“Yes, Your Grace,” the man said, bowing slightly.
And without looking at her again, the Duke of Langford left the dining room.
Time did not pass so much as it rearranged itself.
The hours between breakfast and Lady Tamblyn’s arrival slipped by in a quiet procession of small duties and larger thoughts. Eleanor signed her name where it was required, nodded where it was expected, and changed gowns twice without quite remembering why.
By the time the footman announced that a carriage had been sighted on the south drive, the winter light had already begun its slow retreat toward afternoon.
Lady Tamblyn arrived precisely as promised.
The carriage wheels crunched over the gravel with unmistakable authority, the sort that did not hurry because it had never needed to. Eleanor stood in the entrance hall with Mrs. Hargreaves beside her, her hands folded neatly, her posture impeccable, her nerves decidedly less so.
The door opened.
Frances Stapleton entered Blackmere Park as though she had been expected by the walls themselves.
She was not tall, but she carried herself with an ease that made height irrelevant. Her hair, silvered rather than grey, was arranged with deliberate care beneath a bonnet that suggested taste rather than fashion. Her eyes were sharp, observant, and very much alive.
“Ah,” Lady Tamblyn said, her voice warm and ringing. “There you are, my dear.”
Eleanor blinked. “Here… I am.”
Frances smiled broadly. “You must be the new Duchess of Langford.”
“Yes, Lady Tamblyn,” Eleanor said, curtsying. “Welcome to Blackmere Park.”
Lady Tamblyn waved a hand. “My dear, we are family now. I should like you to call me Aunt Frances, please.”
Eleanor straightened, a little startled by the familiarity. “If you insist, Aunt Frances.”
“Much better.” Frances stepped closer, her gaze assessing Eleanor with frank interest. “And you must be the young lady who managed to get my nephew married without setting thetonon fire.”
Eleanor flushed. “I am not certain I managed the latter just yet.”
Frances laughed, a rich, delighted sound. “Oh, nonsense. If thetonwere aflame, we would all know it by now.” She took Eleanor’s hands suddenly, squeezing them with surprising strength. “I have been longing to meet you.”
“You have?” Eleanor asked, startled.
“Of course I have,” Frances replied. “Any woman who can unsettle James is worth knowing. And, again, we are family now.”
Eleanor’s blush deepened.
Before she could respond, footsteps sounded from the corridor beyond.
James entered the hall.
Eleanor felt the change before she saw it.
He did not stride in with the clipped efficiency she had come to expect. He did not wear the tight control that usually sat on his shoulders like armor. His expression softened, the severe lines easing as his gaze landed on his aunt.
“Aunt Frances,” he said.
Frances turned, her smile widening. “There you are, my dear.”
James stepped forward and embraced her.
It was brief, proper, and yet unmistakably affectionate.
