The warmth in the room seemed to retreat.
“What about my family?” James asked rather sharply.
Eleanor’s chest tightened. “Just – I’ve received a letter.”
“My aunt,” he corrected, as if that settled it.
Eleanor swallowed. “Lady Tamblyn.”
“Yes, and no doubt that was not the first letter,” he said curtly.
“She is the late Duke’s sister,” Eleanor pressed, more gently now.
“Yes,” James said softly.
The words were flat. Final. Like a door being closed.
Eleanor’s fingers curled against the tablecloth. She could feel the servants’ attention sharpen, could sense the silent strain of them pretending to be invisible.
James’s gaze remained on his plate, but he did not eat.
Eleanor steadied her breath. She could have retreated. She should have retreated.
But she had not become the Duchess of Langford to continue living as though she were not allowed to speak.
She reached for the small stack of correspondence that had been brought in earlier, sorted neatly, as her new position required she begin each day with paper and consequence.
Eleanor touched the envelope addressed from Lady Tamblyn. The seal was intact. The handwriting elegant. The kind of hand that had written hundreds of invitations and dozens of commands.
“I have not opened this one yet,” Eleanor added quickly, though she was not sure why she felt the need to reassure him.
James’s gaze remained fixed on the letter. “She writes often.”
“Would you like me to read it?” Eleanor asked.
James’s expression did not soften, but he nodded his head slightly. “I am sure I already know.”
Eleanor continued carefully, cracking the seal and unfolding the parchment. “She asks whether she is to be invited to Blackmere Park in the coming days.”
James’s jaw flexed once.
Eleanor waited.
For a moment he did not answer, and in that silence Eleanor felt the weight of all the things he refused to say: why the attic existed in his rules, why he left at night, why his name made people’s voices lower when they spoke it.
Then James said, “Yes. I believe the timing is correct.”
His chair scraped against the floor, the sound loud in the quiet room. The servants froze, then resumed their movements as if their lives depended on it.
James adjusted his cuffs with controlled precision. “Have Mrs. Hargreaves arrange the guest room,” he said, not looking at Eleanor. “And inform the steward.”
Eleanor’s mouth opened. “When will we host her?”
James did not answer directly. He simply added, “Tonight, assuredly. Her estate is only a half a day’s ride away and I know she is eager.”
Eleanor’s hands clenched. “How will you get word back to her?”
“Please, madam, you know very well how to pass word along hastily. I have work to attend to,” he said, and turned to the butler. “Graham, please see to the duchess, I have finished.”
