Page 46 of Her Duke in Shining Armor
Reaching up, she tugged her hat off and allowed the wind to caress her face. Aaron had sent her flowers this morning and a copy of Rene Descartes’Meditations on First Philosophy. His accompanying card read,For your sense of sensitivity and your stance on rationality.
She had misjudged Aaron like one would misjudge an apple for an orange. The man was not the unfeeling person she had assumed him to be. She had not calculated for Aaron’s sense of empathy. If he had seen her unacknowledged desire for contact before she had known it, the man had observation down to a science. Either that or he was a magician.
Chuckling under her breath, Eleanor stood and circled the garden to get to one of the many doors that led her inside the house. The artificial cool coming off the house was another comfort to her.
Lisa came around the corner and instantly curtsied, “Good day, My Lady.”
“Good day to you too, please get my bath ready, lukewarm water this hour, thank you.”
She allowed her fingers to trace up the rail of the staircase as she walked up to her room. From the doorway, she heard the tell-tale sounds of someone sweeping up and smiled. She had not seen Maria in a few days.
Pushing the door, she frowned immediately, Maria was a brown-haired blur. The child seemed to be dusting, sweeping, and straightening up all at once.
“Maria!” Eleanor called out but received no answer so she called louder, “Maria!”
Finally, the girl dropped her broom and dusting cloth and spun around. “M-my Lady, I’m sorry.”
“Where’s the fire, Maria?” Eleanor inquired. “Why do you need to rush so?”
Maria's lips opened slightly, “You don’t know?
“Know what?”
The servant bent to pick up the broom. “Yer father, My Lady, he’s coming home this day.”
Eleanor digested the news like she was swallowing gall. Just as she had begun the cherish her freedom from her suffocating father, he would suddenly appear only to decapitate her liberties. She couldn’t show that to Maria though and just nodded.
“I am sure he’ll only be here for a day or two,” Eleanor assured Maria while trying to believe her own words. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
She went to her wardrobe and carefully selected her outfit for the evening. She pulled out a simple muslin of a deep cerulean color that had faded short stays, a chemise, and petticoats.
Maria finished her chores but went over the room thrice to make sure not a speck of dirt was there. Eleanor had to assure the child five times and finally send her away as the maids came to fill her tub.
The scented oils smelled bland to her as her heightened emotions had taken a nosedive the moment she had heard that her father was coming back. She dressed with numb fingers and combed her hair with indifference.
Dressed, she moved to the drawing room and took out the book Aaron had sent her. Settling into one of the wingback chairs by the dead fireplace, she opened the treatise and began to read. A few sentences in, she lost focus. She imagined the argument that would occur that evening over the dinner table and envisioned the words they would trade as sharp jousting rapiers.
Her father was most likely going to open the match with a slew of arguments about who she was going to marry and when. She knew she would fight back and try to dictate her own terms. His jab would be lording his status over her and she would repartee with saying she was of age to choose who she wanted to be with. In all there were three outcomes: she would fold; he would give in; or, based on the history of their fights, they would end up in a deadlock.
How would he react to knowing that the Duke of Oberton is courting me? I don’t think he likes Aaron that much.
That very thought rammed a spear of fear through her so fiercely that she dropped the book. How could she had been so naïve? Her father had known about Greenville from all the way in Brisdane so what was to stop him from knowing about her and Oberton?
She glanced down at her hands and saw they were actively trembling. What could she do now? She had seen her father after Aaron had nearly usurped her time with Greenville, his eyes had been reptilian with hate. If he did know about her and Aaron, chances were that he would bar her from seeing him.
The worry grew inside her chest like a living animal, clawing at her insides until all she could feel was fear. The time passing by was a torture in itself; with every tick of the bronze ormolu clock’s hands, her fear doubled in strength. When a maid offered to carry some tea to her, Eleanor refused as her stomach was tight bundle of nervous energy.
She forced herself to read and use the French philosopher’s words as a petty distraction. The distraction proved futile as she could barely remember a simple argument from Descartes. Her worry had now gone cold and settled in the pit of her stomach like a block of ice.
Her ears told her that the dining room table was being set. She could hear the flutter of the tablecloth, hear the soft clink of china and the subtle tap of cutlery being laid on soft cotton napkins. She smelled the aroma of spiced soup, freshly-baked bread, and venison stewed with apples. It would have been a wonderful feeling if her anxiety had not counteracted all of the warmness.
“Stop it, Eleanor,” she castigated herself. “You’re probably worrying about nothing.”
Her words felt hollow to her own ears.
She stayed in the drawing room until she saw Mr. Ambrose pass by her in his dark suit. Her father had arrived. Closing the book, she rested it on the table and went to meet him.
Standing in the foyer, she marshaled her fear into a ball and pinned her eyes on the door. From the etched glass inserts surrounding the doors, Eleanor could see the burly frame of her father coming toward them. Mr. Ambrose rushed to the door and opened it to admit the Duke.
