Chapter 4

Fear. Hatred. Anger. Eleanor watched as a myriad of emotions flashed across her face as she stood in front of the great mirror in her room. Gabrielle, her best and only friend, stood in front of her, staring at her with sadness and pity in her green orbs as various maids adorned her in a gown.

Her wedding gown, to be more precise.

White muslin cinched her waist before it flowed out behind her in a train, a cluster of tiny white roses woven into the neckline. The bodice clung to her like a second skin - the sole reason being to prevent her from breathing, she was sure. Her hair had been piled up, diamond hair pins holding it in place.

Eleanor loathed those hair pins. She could not fathom why her father would get them for her when they were financially ruined; the dress itself was too extravagant for her liking. They were supposed to be saving at such a time! But, it was, in fact, her wedding and she deserved no less, in the words of her father.

'Eleanor!' a dreaded voice called. Turning around, she noticed her mother standing at the door, eyeing her in appreciation. Why, she did not know; nor did she care.

'What is it?' Eleanor snapped. She never snapped at her mother. She never snapped at anyone but current circumstances were much more different than usual. And unlike normal circumstances when she would have immediately felt guilt wash through her, she now felt nothing. Only a cold but burning hatred for the woman who had sold her off in marriage to a man she barely knew.

'Do not use that tone with me, you wretched ungrateful girl!' her mother said - her voice raised much higher than what was expected of a lady - appreciation morphing into disgust. The maids who had just finished dressing her, hurried out, knowing full well what was going to ensue. Gabrielle glanced at her friend, silently asking her if she wanted her there. The answer - a slight shake of her head - cued Gabrielle's leave, not without shooting a glare in the marchioness's direction.

'I shall use whichever tone I choose to use,' Eleanor shouted, whirling around to face the ghastly woman who had now come to stand right behind her.

Her mother's eyes gleamed with intense fury and she raised her arm, slapping Eleanor hard across the face.

Eleanor gasped and clutched the side of her face which now stung painfully. She had never been slapped before - she had never warranted such a situation. She highly doubted she had warranted it now but when it came to her mother, she doubted she cared for whether or not she was deserving of it. She was angry now - so very angry. Before she could retaliate however, her father barged into the room.

'Marilyn!' he shouted, his face boiling red with fury. 'How dare you raise a hand against our daughter!' He positioned himself in front of Eleanor who stared aghast at her father. He never raised his voice. He never got angry. To see him now with his flaring temper shocked Eleanor more than when she had discovered her father's betrayal.

'She is not my daughter!' the marchioness screamed and a small part of Eleanor hurt at the words. She had known it but to have it said so blaringly clear was still a painstaking reminder of who she really was to the woman who had - begrudgingly - raised her. 'She has never been and will never be my daughter! She is merely a wretch that you adopted and I will not allow her to treat me with disrespect!'

The sound of skin meeting skin resonated through the room and Eleanor realised with horror that Lord Salford - the sweetest and kindest man anyone could ever meet - had hit his wife.

'Papa, no,' Eleanor said, her voice barely a whisper. She reached up to grip his shoulder and willed him to look at her. When he finally did, Eleanor saw ancient brown eyes stare back at her in anger, anguish and...regret.

'How dare you!' Lady Salford cried, her eyes blazing with unparalleled hatred.

Lord Salford turned to face his wife. 'I will not have you speaking ill of my daughter!' he said, matching her tone. 'Do not think I did not notice when you treated her unkindly. Although you behaved differently in front of me, I knew you never thought of Eleanor as your daughter. But I never realised to what extent that hatred ran.'

Lady Salford's chest hitched and for a moment Eleanor thought she was going to slap her again. Instead, however, the Marchioness composed herself and walked out of the room with a flourish, slamming the door behind her.

As soon as she left, Lord Salford turned to face a very distraught Eleanor. He loomed over her but for some reason, Eleanor felt that she had the upper hand.

'My dear,' the marquess started, 'I am sorry you had to see that. But I didn't know her loathing for you ran so deep. If I had known -'

'It's alright papa,' Eleanor cut him off softly and held his rough calloused hands in her soft delicate ones.

'No, it is not,' her father argued. 'I should have done something about it, I should have known!'

'But you didn't papa,' Eleanor said, squeezing his hand. 'What's past is past; you cannot do anything about it.'

'I wish I could,' he muttered in a low voice but Eleanor heard it and felt her heart shatter. Gone was her fury at her father's betrayal and with it came other emotions. Sympathy because her just and kind father had a beast for a wife. Guilt because she had disregarded the person who had loved her when no one else had. And finally, sorrow, because she was to start a new life with a Duke she hardly knew (although he was offering her freedom - how, she did not know), leaving behind her past which she cherished deeply despite the many obstacles that had come her way.

Her father wrapped his arms around her and Eleanor did the same, the tears which had been dammed and constricted for the past two weeks, flowing in rivulets down her cheeks.

'Oh Eleanor,' her father sighed. 'What happened to us?'

Eleanor continued to sob into his waistcoat. 'I grew up, papa,' she said in between sobs. 'I'm not your little girl anymore.'

Her father tightened his arms around her and they remained like this until Eleanor had drained herself of her tears. With only small sniffles and a puffy nose to indicate that she had been crying, she pulled herself away from her father.

'I'm sorry, sweetheart,' her father said suddenly, his gaze dropping to his shoes.

'What for?' Eleanor asked, although she knew why.

'For arranging your wedding without asking you. For forcing you to wed him even though you do not wish to. For -'

'I forgive you, papa,' Eleanor said, putting an end to his rant.

