Eleanor
1:43 p.m.
I sat and waited, and waited some more—yet the one I longed to see never appeared.
The afternoon sky was so clear that the downy clouds looked almost translucent, sunlight filtering softly through the blooming rosebushes and casting a gentle warmth over the neatly trimmed grass. The pale purple heads of lavender swayed in the breeze, their faint scent drifting across the air as if trying to lull the world to sleep.
Beneath the sheltering shade of an ancient oak, I lingered in idle solitude at a small wicker table, its wood faded and mellow with age. I had draped it with a fresh linen cloth, placing it in the very heart of the lawn rather than the garden pavilion as before. At the center stood a gleaming silver tray, holding a Chinese teapot painted with peonies and two glass teacups of my own choosing, beside a plate of freshly baked scones, bowls of strawberry jam, and cream as soft and billowy as clouds.
If I were to describe this garden in detail, I might say it unfurled from the rear of the manor like a great green carpet stretching to the horizon. Rows of maples and beeches formed living sculpture along its borders, alternating with clipped box hedges and blooming winter perennials—English roses, lavender, foxgloves, and tall, slender hollyhocks bowing gracefully in the crisp air.
A pale gravel path wound its way through the flowerbeds, and the gentle spray from a marble fountain shimmered in the sunlight, throwing a faint rainbow above the scent of blossoms carried on the wind. In the distance, two garden pavilions—nearly twins of those at Wexford—stood on a low rise, their slate roofs soft gray against the sky: one furnished with white wrought-iron benches and a tea table, the other standing open and bare.
At the farthest edge of the grounds, the rolling hills of the Peak District framed the horizon like a painted backdrop, shades of green and grey mingling in the distance, encircling the manor as if it were a castle in a fairy tale.
For all the warmth and beauty around me—so perfect for a tranquil afternoon tea—I could not shake the hollow ache within. Where was the fiancé who once promised to share these peaceful hours with me each day? Why had he not come as he had sworn he would?
4:55 p.m.
My gaze remained fixed on the pale gravel path that led from the manor's rear doors, clinging to the hope that he might yet appear. But two more hours slipped by; neither tea nor pastries were warm anymore.
"It's nearly five o'clock. Perhaps it is time to go in?" Lillian came to stand beside me, gentle concern in her voice. The sun was dipping behind the hills, and a chill mist was beginning to creep across the lawn.
"All right," I replied, my voice small and subdued, my heart heavy with disappointment.
No matter how much I longed to win this silent battle of wills, today I would not insist any further. This would not be the last time I demanded he keep his promise—I was determined on that—but for now my mind ached with too many swirling questions. The Cavendish genealogy still puzzled me, and I could not quiet my anxieties about the married life awaiting me in this house.
Alexander
November 8th, 1847
The old man, his hair and beard pure white, stood with one arm folded behind his back. He extended a letter of invitation towards me, but this time, I did not accept it.
"A letter from Her Ladyship, sir," he said.
"She refuses to give up, does she? Why is she so stubborn!" I snapped, my gaze drifting to the distant pavilion in the garden where she sat waiting, visible from my study's upper window. Theodore had informed me just yesterday that she had waited there for me from noon until dusk, all for naught.
"She must be quite unwell in the head by now," I muttered.
"Shall I handle the matter, sir? Or do you wish to accept her invitation at last?" the servant asked quietly.
"No. My answer remains unchanged. If she sends another letter, you are to refuse on my behalf, is that clear?"
"As you wish, sir."
Liliana
"Miss Woodward, do you think Her Ladyship will truly be all right?"
"His Grace isn't known for his leniency, after all. Once he's refused a request, it's unlikely he'll ever change his mind."
I shared the maid's concerns but could not say so openly. My mistress was not one to be easily dissuaded. Once she set her heart on something, none could turn her from her course.
"I can only hope, Miss Atherton," I replied softly, sighing and shaking my head. There was no way I could explain the complexities of their history to her in a few words.
Every day, my mistress asked me to prepare afternoon tea for two, hoping His Grace would come and keep his promise. No matter how often I pleaded with her to abandon this fruitless waiting, she would only reply,
"It is a promise he once gave me."
Today was no exception. At 12:23 p.m., Miss Atherton and I were bustling beneath the pavilion, setting out the tea table with the utmost care: she carried a silver tray piled high with pastries, while I arranged bone china and glass teacups—my mistress's favorites—along with rose-patterned plates edged in gold atop a linen cloth.
