Eleanor did not sleep.
She lay still beneath the light canopy, eyes wide, body tense, as if her skin still remembered the Duke's touch, the warmth of his fingers on her cheek, and the chill in his voice that lingered long after.
"You may pine for your past, Eleanor, but you will soon realize that I am your future."
It hadn't been a threat. But it felt like one.
Outside, the wind moaned through the trees, rattling the windows like some restless spirit desperate to be let in. Her thoughts were a mess, one thought crashing into the next. James's voice haunted her. His eyes, The way he had looked at her, as if she were still his, as if nothing had changed.
What had she done?
Had she betrayed the only love she had ever known with a single glance, a single wordless betrayal?
By morning, the estate had settled back into its usual rhythm. The maids came and went quietly, moving with the kind of ease that comes from doing the same thing every day. Brushing her hair, laying out beautiful gowns, offering cups of steaming tea. But something had shifted. Their glances lingered a little longer. Their voices lowered as soon as she passed. A new unease tone beneath the surface.
She wasn't imagining it.
Someone had seen her with James.
And the whispers had begun.
Lady Beatrice summoned her to the parlor that afternoon. She was seated near the fire place, tea untouched, fingers tapping a sharp rhythm against her fancy cup.
"I trust you're prepared for this evening," she said, without looking up. "The Duke's aunt and cousin will be joining us. They are eager to meet with the future Duchess."
Eleanor folded her hands in her lap. "Of course, Mother."
Lady Beatrice's eyes turned to her, gaze cool and unreadable. "You seem a bit distracted. I do hope it isn't because of that man Eleanor…
The words hit like a slap.
Eleanor stiffened. "What man?"
"Do not insult me." Her mother's voice was quiet, but cold. "Do you think you were invincible last night in the garden? That the servants haven't already started with gossip of scandal?"
It wasn't…' Eleanor tried to say something but was cut short
"It never is." Lady Beatrice leaned in, voice lowering to a hiss. "One more moment of foolishness, and this engagement will end, not at the Duke's hand, but his family's. And do you know what becomes of girls who lose matches like this?"
Eleanor said nothing. She didn't have to.
Lady Beatrice stood, smoothing her skirts with cold precision. "You may write your heartbreak into poetry, Eleanor, but the world does not weep for weak women. It devours them."
That evening, Eleanor stood beside the Duke again, wrapped in silk and silence.
Her gown was a shade of lavender, soft on her skin. Diamonds shining on her ears and neck, her hair plaited into a regal braid. She looked the part composed, radiant, untouchable.
But Inside, she was barely holding it together.
The Duke's aunt, Lady Margaret, had the gaze of a woman who missed nothing and forgave less. His cousin, Lord Silas, was younger, too charming for his own good, and far too perceptive for Eleanor's comfort.
She acted flawlessly, smiling when needed, laughing when expected, responding with perfect poise. But beneath the surface, she felt the Duke's gaze on her constantly, calculating. He said nothing of the garden. Spoke no word of James.
But his silence said everything.
After dinner, Eleanor slipped away into the library to breathe, to feel the weight of her own thoughts. She pressed her hand to her chest, trying to calm her heart.
"You look like a bird in a gilded cage."
She turned, startled.
Lord Silas stood in the shadows, a wine glass in hand and a smirk playing on his lips.
"It's been a long evening," she said
"Or perhaps a long war?" He stepped closer, his tone too casual to be innocent. "Tell me, Lady Eleanor, is it true what they're saying? That the Duke caught you with another man in the gardens?"
Her breath caught.
"I don't entertain gossip, my lord."
He chuckled, low and knowing. "Nor do I. But these walls… They have ears. And they don't all swear loyalty to the crown." He swirled his wine, tilting his head. "Be careful where you walk at night. Not every shadow is kind."
He bowed, all graceful and mockery. "A pleasure, as always." And then he disappeared down the corridor, leaving her heart pounding in her throat.
That night, in the hush of her chambers, Eleanor found something tucked beneath her pillow.
A folded note. Her name written carefully but boldly.
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
"Meet me at midnight. Beneath the willow tree. J."
For a moment, she didn't move.
James.
It was reckless. Dangerous. It could ruin everything.
And yet, she could not stay away.
The estate was asleep when Eleanor slipped into the gardens, cloak pulled tight against her body. The moon lit her path, the trees casting long, flickering shadows. The air smelled of earth and memory.
She reached the willow tree, its branches swaying like whispers and there he was waiting.
James.
He turned at the sound of her footsteps, his eyes softening with something like hope. "You came."
She didn't answer. She ran to him.
His arms wrapped around her instantly hungry, desperate, trembling. He buried his face in her neck like a man starved of water. And for that one impossible moment, the world disappeared.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered, though her lips pressed against his.
"Neither should you. But we're here anyway." His mouth brushing hers.
She pulled back, eyes brimming. "It's worse than I imagined. He's everywhere James, always watching. He is turning the walls into a cage, James. I think… I think he means to trap me forever."
James's jaw tightened. "Then we leave. Tonight. I've arranged horses at the forest's edge. We ride north, and we don't stop until we're far from this place."
Eleanor's heart pounded.
Could she do it? Leave everything, her family, her name, her duty, all for love?
A sound cut through her thoughts.
A crack. A footstep.
She turned just in time to see a figure emerge from the dark, shadowed and still.
"You shouldn't have come."
The Duke.
He stepped into the moonlight, voice low, each word laced with poison. Behind him, two guards appeared, silent, blocking the path.
Eleanor's breath caught. "No…"
James stepped in front of her instinctively. "Stay behind me."
The Duke's eyes were ice, looking directly at Eleanor. "You've made a great mistake, Lord Harrow."
James didn't move. "You'll have to kill me to keep her."
A pause.
And then the Duke smiled.
Cold and Cruel.
"That can be arranged."
To be continued…