Lord Salford visibly relaxed the moment the words left her mouth but he continued to apologise all the same. 'Even so, I should not have done that. It was wrong of me. But all I could think about was the estate. I was selfish and foolish and I may have made the biggest mistake of my life.'

Eleanor nodded her head. 'Maybe, papa, but as I said before, what's done is done. Let us only focus on the future.' She smiled softly at her disgruntled father.

The marquess nodded with a smile. 'Yes, lets.'

**********

The carriage rolled along the cobbled streets of Wolverhampton as the newly-wed couple sat facing each other, both their attentions drawn to the landscape outside. They had been travelling for quite a few hours and although Eleanor had slept for a good part of the journey, she was absolutely exhausted from being cramped up in the carriage for far too long.

Her husband, she realised with a jolt, had not spoken a word to her at all that day. The ceremony had taken place in the morning in the presence of a few family members and friends and apart from reciting the vows and saying 'I do', he had been quiet the whole day. And when the priest said the words she had been dreading the most - the ones which permitted the groom to kiss his bride - the Duke had only placed a chaste kiss on her forehead, before his lips had left her skin along with the warmth it had offered, if only for a fleeting moment. The remembrance of his soft lips against her skin unnerved Eleanor and she could not fathom why.

The sudden halt of the carriage snapped Eleanor out of her reverie.

'We've reached,' her husband said, the words being the first he'd said to her all day.

Eleanor peered out of the window and gasped at the castle which stood in all its glory in front of her. If Wolverhampton Manor back in London had been huge and luxurious, then the castle which stood before her rivalled the Buckingham. Multiple turrets towered over the exceedingly vast expanse of the castle and the gardens knew no bounds. Wolverhampton Castle was enormous but she knew this was only a fraction of the wealth and power Lord Wolverhampton had wrapped around his finger.

Eleanor stepped out of the carriage, taking her husband's hand as he helped her out. Not uttering a word - or even sparing her a glance - he led her to the castle doors and the footmen hurried over from the carriage to open the doors for the Lord and Lady of the House.

Walking into the castle, Eleanor was spellbound by the wealth and luxury the entrance hall oozed and wondered if the rest of the castle was as lavish - if not more - as the room in which she was standing. Rich tapestries hung on the walls and the furniture and wallpaper was unlike any she had ever seen. She had always thought of her own home as one of the finest in London - and it probably was - but Wolverhampton Castle made hers look like a pauper's humble abode.

Sparks ignited on her elbow and she whirled to see her husband gently holding it. 'Come,' he said, giving her a look that was strangely unnerving. 'I'll show you to your chambers.'

Eleanor followed him through a series of twisting corridors, all showcasing the splendour and grandeur of the Duke (and now, Duchess) of Wolverhampton. Maids and butlers scurried past them, bowing to their master and mistress in greeting before doing so.

'This is the West Wing of the castle,' the Duke told her as they made a turn. The hallway had narrowed and Eleanor noticed that the décor had become more opulent than before.

At the end of the hallway, two doors sat on opposite walls facing each other. The Duke gestured to the one on her right. 'This will be your chambers. The one opposite to it is mine.'

He walked into hers and Eleanor followed, marvelling at the extravagance her room held. There was a tiny parlour which opened into the bed chambers. The wall were papered in a delicate shade of cream, the decor matching it perfectly. A grand armoire sat at one end of the wall and the one next to it braced the gilded vanity. But that wasn't what drew her attention. Against the wall opposite the vanity was the bed in all its high glory. The wooden four-poster had silk curtains strung on its posters and white silk sheets with numerous pillows littered the enormous bed - undoubtedly made for two.

'Well then,' her husband said, breaking the awkward silence that had ensued. 'I'd best be gone. I have a lot of work tomorrow. If you need anything, you can call on me. Your room is adjoined to mine,' he said, indicating at an oak door next to the bed. 'Oh, and your lady's maid won't come up to-night to undress you. You are to manage on your own. No one can know that we did not consummate our marriage on our wedding night.'

Eleanor nodded slowly, unable to meet his eye. Although he had made his intentions for her clear at the dinner at his manor in London the week before, she had thought he might not honour his word and force her to consummate the marriage; every man was indeed an animal deep down, was he not? But seeing as he had made it blatantly clear that he had no intention of doing so, Eleanor was absolutely relieved.

'Thank you, my lord,' she said, finally lifting her gaze.

The Duke held up a gloved hand. 'Nathan, please.'

Eleanor furrowed her eyebrows. 'Beg pardon?'

'Call me Nathan,' he said, giving her a small smile. 'We are husband and wife now, although we do not intend to perform the duties we should. It is ill-fitting.'

Eleanor smiled back, glad at the lovely turn of events. 'Alright...Nathan. And do call me Eleanor.'

Nathan tipped the hat on his head which he had yet to remove. 'Eleanor. I shall take my leave for the night. Even if it is only a room away.' Then his eyes darkened and a sly grin spread on his lips. 'Unless, you want me to stay?' he said with all the arrogance of a young boy from Eton.

'I think I shall be fine, Nathan,' she said, giggling, surprising herself. Then, seeing as the damage had already been done, she added, 'At least, for tonight.'

Nathan laughed heartily at her words and shot her a brilliant white grin.

'Until tomorrow, my beloved,' he said before walking into his room, closing the door soundlessly behind him.

Eleanor stared after her husband's retreating figure, not dropping her gaze even when he was out of sight. The foolish grin on her face had not dropped and she raised a hand in farewell although he could not see it.

'Until tomorrow.'