Beside the table sat a small basket lined with warm muslin, hiding freshly baked scones, their scent of butter wafting temptingly. Cornish clotted cream rested in a porcelain dish, a small silver spoon beside it, and a long tray of cucumber and egg cress sandwiches was covered with a lace napkin to keep off the insects and dust. There was also a rich fruitcake garnished with slivered almonds, and a two-layer butter sponge cake filled with raspberry jam and cream, dusted with sugar like new-fallen snow. All was ready for one o'clock—though only my mistress ever came.
She spent the morning as always, closeted in the library, poring over family records of the Cavendish line as if hunting for some secret. She asked me again and again how close His Grace had been with his late brother; I could only give her disappointing answers—I knew nothing more than she did.
Just before noon, I left the pavilion to return to my duties, pausing in the hall outside the library. I heard my mistress murmur to herself—
"Could Lord Alexander be adopted?"
The very notion made me press a hand to my breast in astonishment. How could His Grace possibly inherit the title if he were not the trueborn son of His Grace William and Her Grace Georgiana? The law of succession forbade it.
I dismissed my unease as mere overthinking—perhaps my mistress had grown overly absorbed in her quest to regain her memories. I composed myself and knocked softly.
"My lady, it's time," I called.
She was surrounded by a dozen open books, looking up at me with a faint scowl.
"All right, I'll come in a moment."
"Oh, wait—did Lord Alexander send any reply today?" she asked quickly.
"I'm afraid not, my lady. There was no letter from Sir Wycliffe."
"I see." Her face clouded with disappointment, and I had no wish to add to her sorrow.
After leaving her, I made my way upstairs to His Grace's study, determined to request an answer myself. Sir Wycliffe met me at the door, closing it softly behind him. He drew a white envelope from his breast pocket and handed it to me.
"This letter is for you."
"For me, sir?"
"Yes. It came from the Central Prison in London. It is addressed to you."
Shock shot through me at his words. Could this be why Leo had vanished? Had he been arrested?
I snatched the letter and read the name—Leopold, without a doubt. How had he known I was here? And why had he ended up in prison?
"Thank you, sir. About Her Ladyship's invitation—"
"My master's answer remains unchanged. Now, if you'll excuse me," Sir Wycliffe cut me off, turning away before I could reply.
He left me alone in the corridor, shaken—torn between the dreadful news of my brother's arrest and my mistress's unending disappointment. I forced myself to open the letter there and then.
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November 7th, 1847
To my sister Liliana,
My dear sister, I have been imprisoned for trespassing at Wexford House. A stranger I did not know brought the police while my guard was down. They even showed me a warrant signed by Lord Barnett himself.
I have been here since October 31st—now it has been a full week. The cold seeps into my bones, and all I have is a thin blanket that does nothing to keep out the chill. I wait for release with nothing but misery as my companion. I tried to send letters many times, but all my pleas for help were refused.
By luck, a cellmate was bailed out today. I begged him to deliver this letter to you. I have lost all hope, sister; I do not know where you are, but I pray this reaches you. If it is sent to Wexford House, perhaps someone there will forward it on. I pray every night that it finds its way to you.
I fear I am coming down with some strange affliction from this place—itching sores are breaking out all over my body, and I am afraid I may not survive. Please, my beloved sister, help me to win my freedom.
May this letter reach you as it should.
From your brother,
Leopold
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My heart broke as I read those words. I had warned him time and again that if he continued to meddle, His Lordship would show no mercy. I never thought he could be so cruel—seeing me every day, yet never once mentioning my brother's fate, knowing full well where he was.
No matter how much I longed to rush to Leo's side, my duty lay here. For all my bitterness towards His Lordship, I could not abandon my mistress now. She was innocent in all this, and I could not leave her alone.
Alexander
November 10th, 1847
"The rain will fall any moment now, sir."
I gave Theodore no reply. We both stood at the same window on the second floor, watching Her Ladyship out in the garden—just as we had done for the past four afternoons. She remained there, seemingly indifferent to all, carrying out her silent protest, demanding the fulfillment of my promise as stubbornly as ever.
For two days, she had continued this routine, even after Theodore stopped bringing her letters. She sent her invitation through him at the same hour, every day. Each time, she prepared tea for two, sometimes beneath the pavilion, sometimes beneath the old oak in the center of the lawn—always waiting from noon until the sun sank behind the hills.
