Eleanor
30th October, 1847
A courier is now galloping away, clutching the letter I myself composed this very morning—an invitation addressed to His Grace, Alexander Cavendish, bidding him attend me at Wexford House at one o'clock this afternoon. Yes, you heard aright, my friends: I have just defied his instructions, and on the very first opportunity too. But truly, why should we not become acquainted before our nuptials are upon us? We are not yet wed, after all.
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30th October, 1847
To His Grace, Alexander Cavendish,
I request the honour of your company for tea at Wexford House at 1 p.m. today. I wish to discuss certain particulars regarding our forthcoming union.
Sincerely,
Eleanor Barnett
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I instructed Lillian to prepare a modest afternoon tea for two and have it set upon the garden pavilion precisely at the appointed hour. The moment I awoke, I set about composing my first-ever invitation to a gentleman—penning it between nine and ten, determined to pursue my scheme.
Today is blessed with the finest weather: clear skies, sunlight flooding through the boughs, and all the flower beds blooming as if in celebration. Surely such an afternoon can sweeten even the sourest temper—perhaps even Lord Alexander's—if I put my questions shrewdly. Foremost among them: the matter of his inexplicable ire the day prior.
Knock, knock, knock!
The sound at my door, followed by the gentle creak of its opening.
"Would you care to sample some of the sweets before luncheon, my lady?" Lillian inquired as I sat by the window, gazing down at the terrace below where Jason and Wyatt were valiantly tackling the overgrown privet that had lately encroached upon the stone balustrade. Wyatt, with his considerable strength, dispatched the last stubborn branch with a single, impressive swing.
"Impressive," I thought, feeling an unexpected sense of security knowing such strong arms were in our household.
I glanced at the clock—twelve o'clock, precisely. An hour yet remained before my rendezvous with destiny.
"Let us go, then," I replied, rising. Lillian led the way, folding her hands demurely at her waist, and I followed, passing into the lower corridor and catching at once the heady aroma of baking that had filled the house. The mingling of butter, flour, and woodsmoke was irresistible.
"Good day, my lady!" Mrs. Barker beamed, her face flushed with pleasure. "The sweets and sandwiches are ready. Would you care to try one?"
She was always enthusiastic about the prospect of my marriage—unlike poor Lillian, whose misgivings grew daily more apparent.
I approached the great wooden table where an array of newly baked treats awaited. Pastries in this era are simpler than those of the future, but their flavours is incomparable—untainted by artificial colours or strange chemical agents. I selected a tart, its crown of fresh raspberries glistening, and bit in. The taste transported me instantly to my childhood and the cakes my mother would bake for my birthday.
"Delicious, Mrs. Barker. The raspberries are perfectly ripe—I thank you most sincerely for such a treat."
I looked longingly at a scone but restrained myself, lest I spoil my appetite before His Grace arrived.
"I am so pleased to see you enjoying yourself, my lady. It is my greatest wish to see you happy with His Grace, soon to be Duchess of Devonshire!"
Ah, yes. I'd nearly forgotten: this marriage would raise me from a marquess's daughter to a duchess in my own right. Ought I to feel excitement? Apprehension?
Our tea menu was simple but elegant: brown bread sandwiches filled with delicately smoked herring, Mrs. Barker's own recipe scones with raspberry preserves and clotted cream from Cornwall, and of course, the tea. Lillian, the acknowledged expert, had selected an Earl Grey for Lord Alexander—his favourite, she assured me—while I insisted on Assam, for I have never cared for the fragrance of bergamot. Freshly boiled milk and golden honey from our own garden hives would be offered alongside.
Soon, all would be in readiness. All that remained was for Lord Alexander to appear—and for me to find the courage to ask him, plainly but gently, what in heaven's name I had done to incur his wrath.
Alexander
It was late in the morning when, as I sat at my desk sifting through balance sheets and railway part orders, Theodore brought me a letter—an invitation from Lady Eleanor. At first, I resolved to decline her summons; I was far from ready to return to that house, a place I have long since consigned to the deepest recesses of memory, unwilling to disturb old wounds now.
"I will not attend this engagement," I said, handing the letter back to him. "Kindly send a reply of refusal to Her Ladyship on my behalf."
I expected him to carry out my order without hesitation, yet he remained standing in silence, unmoving, a sign of his quiet defiance. It has always been this way. He is the only man who dares to speak plainly to me, who will risk my displeasure to offer honest counsel, despite his subordinate position. It is for this reason I trust him above all others. Theodore has never failed me—not once. He is nothing like the sycophants who seek only to ingratiate themselves for personal gain.
"Well? Speak your mind, then. What compels you to disobey?"
