Chapter 7

'This is great grandfather Edward,' Nathan told Eleanor as they came to stand in front of a ridiculously large portrait of a portly looking man wearing appallingly tight knee breeches and a white powdered wig. Medals covered every bit of his coat as he stared at her and made her insides squirm. 'He was quite the soldier. Won all those medals fighting in Napoleon's army. Of course, that was before Waterloo, and he died.'

Ah, that would explain the tight breeches.

Eleanor walked forward to get a better glimpse of the man. He was uncharacteristically ugly - there was no better word for it. It was a wonder, really, that Nathan, sinfully handsome man that he was, was descended from this great brute. They looked nothing alike!

'Was he French?' Eleanor asked, still gazing at the portrait, trying to figure out how Nathan could be descended from him.

'Yes, he was,' Nathan replied. 'In fact, the entire dukedom is descended from him. His brother, Louis, fell in love and married the daughter of a marquess in London. He became quite close to the King after that. The dukedom was presented to Louis. Unfortunately, Louis died without an heir. So, the reigns were passed onto his brother, my great grandfather, Edward, and we've been in control ever since.'

Eleanor turned her head to look at him and smiled. 'You're French?' she asked.

Nathan shot her a brilliant grin. 'Oui, je suis. Parlez-vous français, ma chérie?' he asked, his accent flawless.

Eleanor returned his grin and replied, 'Je comprends la langue, mon cher. Mais je ne suis pas très bonne.' Her accent wasn't nearly as perfect as his, but it was impressive nonetheless. Having had a French governess had certainly helped.

'That was quite good, actually,' Nathan appraised her.

'Why, thank you, kind sir,' she said, dipping into a short curtesy. 'I did not undergo hours of French classes and a number of reprimands to not have mastered the language as much as I have.'

'Really!' Nathan exclaimed, offering her his arm. She wound her own around his as he led them out of the Hall of Portraits. 'Learning French certainly can't have been as horrible as you make it out to be.'

Eleanor laughed. 'It wasn't the language. In fact, I adore French. It is certainly beautiful. My hatred has more to do with my governess, you see.'

'Ah,' Nathan chuckled. 'My sister has the same affliction.'

Eleanor snapped her head to look at him. 'You have a sister?' she asked incredulously.

'Yes, I do,' he said. 'Her name is Leah. She's three years my senior.'

Eleanor smacked him lightly on the chest to which he winced. 'How is it you've never told me about her? Why was she not present for the wedding?'

'Well, my sister is indisposed as of now.'

Eleanor frowned. 'Indisposed? How so? She isn't...sick is she?' she asked, phrasing the words carefully.

'She is eight months pregnant with my niece or nephew,' he said, a fond smile blooming on his face. 'I hardly think she was in any state to attend the wedding. Besides, her husband, the Earl of Cornwall, might have maimed me if I had even suggested something as foolish as that.'

Eleanor's eyes widened. 'You're to be an uncle? I'm to be an aunt?'

Nathan nodded. 'Yes, Ellie, you are going to be an aunt.'

Eleanor frowned and smacked him once again on the chest - this time, hard.

'Ow,' Nathan exclaimed, clutching his chest and feigning a look of hurt. 'You wound me, dearest. Whatever did I do to be succumbed to your mighty wrath?'

Eleanor snorted, unladylike. 'Don't call me Ellie, darling,' she mocked. 'Only Gabby can do so.'

'Gabby?' Nathan asked as they made their way out of the castle into the warm sunlight. 'Who's Gabby?'

'My best friend. Gabrielle Addington. You have met her before. She is the daughter of the Earl Addington.'

Nathan furrowed his brows before understanding dawned on his face. 'Yes, I remember her. Green eyes, blonde hair. Wasn't she the one who Adrian couldn't keep his hands off of?'

Eleanor laughed at the memory of Gabrielle pouring a goblet of water down Adrian's coat at the wedding, two days back, when he had gotten a little too close to her for her liking. 'Yes, her exactly.'

