Snowflakes and Scandals

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The next morning, Ambrose paced the floor of his study. Something, or someone, had upset Eleanor last night. Was it because of Lady Arabella’s presence? Had she said something to Eleanor? There was nothing to say. He’d had a brief relationship with the beautiful widow and quickly realized she was looking for a husband. But beautiful Arabella was as flighty as Cassandra and would not be true to him. He’d like to know that any son he produced was, in fact, his own.

Eleanor would be true to you.

Why he knew that, he did not know. Although she wasn’t a great beauty, she was beautiful in his eyes. In all the things that mattered to him. She was kind, generous, friendly, approachable, and everyone who met her respected Eleanor. Some of the staff even worshipped her.

She’d been born to be a duchess.

But she’d been upset upon leaving the dinner last night. He sat behind his desk and wrote a missive. He would invite Harry and Eleanor to his house for supper.

Ambrose finished penning the invitation and called for a footman to deliver it to Eleanor's residence across the street. He hoped that sharing a meal together would give him the opportunity to understand what had upset her the previous evening.

A few hours later, Eleanor arrived with Harry. Ambrose and Lillian greeted them warmly, but he noticed the change in Eleanor's demeanor. The usual sparkle in her eyes was absent, replaced by a cool, reserved expression.

“Welcome, Eleanor, Harry,” Ambrose said, trying to keep his tone light. “I hope you're all hungry.”

“Thank you for the invitation, Your Grace,” Eleanor replied formally, curtsying slightly.

Ambrose frowned at her use of his title rather than his name. He led them to the dining room, where a light supper had been prepared. As they settled into their seats, an awkward silence fell over the table.

“How are your studies progressing, Harry? Do you like your tutor?” Ambrose asked, attempting to spark conversation.

“Very well, thank you, Your Grace,” Harry replied politely, glancing between the adults with a puzzled expression. “Mr. Clarke is an excellent teacher.”

Lillian, sensing the tension, piped up, “Papa, can we go riding soon? You promised to teach Harry, remember?”

“Of course, poppet,” Ambrose smiled at his daughter. “Perhaps we can arrange that for next week.”

Eleanor merely nodded, her gaze fixed on her plate as she ate small bites of her food. The stilted conversation continued throughout the meal, with Ambrose growing increasingly concerned by Eleanor's distant behavior.

Ambrose stood as the dessert plates were cleared away. “I thought we might take a turn in the gardens. The weather is quite pleasant today.”

“That sounds lovely, doesn't it, children?” Eleanor said, her voice lacking its usual warmth.

They made their way outside; the children running ahead to explore the manicured hedges and colorful flowerbeds. Ambrose guided Eleanor to a secluded bench, away from little ears.

“Eleanor,” he began gently, “I can't help but notice something is troubling you. Did something happen last night? Have I offended you?”

She turned to face him, her eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and resignation. “Not at all, Your Grace. I'm simply behaving as I believe you wish me to.”

Ambrose's brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Eleanor took a deep breath. “I overheard your conversation last night at the dinner party. About your... expectations for our marriage.”

Realization dawned on Ambrose's face as he recalled his words. “Eleanor, I-”

She held up a hand to stop him. “Please, let me finish. I understand now that this is to be a marriage of convenience. You need an heir and a duchess, and I need protection for Harry from Lord Redington. That's all this is.”

Her words stung, but Ambrose couldn't deny the truth in them. He had said those things—not in those words exactly. Even so, the sentiment was similar. So why did he feel so upset at her obvious pain?

Eleanor continued, her voice steady but tinged with sadness. “I will be the wife you described - sensible, dignified, and not prone to 'romantic fancy.' I won't expect love or a deeper personal relationship. I'll bear your children and perform my duties as your duchess. But I won't let myself fall in love if you're not even going to try. We will be respectful friends. And I will demand your respect. No mistresses flaunted in my face or within society to feed gossip. You will keep you liaisons discreet.”

Ambrose felt a tightness in his chest at her words. He wanted to protest, to tell her he cared for her deeply, but the words wouldn't come. His fear of being hurt again, of opening his heart only to have it shattered, held him back.

“Is that truly what you want, Eleanor?” he asked quietly.

She met his gaze, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It's what you want, isn't it? And it will keep Harry safe. That's all that matters to me now.”

As they sat in silence, watching the children play in the distance, Ambrose questioned everything. The life he had envisioned suddenly seemed hollow and empty. He thought of the joy Eleanor and Harry had brought into his and Lillian's lives over the past weeks. The laughter, the warmth, the sense of family he had felt again. He didn’t like this cool, impersonal Eleanor. But isn’t that what he’d said he wanted?

Why wasn't he brave enough to face his past betrayal? Eleanor wasn't Cassandra. She had shown him nothing but kindness, understanding, and loyalty. Could he really condemn them both to a loveless marriage out of fear? Or should he let her go free to find the love she obviously wants?

“I’d protect you against Redington regardless of if you marry me,” he offered.

She glanced up at him and sighed. “You know, Redington has the legal right to do as he wishes. Even a duke cannot stop him. Unless we marry. Please don’t take your offer of marriage away just because I’m more honest than you.”

“I never declared words of love.” Ambrose said, affronted.

“No. But your passions spoke for you. With my little experience, I read them all wrong.”

“You’re not wrong. I do desire you, but desire is not love.”

“I understand that now,” she said. “I won’t get confused again.”

As these thoughts swirled in his mind, Ambrose realized he had a choice to make. He could continue down this path of emotional detachment, or he could take a risk and open his heart to the possibility of love once again.

Then Cassandra’s parting shot echoed in his head. “Underneath the title, and your good looks, you’re a man lacking in excitement. I want stimulation in my life. I wasn’t born with these looks and brains to be stuck on a country estate bearing you children. The life you have trapped me in is boring. And I want a grand adventure.” And she’d left him, his title and everything he could give her, including their child, because he’d not been enough.

Eleanor would be stuck on a country estate bearing his children, but after their conversation today, she at least seemed satisfied with that arrangement.

As he wandered to his study to take care of his correspondence, he had a brief thought that perhaps Cassandra was right. What did he want out of life over and above his duty and what the hell did Eleanor want? And if he knew, could he give it to her?