Her imagination failed her. She could conjure only shadows and silence—a house as closed and guarded as the man who sat across from her.
Say something,she told herself.You are married now. You must learn to speak to one another eventually.
But what was there to say? They were, after all, strangers who had agreed to share a life, and Eleanor had no notion how to begin bridging that distance.
Perhaps he prefers silence, she thought.Perhaps this is simply what our marriage will be: two people occupying the same space without occupying the same world.
The thought ought to have been comforting. She had chosen this, after all. Had accepted his proposal knowing precisely what he offered and what he did not.
But comfort, like so many things in Eleanor’s life, remained stubbornly beyond reach.
An hour into the journey, the Duke spoke.
“You did not have anyone.”
Eleanor started slightly at the sound of his voice. She had grown so accustomed to the silence that words felt almost like an intrusion.
“I beg your pardon?”
“At the wedding.” He did not turn from the window, but something in his posture shifted—a slight easing in the rigid line of his shoulders. “You prepared alone. Walked alone. There was no one beside you.”
It was not a question. It was an observation, delivered with the same directness he had employed during his proposal, and Eleanor found herself uncertain how to answer.
“My family is… limited,” she said carefully. “My parents are deceased. The Cheswicks are my nearest relations, and they were present today, being already guests of Lady Rutledge. They have been kind enough to provide me with a home, but we are not…”
Close,she did not say.Connected. Fond of one another.
“We are not intimates,” she finished.
Benjamin inclined his head slowly. His gaze remained fixed upon the passing landscape, yet Eleanor had the distinct impression that his attention was fixed entirely upon her.
“I noticed,” he said, “that you did not cry.”
The observation settled strangely. Eleanor turned it over in her mind, searching for criticism or concern hidden within it.
“Was I expected to?”
“Brides often do. Joy, or nerves, or… something.” He paused. “You simply walked forward. As though attending to a task.”
A task.Yes. That was precisely what it had felt like. A duty to be discharged. A milestone to be crossed. An item to be marked complete upon a list of things that must be done.
“I am not much given to displays of emotion,” Eleanor said. “They tend to make people uncomfortable.”
“They makeyouuncomfortable.”
It was not a question. And it was, Eleanor realised with a small shock, entirely accurate.
“Yes,” she admitted. “They do.”
Silence fell again, though it felt altered now—less like a wall and more like a space in which something might one day grow.
After a long moment, Benjamin spoke again.
“My hand trembled.”
Eleanor’s breath caught. She had noticed, of course. Had pretended otherwise. Had assumed he would never acknowledge it.
“During the ring,” he continued, still not looking at her. “You saw.”
