyweds. It seemed that Phillip was very close with their host. Such a swift greeting with such warmth was uncommon at a ball of this size. The Duchess of Bedford smiled at Eleanor congenially while the men talked. "Madam, allow me to be the first here to congratulate you on your wedding. I hope you have found married life to your liking?"

Eleanor hadn't, but that wasn't acceptable to say. Glancing at Phillip, she pasted on a smile. "As much as any woman would, Madam. The decorations you have put up for this event are simply marvelous, by the way. I have always admired your talent for turning an ordinary ballroom into something so lovely and enchanting."

The Duchess of Bedford smiled broadly, her previous line of questioning forgotten. "You flatter me!"

Eleanor laughed. "No, I mean it truly."

Phillip turned to Eleanor with a smile. "Perhaps we should make our way to the dance floor, dearest? You still owe me a dance. I cannot think of another couple that has not danced a single dance before or after their wedding. Can you?"

Eleanor worked to keep a scowl off her face. With their hosts looking on, she could hardly refuse or try to wheedle her way out of the thinly disguised command. "It is one of the many things we have not done," she murmured, her eyes cast demurely to the ground.

"Indeed." Phillip's smile turned sly. "One of the many things."

It took her a moment to realize precisely what he meant by such a comment. A fierce heat flooded her cheeks, and she tried not to shiver, whether from embarrassment or interest in what he was implying, she didn't know. No, she scolded herself. She didn't want anything to do with the many things he was implying. It didn't matter how attractive he was with his windswept curls and soft hazel eyes that could turn bright with interest or desire at a moment's notice. That didn't make up for what he'd done. It didn't. It couldn't.

She smiled wanly at the Duchess of Bedford. "I have never been much of a dancer, much to my father's chagrin. When His Grace asked me to dance at the ball where we met, I refused on account of it."

Phillip's look told her that she might have fooled their hosts but had not pulled the wool over his eyes. They both knew she'd run because he frightened her, and because her reaction to him frightened her even more. It had little to do with her dancing skills, though it was true that she was not a very good dancer as he would soon discover if he persisted in making her dance with him.

"Well, you could not be in better hands, Your Grace," the Duke of Bedford told her. "Richmond is an excellent dancer."

Phillip had the good grace to look a bit embarrassed at his friend's effusive proclamation, but he didn't deny his claim. Eleanor couldn't help noticing that the shortened version of her husband's title seemed not to bother him. If he allowed the Duke of Bedford such privileges, they must be good friends indeed.

"He was not always such a fine dancer, of course," the Duke of Bedford went on. "When we were young boys, he used to have two left feet, but with his usual stubbornness and determination, he kept at it until he surpassed all of us. The instructor was most impressed as were the ladies, who appreciated it when he finally ceased stepping on their toes." He bellowed in laughter. "He had always known how to get exactly what he wanted and had always had the patience for it no matter how long it would take."

Eleanor couldn't deny that hearing about her husband's boyish exploits was intriguing. As much as she wanted to hate him for what he had done— no, did hate him —she found herself wishing to hear more about what he'd been like when he was young and what he was like now. She knew so little about him. Some of that was her fault, she knew, but most of it was because he and her father had robbed her of the courtship that would have allowed her to know him better.

Phillip put a hand on the small of her back with a warm smile. "If we do not head for the dance floor, Bedford, I am afraid we shall make you neglect your guests! You and the Duchess should come to dinner soon. It has been too long since we last had the chance to enjoy one another's company."

The Duke of Bedford grinned. "We shall have to take you up on your offer, Richmond. Congratulations to you and your bride, once again. Enjoy your dance, Madam."

Eleanor forced a smile. It seemed that everyone she met was enamored with her husband. She was the only one who held a strict dislike for him. Her hand drifted to the diamonds on her neck as her mind went back to that moment in the entrance hall of his mansion. It had not been by mistake that he had touched her. The contact had been innocent enough on the surface—an accidental brush of his knuckles against her collarbones and the trailing of his fingers along her neck as he was fastening her necklace. But she knew better, as Phillip was not a man who did things by accident.

He swept her onto the dance floor, and she stared up into his face, trying to figure out why he had done it. He hadn't married her for love or any real interest. He had married her for her money. So why? Why touch her with the promise of intimacy in the way a lover would touch the woman he adored? His expression was soft as he stared back at her, but he offered no answers.