Until now, luck had been on her side, and the skies had stayed mercifully clear. But today, her fortune seemed to have run out. If she persisted in sitting out there much longer, she would soon be soaked to the skin, and no doubt catch a chill.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
Right on cue, the first heavy raindrops began to strike the windowpane, drumming a warning across the glass.
Eleanor
Today marks the fourth day since I began persistently inviting him to join me for afternoon tea. Lord Alexander must truly despise me—he's even ordered Sir Wycliffe to stop accepting my invitations. Yet, despite everything, I refuse to relent. Marriage is not a game. I will never accept a life of loneliness within a union. Even if he cannot see me as a woman to be desired, can we not at least be friends? The matter of his identity, which I am trying to uncover, is another story. But for now, what frightens me more than anything is the prospect of a married life shackled only to solitude.
'Mother, I miss you so much.'
It's strange, but I suddenly find myself thinking of my mother at this very moment. I have always tried to be strong, relying only on myself. But the truth is, I am just a woman—someone who longs for love, affection, and care from someone.
Then, from the deepest part of my heart, another thought arises:
'Did you ever break your promise to Lady Chelsea?'
I find myself comparing my own worth to the woman who alone holds a place in his heart. The thought sends a pang of pain through my chest once again.
'What is this… water?'
Lost in my reverie, I blink in surprise, suddenly feeling something wet trickling down my right cheek. When I raise my fingers to touch it, I realize that tears are streaming from my eyes. Soon, raindrops—thousands of them—begin to fall, hiding every trace of my sorrow. Even though I know full well that today isn't the best day to sit in the garden, and Lillian tried her best to dissuade me, who could possibly stand in the way of my stubbornness?
Before long, the rain comes down harder. The tea and pastries on the table in front of me are soon soaked and ruined, and I myself am drenched. It won't be long before Lillian comes to bring me back inside.
'It's all right, Ellie. Someday your day will come—the day when you no longer have to make a fool of yourself, yearning for someone's attention.' That is what I tell myself, as I try to comfort my own heart, heavy with sorrow at being ignored so coldly by the man destined to become my future husband.
Creak! Crunch!
'There—that must be Lillian's footsteps. She's probably coming with an umbrella to fetch me.'
Thinking this, I turn, ready to greet the young woman standing behind me, sheltering me from the rain. But something entirely unexpected happens. My deflated heart swells with hope—the hope I had waited for so long. My eyes widen, shining like stars, as I realize that the person coming to take me back is the very man I have been waiting for.
"Come back inside with me," Lord Alexander pleads softly, looking down at me with gentle eyes as I gaze up at him in silence. Tall and graceful, he stands over me, holding a pale white umbrella to shield me from the rain, asking me to come back with him.
"Lord Alexander…"
All I can do is stare at this beautiful man, spellbound, quietly whispering his name. Suddenly, as I try to stand, the world begins to spin, and a fierce dizziness overcomes me. My consciousness fades, and I slip into darkness.
When I open my eyes again, I find myself lying in my own bed, surrounded by the distant voices of men and women talking in the room. I see blurred figures—two women and three men—moving about.
'Who are these people?'
I try to focus, but my body feels weak. Something damp rests on my forehead, and my face is burning with fever.
"How do you feel, Miss?" Lillian's voice asks.
I try to look toward the sound, but I can barely make out her face.
"Could I have some water?" I manage to ask—the heat radiating from my brow down to my neck makes me desperately thirsty. Lillian brings me a glass of water, gently lifting my head to help me drink, then lowering me back down onto the pillow.
"What happened to me? And where is Lord Alexander?"
"You have a fever, Miss. His Grace is here as well. He has just called for the royal physician to tend to you."
I force my eyes open, searching the room for him. Lord Alexander stands watching me, worry etched on his face, behind Lillian who is kneeling by my bedside. I see his lips moving, as if he is trying to say something to me, but my ears betray me and I cannot catch a single word.
"What… are you saying?" I murmur, slipping into a feverish daze, feeling my eyelids grow impossibly heavy—until finally, I drift away into sleep.
Alexander
"Eleanor! Eleanor!"
I called out to the stubborn woman now collapsed in my arms, her body drenched from the pouring rain. When I saw that she showed no sign of waking, her cheeks flushed and her breathing shallow and rapid, I immediately placed my palm on her forehead to check her temperature—just as I suspected, she had caught a fever from sitting in the rain for so long. I myself was starting to get soaked as well.
