Page 51 of Wedded to the Loveless Duke
Eleanor stood beside Phillip in the small churchyard where her father had wished to be buried. William had bought a small plot in the quiet, countryside church that her mother had attended as a child, and he had buried her there when Eleanor was still very young. Now, he was united with his love once more in death.
The sun shone down weakly on the assembled crowd. William had wished the ceremony to remain small, restricted to true friends and close family. Unlike many men of the nobility, William had not been ornate or extravagant. He hadn’t wanted any fanfare to follow his passing, only a solemn, intimate remembrance of who he had been and what he had meant to them all. That was precisely what Edward had made certain his brother was given.
The minister droned on about the passing from life to death and into eternal life, talking about how William was freed from his suffering. Eleanor closed her eyes to hold back the tears and leaned into Phillip. Her husband kissed her temple and drew herinto his arms without a word, offering her his silent support on this difficult day.
Her father had been right to find her a good husband. Now that they were standing there at his grave, she could see that. If she’d been forced to endure this loss alone, she wasn’t certain she could have done it. It hurt too much to endure it in solitude without anyone by her side. William had done the best he could for her. His methods might have been unusual or even ill-advised, but the outcome had been the best one.
Eleanor said a silent prayer of thanks as the minister began his own prayer over the deceased. The small assembly joined him in a final amen before the gravediggers began to heap dirt over the coffin. She watched them in silence, thankful for the black veil that helped to hide her tears and the evidence of her grief from those watching.
When the last shovelful of dirt had been placed on William’s grave, she went forward with a rose and knelt beside the freshly turned earth under the cloudy summer sky, placing the flower beside the headstone. “Goodbye, Father,” she whispered.
As she stood, Phillip bent to place his own rose beside hers and then enveloped her in his arms, pulling her a few feet away so that others could pay their respects. She pressed her nose into the crook of his neck and breathed in the scent of fresh air and pine that he often carried after a day spent hunting on the estate and let his warmth seep into her, chasing away the chill that had pervaded since the news of her father’s death.
The mourners each paid their respects, laying red roses and white lilies on William’s grave to say farewell to the man who had been dear to each of them, then left. At last, Eleanor and Phillip stood alone in the small church graveyard, staring down at the headstones of her father and mother now side-by-side.
“Will you be all right?” Phillip murmured in her ear.
Eleanor took a deep breath and eased his arms around her waist so that her hands rested over his on her abdomen. The comfort of his presence eased the grief clawing at her, and she tipped her head back to look up at the hints of blue peeking through the clouds. “In time. Having you here helps.”
“Whatever I can do, I will. I am sorry about his passing, Eleanor. I know he was dear to you, despite what happened.”
She bit her lip and turned around to wrap her arms around his neck. “He did the best he could, and now it is up to us to decide what future we will build on what he left us.”
Phillip lifted her veil away from her face and cupped her cheek with a soft smile. “You know, despite the anger on your face when you first realized what was happening that day, you were still the loveliest bride I have ever set eyes on. I meant it when I said I was grateful to your uncle, but I am also grateful to him for loving you enough to let go and entrust you to me.”
She closed her eyes, her tears slipping past her lashes. “It must have been hard for him. I have never met a man who liked being in control quite so much.”
Phillip chuckled, and then his lips pressed to hers in a gentle, chaste kiss. His touch was gentle, as though he was trying to convey support and comfort in that moment of weakness and sorrow. Eleanor sighed and kissed him back before drawing away. “Shall we go?”
He took her hand in his. “Shall we take a walk through the fields before we do? When your father and I went riding up here, he showed me the place where he first met your mother. He made me promise to show it to you when he was gone.”
She straightened and frowned. “He never liked to speak about her. I think it hurt him too much. She died when I was quite young, so he never showed me where they met.”
“He told me he regretted not talking about her more with you. Her things are locked away in a room for storage. They are yours according to his will. He kept everything that would reveal anything about her or her story. Her diaries are amongst her things as well.”
Eleanor brushed away the tears. “He really kept all of that for me?”
“He did. Shall I show you the final thing he wanted me to share with you?”
She nodded, too overcome to say anything. Phillip guided her across the rolling hills. As they walked, the sun broke through the clouds, bringing warmth and comfort with it. They spotted sheep dotting the hillside and cows grazing in pastures.
At last, they came to a stream that spilled into a deep swimming hole. A weeping willow sat on the bank, offering shade from the afternoon heat to passersby, and a large oak stood on the opposite side with a rope hanging from it, no doubt intended for swinging into the pond on hot summer days.
No one was there now, so they had the space to themselves. Phillip tugged her under the willow, parting its branches and guiding her beneath its canopy. She smiled at him and went to sit on the side nearest the pond, looking out at the water and the sun glinting off it from behind the curtain of leaves.
Phillip sat beside her.
“This is where they first met?”
“Right here. He was playing hide and seek with your uncle and some of the other kids from the village while visiting the countryside on holiday. Your mother had curled up in here to read a book. They began talking, and before he knew it, it was dark, and he was walking her home. He showed me where they carved their initials into the tree.” He turned and pointed at the trunk behind them. “See?”
Eleanor turned to look and spotted her father’s distinctive lettering carved into the bark of the willow with both his and her mother’s initials. “I wish I had known her better,” she murmured. “He said so little about her. I wish he had told me their story himself.”
“I know.” Phillip reached out and took her hand in his. “You will discover everything that can be known about her from her diaries and belongings, though, my love. I know it is not the same, but your father hoped it would make her seem closer to you. He has left you some of his own things as well.”
“He did?”
“The lawyer stopped by yesterday while you were out shopping with Bedford’s wife. He went over your father’s will. You are to inherit all but the estates and his money. But he has left you his books, his favorite mare and a great many other things that he thought you would cherish.”
