Chapter 11

The moment Eleanor opened the door, the two culprits - who seemed to be passionately engaged in pressing their lips against each other - sprang apart, guilty looks on both their faces.

Eleanor stood rooted to the spot, not knowing how to respond. What does a wife say when she finds her husband engaged in the art of lip-lock with another woman? Another woman who just so happened to be the reincarnation of Helen of Troy?

She knew normal wives would shout and hurl objects at their deceiving husbands but Nathan and she were not a normal couple. So what could she do?

'It's not what you think it is,' Nathan blurted out, sparing her from talking first.

Trying to sound - and look - nonchalant and ignoring her plummeting heart, she replied, 'Well, then. Are my eyes perceiving wrong? Are you not kissing this...half-naked woman?' Indeed, the woman's drab brown gown had come undone, her corset and stays visible.

Nathan glanced at the blonde beauty and quickly averted his eyes, his cheeks turning a bright crimson.

'Is this Svetlana?' Eleanor asked again, calmly. ' Your mistress who you told me was hidden away in your room back in Wolverhampton? I did not think she traveled with us to India.' She was aware her voice was laced with mockery and dripping with sarcasm but she did not care. All she cared was for her heart which seemed to shatter to pieces for reasons unknown.

Svetlana flushed.

Nathan looked at her in shock before vehemently shaking his head. 'No! No, she is not my mistress. I do not have a mistress as I told you before. She is my housekeeper.'

'Dear me, that is scandalous! More so, since the affair is with your housekeeper.'

Nathan continued with the shaking of his head. It was amusing to think that only a few minutes ago he was giving her the silent treatment. 'There is no affair. Eleanor, I swear, there is a perfectly rational explanation.'

Eleanor regarded him blankly. 'I'm sure there is.' She turned to the footman who stood at the threshold and was looking at the scene in sincere befuddlement. 'If you will show me to my room, I shall be most content.'

The footman, coming out of his stupor, tipped his hat and started down a hallway.

'There is no need for that, Mr. Potts,' Nathan interrupted. 'I shall take her.'

Mr. Potts halted in his tracks but Eleanor, livid at Nathan's declaration, shot him a deathly glare which, when he saw it, urged him on.

Eleanor followed him down a small hallway and came to a stop before an oak door.

'Thank you, Mr. Potts,' she said. 'If you could bring my luggage to the room?'

Mr. Potts bowed. 'Yes, Your Grace.' He walked away and Eleanor opened the door to her room.

On entering, she realised the room was quite small. It had a small queen sized bed in the centre and an armoire, the height of the room, stood to one side. The only other furniture in the room was an armchair to one corner and a small vanity against the wall opposite the bed. The room held just the necessities.

Sighing, Eleanor moved towards the bed and sat down unladylike.

The image of Nathan and that...woman was etched into her mind and no matter what she did - from thinking about her father to her wretched mother, all she could see was Nathan with his lips pressed up against that woman's.

It hurt. It did not feel like she was dying - like all the heroines in romance novels felt - but she did feel an aching pain in her heart nonetheless.

But why? she thought. Why does it feel like this?

It should not hurt. She should have no qualms about him kissing another woman. Although they were married, they had both expressed that they wanted nothing to do with each other in that context.

And she was against marriage! She was against the idea of a husband and all the unnecessary restrictions he brought with it. God knew she only married him because he offered her her freedom. So why did it feel so...awful?

Eleanor heard scuffling outside. It sounded like someone was walking towards the room. The next instant, Nathan barged into the room, his blue eyes bright against his pale face.

He looked troubled, as well he should. When his eyes found hers, he strode through the small room and knelt by where she sat on the bed and took her hands in his.

'Eleanor,' he started. 'I swear, it is all a misunderstanding. I did not kiss her.'

She gently pried her hands away and noticed the way Nathan's face fell at the action. 'Well, then I think I should get my eyes checked. To me, it certainly did look like you were kissing her. Are there any good doctors here I could consult?'

A shadow fell upon his face. 'That is not what I meant. We were kissing -'

'Then you lied.'

'- but I did not initiate it,' he finished. He sighed and dropped his head. 'What I mean to say is, when I walked in, Lucy -'

'I see you are on first-name basis with her.'

'Will you please let me finish?' he asked wearily, slightly lifting his head. 'I am trying to clear up this unfortunate predicament we are in.'

Eleanor shook her head. 'I believe you are the only one here in any sort of predicament. But, continue.'

'When I walked in, Lucy - I mean, Miss Abbott - greeted me - as any housekeeper should, her master - and asked me if my wife had accompanied me. When I confirmed, she kissed me. Right then, you entered and it could not have looked more wrong.'

Eleanor narrowed her eyes at him. 'So, she kissed you but you did not kiss her back?'

Nathan exhaled and nodded. 'Yes, that is exactly what happened. It would seem she took my kindness towards her for granted. Come to think of it now, she did take the news of my marriage horribly. She even tried to talk me out of it!'

'Why should I believe you?' Eleanor asked suddenly. 'And why do you want me to believe you?'

Nathan squinted. 'What do you mean?'

Eleanor hesitated before speaking again. 'Well, it is of no matter to me whether you kiss another woman or not.'

Nathan abruptly stood up, a frown on his face and his lips set in a grim line. 'You do not mind my kissing another woman?'