"Forgive me, your grace," he replied steadily, "but I believe you ought to go. Her Ladyship is not the woman you once knew. To approach her as a friend need not be so grave a matter."
"Why do you say so?"
"You are soon to share a household with her, sir. You cannot escape that reality. If you wish to prevent the relationship from becoming more complicated, perhaps it would be wise to regard her as a friend. To avoid her constantly would only make things more uncomfortable for you both."
There was truth in his words—truth I could not deny. Yet it is my own heart that refuses to risk old pains. The wounds I bear have not yet healed; the scars run too deep. If there were ever a woman who could truly mend them, fate would only find a way to reopen them all the same.
But at length, I yielded to Theodore's advice. For his sake, I resolved to attend Lady Eleanor's invitation—if only to see what might come of such a meeting.
Eleanor
The sound of the tall grandfather clock standing in the stair hall struck one—dong! dong! dong! dong!—precisely at one o'clock in the afternoon. I hurried out to the drawing room, waiting to welcome Lord Alexander, but to my disappointment, he was nowhere to be found. For a moment, I felt my heart sink, thinking perhaps he would not care to come after all.
But I was wrong.
"My lady, His Grace is already waiting for you in the back garden," Jason announced as he entered the drawing room.
"Why did Lord Alexander go to the garden himself? Was it you who showed him the way?"
"Uh—yes, my lady," Jason replied, looking rather uneasy.
'How suspicious,' I thought.
Why did he look as though he was lying, when there was nothing wrong with Lord Alexander making his own way to the garden?
I left the drawing room and headed for the back door, where I saw the broad back of a gentleman dressed in a long brown frock coat and a tall black top hat, holding a rosewood cane with a golden engraved handle.
He stood with his back to the house, gazing at the same shrubbery Jason and Wyatt had trimmed earlier. When he heard the door open, he turned to glance at me. He had arrived punctually, as promised. He stood on the stone terrace as if utterly familiar with the place, which was perhaps not so surprising—he was, after all, Lord Barnett's close friend and must have visited often.
"Good afternoon, your grace. Have you been waiting long?" I greeted him.
"I arrived about half an hour ago. The scent of the pastries you prepared is most delightful. Thank you for going to the trouble. Now, what is it you wished to discuss?" He wasted no time, getting straight to the point.
"Please, there is no need to hurry. Shall we talk over tea in the garden pavilion, sampling Mrs. Barker's finest treats? Allow me just a moment to check that Lillian has made all the proper arrangements."
He stared at me with eyes as unreadable as ever, betraying not a hint of emotion. But curiously, there was a softness in his manner, a subtle gentleness I had not seen before, especially when he complimented the pastries and thanked me.
"I will accompany you," he said.
"Please, follow me."
He walked behind me down to the garden and into the small pavilion, where Lillian and Agatha were arranging the cakes and tea set. The two maids lined up in front of the pavilion and curtsied politely.
"Welcome, Your Grace," they chimed together.
"Thank you, ladies," he replied before they left us in privacy.
Lord Alexander entered first, pulling out the chair on the right and gesturing for me to take a seat—the act of a gentleman. I obliged, sitting down, and he took the chair opposite. Between us stood a small round table covered with an ivory cloth, adorned with a delicately painted tea set and an array of pastries.
Unable to resist any longer, I seized a scone, split it in half, slathered it with clotted cream, and took a bite, entirely forgetting myself and my image as a refined lady.
"Ahem,"
Was that a cough—or a stifled laugh?
I glanced up to see him lowering his head, a fist raised to his lips, his face flushing as he tried to suppress his laughter. It was the first time I had seen any real emotion on his face.
"My lady seems rather hungry," he remarked.
"I... ah... yes, very hungry!" I mumbled, still chewing like an uncouth child, embarrassed at my own lack of manners.
"Pfft—! Cough, cough..."
Forgive me, I ate a little too quickly."
He took a sip of tea and let out another short laugh, then composed himself.
"Very well, my lady. What is it you wished to discuss that you summoned me here today?"
Seeing him in such an unexpectedly good mood, for once not curt or scornful, I decided to ask him directly.
"Why were you angry with me that day?"
"It was your dres—" He paused.
"Your expression annoyed me," he amended hastily, switching pronouns from the formal to the familiar.
"Was there something wrong with my dress, perhaps? Please, explain it to me."
"No, I misspoke. I meant your expression, not your dress," he replied, clearly dodging the question.
I feigned innocence and nodded, though I was now sure the issue lay with the dress I wore to visit him, not my face.
He nodded, sipping his tea, and barely touched the pastries—just a sandwich and a single scone.
"Is there anything else you wish to ask or discuss regarding our agreement?"
"I don't think you need to call me 'my lady' anymore. If you'd rather use 'you' so informally, I have no objection," I replied.