A moment ago, I had to throw my umbrella aside in order to catch her as she suddenly fainted, preventing her from hitting the ground. Seeing the state she was in, I lifted her into my arms and rushed her back into the manor to get out of the rain.
"Your Grace! What's happened to my lady?" her maid, Liliana, came running to me in panic as soon as she saw her mistress faint.
"Go fetch Theodore at once and prepare warm water for your lady—now!" I barked out the order.
"Y-Yes, sir!" she replied, then hurried off.
I quickly carried Eleanor to the drawing room where the fireplace sat in the center of the hall—luckily, it had been burning all day, keeping the house warm. I gently laid her down on the thick fur rug in front of the fire, then took the liberty to remove the many layers of wet clothes from her shivering body, leaving only her bare skin. I quickly wrapped her in a goose down blanket that was neatly folded nearby. Her body trembled violently from cold and fever, which seemed to be getting worse.
"You shouldn't have done this, Eleanor," I whispered softly, gazing at her suffering face with guilt. Why did she want me so desperately that she'd go to such lengths?
'Please, don't let me lose you as well. I am responsible for protecting you, for keeping you safe and well. Don't risk your life for me. I am not worth such a sacrifice. Is loneliness truly so unbearable that you'd go this far?'
I, too, have known what it's like for loneliness to gnaw at one's heart until you wish for death—but now, it's something I have grown used to.
"It's ready, sir!" Liliana came rushing back, Theodore with her.
"Theodore, go summon the royal physician for me."
"Yes, sir."
He saw Eleanor's state and understood the urgency right away.
"I'll take Eleanor upstairs. Bathe her and dress her in the warmest clothes you can find. She has a high fever and needs as much warmth as possible, do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
With that, I lifted Eleanor—still wrapped in the blanket—once again and carried her to her chamber, gently placing her into the warm bath that Liliana had prepared. The temperature was just right, not too hot. I left her in Liliana's care, waiting anxiously outside the bathroom.
Soon, Liliana called for my help to carry Eleanor out. She was now dressed in the thickest nightgown we had. I stoked the fire in the bedroom, heated the bed pan until it was hot, and slid it under the covers to add warmth for her shivering body. But she still hadn't regained consciousness, and it would be some time before Theodore could return with the physician from town. I had to do what I could to reduce her fever.
"Bring a jug of hot water and two clean cloths."
"Yes, sir." She ran off to the bathroom.
I moved to sit on the edge of the bed, placing my hand on her forehead again. The heat radiating from her showed no sign of letting up. She must be suffering greatly from the pounding in her head—her breathing was ragged and uneven, her face burning red, her expression twisted in pain.
"Eleanor, please, open your eyes for me," I said, gently stroking her flushed cheek.
"The jug is here, sir."
Liliana set the jug down on the table. I quickly soaked a clean cloth, wrung it out, and placed it on her forehead to help draw out the fever. All I could do was watch her battle her illness and feel angry at my own helplessness.
'The more I run from you, the more you seem to need me.'
When the rain first started, I had hoped she'd give up and return to the house. Instead, she sat there, defiant in the rain, and it made me realize something: a promise, once made, is precious to the one who holds it dear. I had promised her, and yet I had not intended to keep it. How shameful for a man. In the end, I could not bear to watch her suffer for my sake any longer, so I swallowed my pride, grabbed an umbrella, and went out to bring her inside. But her body had already been pushed to its limits after so many days.
Eleanor had always been delicate, prone to illness when pushing herself too hard, especially in weather as unpredictable as today.
"Your Grace! My lady keeps shivering and won't stop!" Liliana called, worry clear in her eyes. I could see it too—Eleanor was shivering uncontrollably from the fever.
"I'm cold…so cold…more blankets!" she muttered in delirium, even though she was wrapped in layers upon layers and with the bed pan under the covers.
"Mother…Mother…"
Now she was calling out for her late mother in her feverish state.
"Oh, my poor lady must miss Lady Vivian so much," Liliana knelt beside the bed, clutching Eleanor's hand in distress. This maid clearly loved and cared for my betrothed deeply.
I could not bear to see her suffer any longer, so I stripped off my own wet shirt, dried myself with the nearest towel, circled to the other side of the bed, and asked the maid to give us some space. I slid into the bed and pulled Eleanor into my arms, pressing my bare skin to hers to share my warmth.
"I'll wait outside, if you need anything, just call me," Liliana said, discreetly leaving us alone.