'And why can't I call you Ellie?' he asked, an uncomprehending look passing over his features. 'I am, after all, your husband. Surely, I have every right to call you what I wish.'

Eleanor inclined her head to look up at the devilishly handsome man who stood beside her. The sunlight brought out tiny grey flecks in his blue eyes and his black hair showed a tint of brown. He looked like one of the Greek statues which littered the gardens in front of her.

'Well, I suppose you could,' she said hesitantly. 'It is just that only she has ever called me that. The others prefer to call me other...colourful words.' She bit her lip, remembering the names she had been called by the ton when her father was not present. It certainly wasn't a happy recollection.

Nathan scowled and placed his hand on her upper arm, inching closer to her. 'What do you mean by colourful?' he asked. 'What kind of names do people call you?' The last sentence came out as a growl and Eleanor found herself shrinking away from him.

'It is nothing,' she said, regretting having ever said anything. She forced a smile onto her face and led him away to the lake he had fallen into three days prior.

'It is certainly something,' Nathan hissed. 'Tell me, what do the ton call you?'

Eleanor's throat constricted and she lowered her gaze as they sat on a little garden bench a few feet away from the lake. 'Nathan,' she called quietly. 'Please do not ask me. The memories are...not pretty.' Her attention started to stray as the memories whirled around in her head, a big bundle of unwanted thoughts. She had never told anyone about the things she had to bear. No one knew of it and she was certainly not going to tell Nathan.

Nathan's eyes flashed with anger and he held her again, forcing her to look at him and her mind wandered back. 'I'll wait until you tell me, love,' he said quietly, although his eyes spoke volumes of his anger. 'If not today, then one day.'

But that day will never come to be.

A sudden shout made both their heads snap up and turn. Mrs. Worth stood a distance away, her arms waving madly over her head. She seemed to be calling them.

Nathan got up with Eleanor and they hurriedly walked over to the frantic woman.

'What is it, Mrs. Worth?' Nathan asked panting from the effort of walking up the steep hill for the lake was situated at a little valley of sorts at the edge of the property. 'Is anything the matter?'

'I'm dreadfully sorry to interrupt, Your Graces, but a man has come to call on you,' Mrs. Worth said, her face genuinely sorry.

'A man?' Eleanor asked, turning her attention to Nathan who looked puzzled. 'Have you been expecting anyone? I thought your afternoon to be free.'

'I thought so too,' Nathan replied, looking dumbfounded. It wasn't like people to see the Duke of Wolverhampton without prior appointment. He was a busy man. 'Very well,' he said, squaring his shoulders. 'Show him to me.'

Mrs. Worth led the way back to the castle with Nathan and Eleanor in tow. Eleanor wondered who it could be. It was not that she knew anyone acquainted with her husband but curiosity had always been one of her flaws.

They were led to the main parlour and opening the door, Eleanor saw a middle-aged man sitting at the edge of a chair, nervously holding his hat in his hands and fiddling with it. By the sight of his clothes - a worn-out shirt tucked into slacks and a fraying coat - he was a commoner. Upon their entrance, the man stood and bowed low to the couple. 'Your lordship, ladyship.'

Nathan nodded and gestured for him to take a seat before they did so themselves. Eleanor was surprised. It was rare that anyone of the nobility would accept a lowly commoner into their homes and ask them to sit where they, themselves, sat. She hid a smile which threatened to pull at her lips, fearing she would look rather strange. Nathan was always surprising her with his ways.

'What seems to be the problem, Armistead?' Nathan asked, a slight frown upon his brows. So he knew the man.

'I would say, milord, but I cannot do so in front of Her Grace,' Armistead said, gesturing nervously to Eleanor. 'My apologies,' he added, bowing to her. Eleanor frowned, unhappy at the prospect of not knowing. It was another one of her never-ending flaws.