He looked momentarily taken aback, then answered, "If that is your wish."
"Then may I call you 'Lord Alexander' instead of 'Your Grace'? After all, I am to be your duchess soon."
He seemed astonished at my declaration—yes, I was openly announcing myself as his future wife.
"If it pleases you, I have no objection. But please remember our arrangement—we are to be husband and wife in name only. There shall be no intimacy of any kind between us."
"What if I just want to be your friend? You must have heard by now that I have lost my memory. I am not the same Eleanor you once knew."
"I can see that plainly enough. But no, it is not proper. Men and women should not be too familiar; it could easily lead to improper relations."
As if he would be in danger of falling in love with me! I thought, exasperated. I'm to be your wife, for heaven's sake!
"I merely wish for a companion at tea each afternoon. Since I am to marry into your household, the least you could do is join me for tea as a friend, can you not?" I tried another approach, hoping for a less intimate arrangement.
He glanced away at the blooming delphiniums, his brows drawn in deep thought, then sighed and met my gaze.
"Very well. I will agree to be your companion at tea—only at tea."
At last, he relented. From now on, I would have a precious window to seek the truth during our tea times together.
'The emerald-green dress'—I must find that dress and ask Agatha for its story. Why did Lillian choose it for me?
"Thank you for accepting my invitation. Would you care to try the raspberry tart?"
"No, thank you. I do not care much for sweet things."
"I see."
"If you have no further questions, I shall take my leave. I have much work yet to do."
He stood up to leave, and though I longed to ask him more, now did not seem the time.
"One last thing—may I invite you to tea again tomorrow?"
"I'm afraid not. I must travel north tomorrow. But do not worry—when the wedding draws near, I will send for you to come to Chatsworth House in Bakewell."
"So we are not to be married in London?"
"No. I have petitioned to move the ceremony to All Saints' Church in Derby."
"Then I shan't see you again until mid-November?"
"The preparations will begin a week before the ceremony. Theodore and the housekeeper will handle all the arrangements. As for you... you should travel a day or two before that week."
"Could I not travel with you tomorrow? I should like to see other towns as well."
"No. I have business with your father in Manchester. I do not care for ladies trailing after me, especially while I am busy with work. And remember our agreement—do not try to grow too close, my lady."
"Why do you dislike me so?" I finally asked him, unable to help myself.
"This has nothing to do with you. It is I who cannot allow myself to be close to any woman again. Please understand."
His words were full of pain, and though I did not know the story behind them, I could sense his suffering.
"Then I shall take my leave."
I rose and walked him to the carriage at the front entrance. Today, Sir Wycliffe did not accompany him, likely busy preparing for their journey.
From this day forth, there would be nearly a month until the preparations for the wedding began.
'How am I supposed to uncover the truth before then?'
With no other option, I resolved to find my answers from Lillian instead.
Alexander
No matter how hard I tried, I could not do it. I strove to converse with her as a friend, yet my heart could not help but tremble within those all-too-familiar surroundings. That pavilion in the garden pulled memories of her—the woman of my past—back into sharp relief, until the ache was too much to bear. I could not remain there any longer.
Even though today, the innocent young lady before me managed to grant me a measure of happiness, coaxing unrestrained laughter from me for the first time in years—even if only for a fleeting moment when she stole away the darkness in my heart—that was, in itself, a happiness blossoming anew within me. I cannot even recall the last time I laughed so freely, or what it was that made me laugh then, or who.
'Thank you… for letting me feel that once more.'
For so many long years, I had thrown myself into serving my country, day after day, since that day in the past. I had little interest in social gatherings or meeting new people. Even attending dances felt burdensome—if not for duty and necessity, I would never have gone. If ever I found myself among friends, it was only on matters of business.
As for her, it was plain she was trying very hard to grow close to me, almost too obviously so. I cannot fathom what secret plan she might be hiding, but I shall try my best to honours that goodwill of hers. The more I learned that she had once attempted to take her own life by poison, the deeper my regret grew at having been the cause for her despair.
It would not do to remain indifferent or to utter thoughtless words as I had before, hoping to provoke her hatred once more. That would do no good at all. And if we are to live together as man and wife, as Theodore so wisely reminded me, perhaps friendship is the best path we can take. I do not wish to cause any more pain to my old friend's daughter.
With my business at Wexford House concluded, I returned to my own estate to rest and prepare for the journey ahead. Theodore had already packed all that I would need. I must travel straight to Manchester without delay—there could be no detours or lost time. At present, a great problem is brewing: the company's finances are in dire straits. Someone has embezzled funds, causing construction costs to spiral out of control. I must hurry back and resolve this before the situation worsens.