Lady Eleanor Mary Cantwell, daughter of the Marquess of Salford, is a proper young lady. With her golden complexion, raven-black hair, and manners befitting a princess, Lady Eleanor has always been deemed a belle. There is just one problem.
Lady Ele...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A week passed with no attempts made at mending Nathan and Eleanor's relationship - or lack thereof. The day of their fight, Eleanor had holed herself up in her room writing to Gabrielle, pausing only when Mr. Potts had knocked on the door to bring in her trunks. She had not gone down for lunch or supper for fear of running into Nathan and had gone to bed with an empty - and growling - stomach.
The next day, she had finally gathered her courage to face him, having had spent the night before tossing and turning before coming to the decision that she was going to apologise for her scathing words. However, woe betided her for she ran into the housekeeper - Miss Lucy Abbott, if she remembered correctly.
The woman had regarded her coolly, the guilt and embarrassment on her face from the day before replaced with haughtiness and contempt as if she were indeed the Duchess of Wolverhampton.
Eleanor, irritation sparking her nerves, had proceeded to snap at her. 'Where is His Grace?' she had asked plainly with an authoritative note in her words.
The atrocious woman had merely replied, 'Gone out!' before flouncing off, her brown maid's dress flying behind her.
And the cycle had continued for a week.
Every morning, she would enquire as to his whereabouts and every morning Miss Abbott would reply the same. At night, she would stay awake all night waiting for him, to hear his footsteps outside her room, waiting for him to come and make amends.
But he never came.
Until a drab dark morning, a week past the fight, when he did, sans announcement, a grim look on his pale face.
Eleanor jumped up from her seat on the vanity and tightened her robe around her. She had only on a nightgown underneath it and her cheeks burned of her own volition of what was to ensue should he have caught her in it. Her raven hair was loose from the restricting pins and it tumbled down her back, ending right above her waist.
Nathan, who seemed to note her state of undress, averted his eyes. 'Get dressed. We leave in a few,' he stated blankly.
'Where to, may I ask?'
His eyes raised to hers. 'You will know when we reach.' He whirled out of the room, leaving Eleanor to ready herself.
A half hour later, she sat across Nathan in the carriage as it tumbled down the dusty streets of Bombay. Dark clouds loomed above them in the sky and the wet promise of a storm hung in the air. Few people were out and about on the roads - most were closing up shop and taking shelter from the rain.
Eleanor looked at Nathan under her lashes. His eyes were fixed on the floor but that did not conceal his agitation, and irritation was a trait unconcealed on his face.
His attention suddenly snapped and he tapped the roof of the carriage with his cane.