She lowered her gaze and focused on the steps of the waltz they were dancing. Phillip was an excellent dancer as his friend had promised, and she found it easy to follow his lead in a way she'd never been able to do with previous dance partners. That settled in uneasily, but she couldn't escape the realization any more than she could escape the dance itself and the cage of her husband's hands on her waist as he guided her.

"Relax," Phillip whispered. "For just tonight, can we be just us as we are? Forget your notions about me. Forget the money. Just be you, Eleanor, as I will be just me."

Eleanor swallowed back tears. Was that even possible?

"It is."

She looked up, startled, and realized she had spoken aloud without thinking. "How?"

He bent his head low to murmur in her ear. "Simple. We see one another for who we are instead of what we want to see one another for. For example, when I look at you, I see a woman who is lovely, stubborn, determined and capable. I see a woman who probably would have forged her own way if allowed, but I also see a woman who is closed off because she so desperately wants to keep her independence and believes she cannot have it if she is bound to a man. But that is not true, lovely lady. Not when you are with the right man who sees you and cherishes you for who you are."

She blushed and lowered her gaze to her swishing skirts.

Does he really mean it? Is it possible he sees all of me?

"Do you still believe I will clip your wings, Eleanor?" he asked in a whisper, his lips brushing the shell of her ear and sending goosebumps down her arms. "When you are honest, do you?"

Biting her lower lip, Eleanor thought about the question. "I… I…" A tremble ran through her.

The music ended, and she tugged free of his arms. "I need something cold to drink, Your Grace."

Phillip grabbed her wrist and tugged her close, guiding her off the dance floor. "Then I shall go with you. I find I am thirsty too."

A quick glance at him made her wonder if he meant the same thing by it as she had. There would be no dissuading him when he'd set his mind on something, though, as she was quickly learning, so she offered no protest when he wrapped an arm around her waist possessively and escorted her to the refreshment tables. There, he picked up two glasses of sparkling red wine, handing one to her with a smile. "You know, I will never forget the moment we met when that red wine stain was spreading across the white tablecloth and you looked so angry at me for laughing."

Eleanor grimaced and took a large gulp of her wine. "You should have had the manners not to."

"I could hardly help it. You were so very unlike any of the other ladies. They would never have spilled their wine, even if it meant not laughing at whatever private joke they were enjoying, but you did."

"So?"

"I truly thought you were making a joke about the redecorating bit, you know?" Phillip took a sip of his drink with a smile. "I never meant any offense."

"I am certain you didn't." Eleanor took a seat at a nearby table.

He sat beside her. "That was the moment I knew I wanted you, Eleanor. You were like a shining star in a sea of darkness."

She frowned and finished off her glass.

Phillip picked up a refill from the tray of a passing servant and handed it to her. "I would have asked your father for your hand myself if he had not approached me first." He stared down into his wine with a scowl. "I have never wished I had beat someone to something quite so much in my entire life. Had I done so, your father would have never sullied your view of me with his eccentric demands that I not court you properly."

Eleanor snickered. "Had you beat him to it, I would have refused to entertain your suit, Your Grace. I am certain my father knew it."

"Nevertheless," Phillip continued, sounding bitter and frustrated, "I have never wished more that it had been different. I hate that you believe my debts are the only reason I wanted you."

She found she was beginning to believe him. No one could behave this well all of the time. His voice was low and grieved as well as intensely bitter, as though he blamed himself for what had gone wrong. "Can we return home, Your Grace?" She finished off her second glass of wine as he finished his.

The alcohol was beginning to go to her head. She didn't drink much, and she knew that if they stayed there and continued their conversation, she'd end up drunk, not just tipsy.

Phillip rose and extended a hand. "If you like. We have stayed long enough to be seen, and I have fulfilled my obligations. We can make our excuses to our hosts."

Eleanor took his hand and let him guide her through the crowd. They stopped along the way to accept the belated congratulations from members of the ton who had not attended their wedding, but at last, they had found the Duke and Duchess of Bedford and made their excuses.

Phillip led her out of the large estate to their carriage and helped her up into the quiet, dark interior. Then, he climbed in after her and thumped the roof with his cane to tell the driver to drive them home. The carriage lurched into motion, and a quiet, companionable silence fell between them as they drove back to the Richmond estate.