“I was just remarking,” Norman said, “that your estates must require a great deal of management. I understand Ashbourne Hall is –”
“In the north,” James said, cutting neatly through the sentence. “Yes.”
“And your London holdings,” Norman continued, undeterred. “Langford House must have required considerable –”
“Lord St. George,” James said, still calm. “If you have questions regarding the minutiae of my properties, you may direct them to my steward.”
Norman blinked, his smile faltering. “I only meant –”
“I know what you meant,” James replied.
Eleanor kept her face composed, but she felt a quiet satisfaction bloom in her chest. Norman had not expected resistance.
Charlotte’s eyes flashed briefly. Then she turned her attention to Eleanor again, as if she had been waiting for her moment.
“Well!” Charlotte stated sweetly, “Our own Arabella has been positively inundated with offers lately. Likely because everyone is curious what sort of sisters produce a duchess.”
Arabella stiffened. “I have not been inundated.”
“But youhavehad attention,” Charlotte insisted. “Tell us, Arabella. Which is it? The knight, or the third son.”
Arabella’s cheeks colored. “Charlotte –”
“It was the knight,” Charlotte repeated with mock admiration. “How very grand! A man with a title and no estate worth speaking of. And the third son of a baron – well, thatischarming but provincial. He will inherit nothing but expectations.”
Eleanor’s fingers curled lightly in her lap.
Norman waved a dismissive hand. “They are options.”
Arabella’s voice turned small. “They are gentlemen.”
Charlotte’s smile sharpened. “Gentlemen, certainly. But hardly matches. Not when one has a sister who managed to marry aduke.”
Eleanor’s stomach tightened.
Charlotte leaned back slightly, her gaze fixed on Eleanor. “Though, I confess, I find it rather remarkable. The Duke of Langford is not a man known for being… easily guided.”
Norman cleared his throat. “Charlotte.”
Charlotte lifted her brows innocently, taking on the look of a naïve girl used to being indulged. “What? I am only repeating what has been said.”
Eleanor's pulse ticked faster, but she trained her face into an easy smile, encouraging her half-sister to continue with a level tone. “And what, pray, has been said?”
Charlotte’s smile widened, and Eleanor recognized the exact moment Charlotte decided to cut.
“Thatyouspread rumors,” Charlotte said lightly. “Before the Duke even met you. That you claimed yourself his betrothed to force his hand, Eleanor.”
Arabella gasped softly. “Charlotte!”
Norman’s face went red, but he did not deny it. His silence was its own cruelty.
Eleanor felt it like a slap across her face, as intended, but she managed to hold her calm and unbothered posture…Just like the lion’s provider.
Charlotte continued, voice sweet as poison. “It is quite clever, really. One might almost admire it. Though I suppose the duke’s pride must be… bruised.”
Eleanor turned her head slightly to observe her husband.
James’s expression had gone still. Not angry in the way Norman’s anger flared hot and messy. James’s anger was quieter, more dangerous, as though the air itself had learned to brace when he chose to be displeased.