Once she had gone, I looked down at Eleanor's face in my arms—her shaking had finally eased. I moved closer, resting my head near hers, and closed my eyes along with her.
"Eleanor… I'm sorry."
Nearly two hours passed.
Creak! Bang!
"Dr. Connolly has arrived, sir," Theodore announced as he entered, with Liliana and an elderly man in a light brown suit and black round hat, carrying a large medical bag.
I awoke at the sound, checked Eleanor—she was still unconscious, but no longer shivering. I slipped on the robe Liliana had prepared and went to greet the doctor at the door.
"Good day, Your Grace," he bowed, removing his hat.
"My fiancée seems to have taken a severe chill. Please, examine her—she's not in any serious danger, is she?"
"Let me check first, sir."
Dr. Connolly approached the bed and examined Eleanor thoroughly. He served only the royal family and highest nobility and was based in Derby—our family's personal physician.
"It's a common fever, just as you suspected. Nothing to worry about. Let her sweat it out for a few days and she should recover. Most important is to have her sip water every ten minutes, to help flush the fever out. She's quite frail and shouldn't be out in the elements for long in the future."
"I understand. Thank you, Doctor."
"My pleasure to be of service."
"Would you care for any refreshment before you leave?" Theodore offered.
At that moment, Eleanor finally woke up. I rushed to her side, reassured myself she was safe. She glanced around, asked for me, and for water, which Liliana promptly gave her.
"I'm sorry," I murmured, meeting her eyes as she lay propped on her pillow.
She soon drifted off again. At least she had regained consciousness, and that was enough to set my mind at ease—for now.
Eleanor
November 12th, 1847
With my vision still blurred, I squinted at the face of the old wooden clock adorned with carved rose vines hanging on the wall at the foot of my bed, checking the date and time. To my surprise, two whole days had passed since I fell ill. The slow, steady tick-tock of the ancient clock marked the passage of time.
Tick… tock…
The hands were at right angles, clearly showing it was 11:38 AM. My body seemed to respond at once to this realization; my slender hand stroked my now rumbling stomach, and my throat felt parched. I glanced around the room, searching for a jug of water, but found none. So I slid from the bed, intending to call for Lilian.
"Lilian," I called, but received no reply from within the room.
"Lilian!" I called again.
After peeking out my bedroom door and glancing up and down the corridor in hopes of seeing her, but with no sign, I decided to go down to the kitchen to look for her. I was still in my long, white lace nightdress, my hair a wild mess cascading down my back, unbrushed and untamed. If Lilian saw me in this state, she would surely scold me for not dressing properly before leaving my room.
"Oh!"
Thump!
Carelessly, I collided straight into the large frame of someone at the blind corner of the hallway and tumbled to the floor.
"My apologies, my lady. Are you unharmed?" Sir Wycliffe reached out a hand, his face a mixture of surprise and concern, trying to help me to my feet.
I stood, rubbing my aching tailbone with a wince.
"I'm alright. But… have you seen Lilian?"
"Miss Woodward returned to London yesterday, my lady."
"What?!"
"How could that be? Why would she leave me here alone? What possible reason could there be?"
I was shaken by the news—never had I imagined Lilian would abandon me here alone. Or had something happened to her?
"Please, my lady, calm yourself. You have only just recovered from your illness—it would not do for you to be overwhelmed with stress again." His tone was calm and steady.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down as he advised, before he continued, "She left you this letter, my lady. Miss Woodward requested permission from His Grace to return to London, stating that she would be back here next week for certain important reasons."
I took the envelope, intending to read it immediately, but Sir Wycliffe interrupted with something even more surprising.
"I was just about to wake you for your meal, my lady. I have prepared luncheon, and the maid was about to bring it up to you. But since you must be very hungry to come looking for Miss Woodward, would you prefer to dine in the dining room with His Grace?"
"In the dining room, please."
Lilian's sudden return to London was already shocking enough, but Sir Wycliffe's offer was even more startling.
Did he just invite me to dine with Lord Alexander? Did I hear him correctly?
"Then, if you please, allow me to escort you."
As we descended the stairs together, I unfolded Lilian's letter, eager to read her explanation:
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November 11th, 1847
To my dearest mistress,
I deeply regret having to leave you so abruptly, but I had no choice. Three days ago, I received a personal letter from London informing me that a close relative has been imprisoned and has begun to contract a strange illness in confinement.
Until now, I did not wish to neglect my duties and so never mentioned this to you. But my conscience would not allow me to wait any longer, fearing his condition may worsen or he may even die. I made the urgent decision to return and post his bail, and will care for him until he is out of danger, as he has no other kin besides myself.
