And before Reginald could reply—before Eleanor could intercede—he turned and walked away, his uneven footsteps echoing down the corridor until they faded into silence.
***
Dinner was a disaster.
Not outwardly—the food was excellent, the service flawless, the conversation flowing with the effortless charm Reginald seemed able to summon in any company. Yet beneath the polished surface, currents of tension ran deep enough to drown in.
Eleanor sat at her customary place, Benjamin at the head of the table, and Reginald positioned between them. The arrangement ought to have encouraged conversation. Instead, it created a battlefield in which every exchange felt like a carefully aimed volley.
“So tell me, Your Grace,” Reginald said as the fish course was served, “how did you and my cousin arrive at your arrangement? I confess I was surprised to hear he had married at all. He always seemed determined to allow the title to perish with him.”
“We met at a house party,” Eleanor said carefully. “At Lady Rutledge’s estate.”
“Ah, Lady Rutledge. Indeed, society has a remarkable talent for encouraging such encounters without ever acknowledging it.” Reginald smiled pleasantly, his tone conversational, his eyes keen. “Though I imagine the match was not entirely… conventional. My cousin is not celebrated for romantic gestures.”
“I did not require romantic gestures.”
“No? How refreshingly practical.” He sipped his wine. “And Benjamin—what did you require? A hostess for this mausoleum? A mother for the heir you have been so reluctant to provide?”
The question was offensive. Eleanor recognised it instantly. But before she could respond, Benjamin set down his fork.
The movement was controlled. Deliberate. The kind of control that preceded either absolute composure or sudden violence.
“I required,” he said quietly, “a partner of intelligence and discretion. I found one.”
“Just so.” Reginald’s brows lifted slightly. “You are most fortunate, Benjamin. Though I confess, Your Grace”—he inclined his head toward Eleanor with impeccable courtesy—“you exceed expectations. Society had prepared me to imagine a lady of more… mature serenity. Instead, one finds charm very well preserved.”
Eleanor inclined her head, the movement precise, polite, and utterly still.
“With a somewhat different disposition,” Reginald continued pleasantly, “you might, I think, have secured a most distinguished alliance. A viscountcy, perhaps. Possibly even an earldom. Still—” His gesture encompassed the great dining room, the silent servants, and Benjamin seated at the head of the table. “Fortune rarely presents itself in precisely the form one anticipates. One must learn to value what is offered.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
Eleanor felt the words settle—slipping beneath her armour with the quiet precision of a blade she had not seen drawn. Charm well preserved. A different disposition might have secured better.
You are pleasant enough, Eleanor, but pleasant does not maintain a household.
She opened her mouth—to deflect, to redirect, to smooth the moment with the diplomacy she had practised through a hundred uncomfortable encounters—but Benjamin spoke first.
“Herdisposition,” he said, his voice quiet and cold as winter frost, “is precisely what this estate requires. It is also precisely what I require.”
Reginald’s smile faltered.
“Cousin—”
“I suggest you select another subject.” Benjamin had neither raised his voice nor altered his rigid stillness at the head of the table. Yet something in his eyes had shifted—somethingdark and dangerous that rendered the room suddenly smaller. “My wife’s qualities are not available for your commentary. Her worth is not diminished by your failure to perceive it. And if you cannot speak of her with respect, you will not speak of her at all.”
The words hung in the air like smoke after cannon fire.
Reginald’s expression smoothed into careful neutrality—the look of a man recalculating his position, reassessing terrain he had believed himself to understand.
“I intended no offence,” he said smoothly. “I was merely observing—”
“You were being cruel.” Benjamin lifted his fork once more, returning his attention to his plate as though the matter were concluded. “It is a habit of yours. I had hoped marriage might have cured me of indulging it.”
The remainder of the meal passed in silence.
***
