The Art of Defiance | ✔

Chapter 7

'This is great grandfather Edward,' Nathan told Eleanor as they came to stand in front of a ridiculously large portrait of a portly looking man wearing appallingly tight knee breeches and a white powdered wig. Medals covered every bit of his coat as he stared at her and made her insides squirm. 'He was quite the soldier. Won all those medals fighting in Napoleon's army. Of course, that was before Waterloo, and he died.'

Ah, that would explain the tight breeches.

Eleanor walked forward to get a better glimpse of the man. He was uncharacteristically ugly - there was no better word for it. It was a wonder, really, that Nathan, sinfully handsome man that he was, was descended from this great brute. They looked nothing alike!

'Was he French?' Eleanor asked, still gazing at the portrait, trying to figure out how Nathan could be descended from him.

'Yes, he was,' Nathan replied. 'In fact, the entire dukedom is descended from him. His brother, Louis, fell in love and married the daughter of a marquess in London. He became quite close to the King after that. The dukedom was presented to Louis. Unfortunately, Louis died without an heir. So, the reigns were passed onto his brother, my great grandfather, Edward, and we've been in control ever since.'

Eleanor turned her head to look at him and smiled. 'You're French?' she asked.

Nathan shot her a brilliant grin. 'Oui, je suis. Parlez-vous français, ma chérie?' he asked, his accent flawless.

Eleanor returned his grin and replied, 'Je comprends la langue, mon cher. Mais je ne suis pas très bonne.' Her accent wasn't nearly as perfect as his, but it was impressive nonetheless. Having had a French governess had certainly helped.

'That was quite good, actually,' Nathan appraised her.

'Why, thank you, kind sir,' she said, dipping into a short curtesy. 'I did not undergo hours of French classes and a number of reprimands to not have mastered the language as much as I have.'

'Really!' Nathan exclaimed, offering her his arm. She wound her own around his as he led them out of the Hall of Portraits. 'Learning French certainly can't have been as horrible as you make it out to be.'

Eleanor laughed. 'It wasn't the language. In fact, I adore French. It is certainly beautiful. My hatred has more to do with my governess, you see.'

'Ah,' Nathan chuckled. 'My sister has the same affliction.'

Eleanor snapped her head to look at him. 'You have a sister?' she asked incredulously.

'Yes, I do,' he said. 'Her name is Leah. She's three years my senior.'

Eleanor smacked him lightly on the chest to which he winced. 'How is it you've never told me about her? Why was she not present for the wedding?'

'Well, my sister is indisposed as of now.'