'No,' she said, her heart plummeting with the lie she kept repeating. 'Although we are married, we certainly aren't man and wife, if you know what I mean.'

'No. I don't know what you mean.'

Eleanor got up and faced Nathan, her fists clenching. For some reason, she was angry. Immensely angry.

'Why does it matter?' she screamed. 'You are at perfect liberty to kiss whoever you want and whore around!' The words left her mouth before she could take them back but she persisted, too late to take the words back.

Nathan's nostrils flared. 'Oh! So I can whore around now? I can take on a mistress if I wish?' Contempt; it was strong in his words which flared up her anger all the more.

'Yes!' she lied yet again. 'If you so wish, you can!'

Dear God. What had happened? How had the conversation transpired from settling a misunderstanding to whoring?

'Fine then!' he screamed with equal vigour. 'Here I thought, I have to honour my marriage no matter however big a sham it is and you...you do not care one bit!'

Eleanor's eyes started to well up with tears that had long since seen the light of day. 'Is this marriage not your fault, though?' she shouted. 'You are the one who pressured me to marry you!'

'Do not dare pin this marriage on me! You could have easily declined!'

'I could not! I am a woman of this day and age! Do you honestly think I, an eighteen year old woman, not yet an adult, could have had a say in who I married?' The tears were streaming down her cheeks now and all the pent up anger and frustration burst from the cage within which she had locked it in. Despite the fact that she might possibly like Nathan - it was far from love - she was still aggrieved by the fact that he was the reason she was in this conundrum to begin with.

A subconscious part -  a part which she wanted to bury - of her realised that this was her first argument with Nathan as a married woman. Hell, this was her first argument with Nathan ever!

'No, Eleanor.' Nathan shook his head. 'You are far too clever for that. What you said may be true for other women but not you.'

Eleanor blinked up at him, the tears blurring her vision. But still, they could not hide from her the contumacy mixed with pain, hurt and blatant longing on the soft features of her husband's face and the vice-like hold his blue eyes - those eyes which had her enraptured since first she saw them at the ball two months back - had on her.

'What do you mean?' she asked in-between the hiccups which had commenced to torment her.

'Any other woman would have accepted their fate and said nil,' he explained. 'But you, Eleanor. You, with your fire, your drive, the anger which you conceal beneath that pretty face and smile of yours; you would have found a way to get out of the engagement had you wanted to. But you did not even try. I thought it might be because you had grown to care for me, if not as a husband, as a friend.' He hung his head and chuckled darkly before raising it again and smiling ruefully. 'But I was wrong; so so wrong.'

He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, banging the door shut.

Eleanor stood there for what felt like hours, Nathan's words repeating themselves in her head.

Was he right? Could she have found a way to get out of the engagement?

She had tried. She had tried so much to find a way out of it; she had vowed to do so!

But...she hadn't really tried. Nathan was right. If she had wanted, she could have escaped it. She was smart unlike what all men thought of women. When the offer of freedom - something she had lacked growing up and something which she craved for so dearly - was placed on the table, she had abandoned all ideas of getting out of the marriage.

All she had thought about then was her freedom.

And now, with Nathan mad at her, the idea of freedom seemed a far-off illusion to her.

She needed to talk to someone. She would have to Nathan, but now that they were no longer speaking - and the fact that it was about him - she could not do so.

But, when she crossed over to the small vanity and took out her stationery to write, she knew that the receiver she had in mind would know exactly what to do.

**********

Lady Gabrielle Addington

Addington Manor

London

June 26, 1875

Gabby,

I realise it has been a month since I last spoke to you, at my wedding party. I know; I had pledged to write to you as soon as I arrived at Wolverhampton Castle but I confess, I had forgotten.

It is only now, after the weight of all the events that had transpired over the past couple weeks has settled on my shoulders that I seemed to remember of you, dear Gabby. It is regretful that I, your best friend since birth if I am correct, had forgotten to write to you when I had done so often before marriage. The guilt has eaten me up alive, do not fret. I can imagine you seething when you read this and you must probably be thinking, 'How dare she forget about me!'

However, if I were to defend myself, you would see that I had done so rightfully.

Oh Gabby, how I miss you!

I am in quite the predicament. You would never guess where I am right now. India!

Yes, you read write. It is from India that I write to you. How I wish I could give you a detailed telling of all the happenings that have led to this moment. But if I were to do that, the letter could quite possibly go on for hours and I do not have the patience for that, as you know.

But since you are quite possibly the only one apart from my family and husband to know that I did not love my husband when I married him, I should think you would be pleasantly surprised to know that I, the woman who swore to never marry or love someone, find myself quite enamoured with my husband, the Duke of Wolverhampton.

It is not love but I do quite think it is something akin to it. I do not know why I feel for him so but a recent event made me realise that I do...like him.

Shocking, isn't it? I think so too.

I have to end the letter now. There is someone at my door. But I do hope you will write back to me soon - to the address I have enclosed - and, if it will not be too hard, try and keep the profanities which you undoubtedly wish to call me to a minimum.

I would very much appreciate it.

Yours truly,

Eleanor Mary Huntington, the Duchess of Wolverhampton

post script - How are my parents doing? Have you yelled at my mother yet?

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Check out this fanart by WolfHeart102! Isn't it amazing? This is the first fanart I'm receiving!