I requested His Grace's permission to return to London, and intend to settle this matter before the coming week of wedding preparations. Sir Wycliffe and His Grace have both promised to take excellent care of you, and assured me they will arrange for a maid to attend to you in my absence.
I will try to write regularly to keep you informed. Please, my lady, take care of yourself and do not act rashly or put yourself in danger.
Yours,
Liliana Woodward
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Could the relative she mentioned be Leopold? As far as I recalled, she and Leopold had been orphans, taken in and raised together. Why would she not mention his name directly? How odd.
Absorbed in these thoughts, I barely noticed we'd reached the dining room.
"Please, be seated," Sir Wycliffe gestured.
His invitation brought me back to reality—it was the first time in nearly a week that I would dine face-to-face with Lord Alexander. Sir Wycliffe directed me to my usual seat, and at last, I found myself across from him once more. He watched me lower myself into the chair without averting his gaze; although he showed no particular emotion or words of welcome, there was something different about his manner, his clear eyes intent upon me.
As soon as I sat, he took four thin slices of sourdough bread and placed them on his plate, then greeted me with unexpected concern.
"Has your fever passed?"
"I'm quite recovered," I replied, trying my utmost to act natural, despite a nervousness and embarrassment that wouldn't subside. The memory of my stubbornness made me feel ashamed, and just his calm, composed manner was enough to quell any further defiance in me.
"The doctor informed me your illness was due to sitting outside in the wind, sun, and rain for days on end. You are not strong, my lady."
"If you had simply come at my invitation in the first place, I wouldn't have had to sit out in the weather like that."
"We agreed, did we not, that we would not live together as husband and wife?"
"But you promised, did you not, to join me for tea every afternoon?"
He glanced at me, troubled, after swallowing a bite of bread, then averted his gaze for a moment before replying.
"You are more stubborn and headstrong than anyone I have ever known, Lady Eleanor. Are you absolutely certain you are truly Lady Eleanor Barnett—and no one else? You are not deceiving me, are you?"
"I am truly Eleanor," I answered resolutely.
He sighed deeply, perhaps weary of our fruitless exchanges.
"I apologize for being the cause of your illness."
I turned to him, eyes wide—never had I thought to hear an apology from him, much less see regret on his face.
"Are you lonely?"
"Yes. You cannot imagine what this emptiness feels like—to live in this enormous house utterly alone, with no family or friends."
"And if you will permit me to be frank, I am truly concerned for my own long-term state of mind. Marriage without affection is nothing more than being chained for life without purpose, is it not? Can we not at least be good friends to each other?"
He seemed about to reply, but I cut him off, anxious to spill out everything I had kept bottled inside.
"You needn't worry about my place here—I know full well that you love only her, that she alone has your heart. I have no wish to take her place."
He simply gazed at me, expression unreadable, without offering an opinion.
"If you are certain, then I am relieved. I, too, have something to say to you, which I hope you will understand."
"I'm ready to listen."
"Good. I see you as a younger sister, the daughter of Lord Barnett, whom I respect deeply. To honours him, and for your peace of mind as my wife, I will treat you as a sister, nothing more. Do you accept this arrangement?"
"I do. I am content with your offer."
This is the best possible outcome, Ellie. As long as he is willing to spend time with you—even as a brother—that is enough, I told myself.
"If so, may I ask something of you?"
"What is it you wish?"
"Please, would you take me to see the Devonshire stables? I have dreamed of seeing them for so long."
I wanted to get out, to see the stables Lady Chelsea had so vividly described in her letters. As for my unresolved questions about the Cavendish family, I could save those for another time.
"Very well. I have business in Derby next week, so we shall leave for town at nine o'clock on Tuesday. In the meantime, Miss Atherton will serve as your attendant."
"Thank you!" I almost leapt from my seat with excitement—if propriety allowed, I would have shouted for joy. At last, he had accepted me. Soon, I would witness with my own eyes the life of the nobility in this era, free of the constant anxiety I had known in London.
"When you finish your meal, return to your room and rest. We wouldn't want your illness to return."
I nodded, finishing my lunch in good spirits. Lord Alexander himself seemed far more relaxed after our understanding, though he remained preoccupied with a stack of correspondence. I, too, resolved to rest as he advised.
Perhaps, at last, this was the hopeful beginning my new life had so long awaited.