For the first time in Eleanor’s life, she saw her stepmother stumble over her words, physically recoiling from the idea, though Eleanor knew that was precisely what she had meant. She had meant that Eleanor’s honor, her reputation, was not of enough value to warrant marriage.
That alone gave Eleanor the strength to raise her head. “Thank you for your flattering offer, Your Grace. I accept.”
“No!”Isabel wailed, throwing herself at Eleanor and grabbing her hand. “You cannot! Think of what you are doing.You, aDuchess?”
Eleanor glanced at the Duke, remembering the way his mouth had felt against hers. The realization had been burning into her since the very first moment she’d seen him in this house, Scrunch only just safely in her pocket. The way he had caughther shoulders and looked down into her face, and the way his eyes had lit with the same realization that had plagued her. That their kiss, committed between strangers, had been between two people who would shortly come into direct contact.
But she had never supposed he would chooseher.
Could it be because of their kiss?
No. She dismissed the idea immediately. A man of his caliber would have no shortage of ladies whom he could kiss, and to be sure, she doubted theirs had meant anything to him.
He approached, looking down into her face with a small, private smile that hinted at a great many thoughts behind his mask. Surely he could not be marrying her merely because of a kiss no one else had witnessed. He’d almost directly informed Margaret that he had not seduced her, which implied he did not intend to use their kiss against her.
In which case, what could be his purpose? She could think of nothing.
“I am honored you accept,” he said, still with that infuriatingly private smile, a certainty in his voice that suggested he had known she would not refuse. He reached for her hand, bringing it to his mouth. Her half-sisters and stepmother watched in open-mouthed dismay as he kissed her knuckles with rare grace, dropping her hand again once he had finished.
Eleanor snatched it back and cradled it against her chest, wishing she knew what to make of this turn of events. A Duchess; the thought didn’t seem as though it could be real.Her,a Duchess. Eleanor Bennett, soon to become the Duchess of Ravenscroft, her husband the Duke of Ravenscroft. She would outrank almost everyone she knew. And she would finally escape her family.
Thatthought felt the most absurd of all. Even when she had dreamed of a way of escaping, she had always known how unlikely it was. How, even if she did marry, it would be to a husband who was under Margaret’s thumb. If she escaped Margaret’s household, she had always assumed it would be to a lesser position. After all, Margaret had never hoped to useEleanorto elevate her position; she could not care less what happened to her.
Margaret drew herself up. “You are certain you wish to choose Miss Eleanor Bennett?” she asked, her voice frigid.
The Duke’s smile tightened as he looked across at her. “I find your surprise deeply unflattering. Why is it so unlikely that I would choose the eldest daughter of my father’s friend?”
“Why, nothing, save for that Isabel is more beautiful, and Annabel more accomplished, and both are younger.”
The Duke raised a brow as he glanced at Eleanor, and there was certainly nothing of the lover in his eyes now. “I have no need for beauty or accomplishments. Miss Bennett has everything I require in a wife. My decision is final, and as the lady hasaccepted my suit, I believe there is nothing more to say on the matter.”
Margaret opened and closed her mouth several times, but Eleanor knew when the lady had been beaten. After all, she had experienced the same many times prior. She found it oddly satisfying to see the Duke render her stepmother speechless with just a few words.
Perhaps Eleanor ought to feel bad for her half-sisters, all of whom had been passed over in an oddly callous way, or perhaps even for herself—he had not, after all, flattered her and called her beautiful or accomplished. All he had said was that she met his requirements for a wife. And she could not for the life of her think what that meant, unless he was under instructions to only pledge himself to the eldest Bennett sister.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Margaret said, curtsying. “I understand.”
“I shall make the arrangements,” he said, striding to the door. “A week hence, I think. I shall acquire the license.”
Margaret curtsied again, and Eleanor’s heart leaped. She would be free of this terrible household in a week’s time. For that, she would be prepared to put up with a great deal. Even, if necessary, the Duke of Ravenscroft. Though she enjoyed his put-down of her stepmother, she very much disliked his high-handed ways. If he had decided, for whatever reason that she could not discern, that he wished to marry her, he ought to have given her some indication in advance of his proposal—if one could call it that.
Her irritation rose, but after a glance at Isabel, who looked prepared to strangle her, she forced it back.
Only one more week, then she would be free. For that, she would endure anything.
Much as Eleanor knew Margaret wanted to delay the wedding, or somehow prevent it from happening, there was nothing she could do. And so, reluctantly, Margaret bought Eleanor wedding clothes, warned her three daughters away from Eleanor, and instructed Eleanor not to forget the great kindnesses Margaret had shown her over the years.
If there were any, Eleanor would have made sure to recall them.
As it was, she played the part of a dutiful daughter, promising that she would do her best to convince the Duke to perhaps host them all, or throw a ball, or somehow do something to elevate the remaining Bennett sisters into theton.
The day of her wedding dawned gray and inauspicious, and Eleanor adjusted the pale cream dress Margaret had supervised her purchasing. It was cream and simple, modest yet elegant. Everything the young bride of a Duke might be expected to wear.
Eleanor knew that if the eyes of thetonhad not been on them, Margaret would never have been so forthcoming or generous. But given as though she had not wanted the marriage any morethan her stepmother or half-sisters, she could do nothing other than reflect on what a relief it was that the wife of a Duke would be so much in the public eye, and that her family were obliged to behave.
Margaret tapped on the door, scowling when Eleanor opened it—though it was hardly her fault that she was dressed as a bride.
“Is it time?” Eleanor asked.