'Surely, it is nothing of grave importance that the Duchess cannot hear,' Nathan countered, holding her hand in his. The action did not go unnoticed by the man but he turned his head to look at Nathan. 'I'm sorry, milord. But after hearing what I have to say, I trust that you will not regret my actions.'

Nathan sighed and stood up, gesturing Eleanor to do the same. 'I'm sorry, my love,' he said. 'Why don't you go to the library and await me there?'

Eleanor wanted to scowl but she didn't do so, courtesy of Armistead. Instead, she gave him a smile, nodded to Armistead - who promptly stood up as she did - and walked out of the parlour, to the library.

**********

'Where is he?' Eleanor muttered to herself as the grandfather clock in the library struck four. She had been here for an hour now, waiting for Nathan. She had finished a book which she had been reading and even started on a new one during the time. And although she would normally love to curl up on the window seat with a book to keep her company, she was curious to know what Armistead had told Nathan.

Curiosity really was a curse.

Just as she decided to go look for her blasted husband, the doors to the library burst open and the man in question strode in, his hair a dishevelled mess and his clothes rumpled. His cravat hung loose around his neck and Eleanor caught sight of smooth pale skin under his shirt owing to the top buttons being unhooked. She blushed at his state.

'Dear me,' Eleanor remarked, trying to appear impassive and uncaring. 'You look utterly ravished. Is there a mistress I should know of? Does she live here?'

Nathan gave her a rueful smile as he collapsed beside her on the settee she was sitting on and Eleanor fought hard to prevent the colour from spreading her cheeks at the intimacy.

'Yes, her name is Svetlana,' he said casually. 'Picked her up in Russia. As for where she lives...she stays at my room.'

At Eleanor's shocked expression, he laughed and Eleanor threw her book at him. 'I'm sorry, that was uncouth. No, I do not have a mistress. Never have, actually.'

Eleanor gaped. 'You've never?' she asked. He was a man! The Duke of Wolverhampton! Surely, he must have. Men lower than him have had countless mistresses. How does he not?

'Why are you so shocked?' he asked. 'Do you really think all men are animals?'

Eleanor was at a loss for words. 'Well, I assumed...' she trailed off, not knowing how to continue.

Nathan laughed at her reaction and continued, 'It's not that shocking really, you thinking that. Men these days do not know how to control themselves. I'm one of the rarities.'

Eleanor gave him a forced smile. That conversation certainly had taken a wrong turn. 'So, what did the man tell you?' she asked.

Nathan's smile fell and was replaced with a hard look. 'I can't tell you the details but I'll tell you this; we're leaving for India to-morrow.'

Eleanor gasped and leaned forward. 'To-morrow?' she repeated his words. 'Why so soon?'

'Something's gone wrong there. I'm needed as soon as possible; we're needed.'

Eleanor shook her head and a few strands came loose from her bun. 'I don't understand. I thought we had four days left.'

Nathan sighed before tucking her stray hair behind her ear. He really liked doing that. 'I thought so too, darling,' he said, sitting back. 'But we have to be there unless we want trouble knocking at out our door.'

'Why am I needed, Nathan? What use am I to you?'

Nathan gave her a gentle shake of his head. 'I can't tell you that. Yet. As soon as we reach there, I will. But, can you promise me something?'

'That depends on what it is,' Eleanor replied, frowning.

'There is quite a fat chance that you might agree to not help me when you learn of it. Can you promise me now that you will, though? That you will not back out?' He held out his hand.

Eleanor considered it. If, according to Nathan, there was a fat chance that she was going to refuse to help him, it meant that whatever it be, it was dangerous. And unbeknownst to him and the ton, she had a penchant for danger. The thought of adventuring in the mysterious land of India both scared and frightened her but her aim was clear: freedom.

So, there was no hesitation when she held his outstretched hand and said those words which she would not be able to back out from.

'I promise.'