If he ignores you, be patient. Revenge will come in time.
Trevor watched in dismay as one of his oldest friends insulted his fiancée. Eleanor didn’t mean to, of course. She was just reacting to the mésalliance of himself with Mellie—a natural reaction for one of her station. As the daughter of a duke, she understood what so few did of the personal and cultural divide that separated the aristocracy from new money cits such as Mellie.
But it wasn’t an unbreachable gap, and it certainly didn’t warrant such a massive reaction as Eleanor’s pale face and dramatic pronouncement suggested. And damn it, she kept doing it.
“Trevor, you have to reconsider. Think about what you are doing.” Then her gaze narrowed on his face. “Were you forced? Is that why you were beaten?”
And all the while, Mellie stood there unmoving, her face composed into a cold, flat mask.
“I was not beaten,” he snapped. Then he took a breath. “Please calm yourself.” Then he took her by the elbow and turned her toward the door. “Perhaps we had best take a walk in the garden.”
“Oh yes,” drawled the duchess from behind him. “Do wander off with Eleanor. I’m sure your intended will feel so much better, being abandoned like that.”
He shot her an irritated look, but then caught himself before he insulted the highest-ranking woman in the room. Damn it, Mellie would feel that much worse if he had it out with Eleanor in front of everyone. Fortunately, his fiancée was of a more practical mind-set.
“No,” she said softly. “He’s right. Some discussions require privacy for frank discourse.”
The duke stepped forward. “Not to take sides here, man. Your marriage is your affair, but don’t you think Miss Smithson should be part of your frank discussion? Wendy and I can take ourselves off, can’t we, love?”
The duchess pushed to her feet, ready to leave with her husband, but Trevor looked to Mellie for guidance. Did she want to be part of what looked like a humiliating argument with Eleanor? Or would she rather he simply deal with it himself? Unfortunately, she gave no clue as to her thoughts. She’d simply folded her hands before her and looked down. Like a damned servant in front of her betters, which he supposed he couldn’t blame her for. But hell, it gave him no idea how to proceed.
In the end, it was up to him to decide, and frankly, this was not something he wanted said in front of Mellie. “I won’t be but a moment. I swear.”
She looked back at him, her eyes nearly blank as she nodded. “Of course. I’ll just wait here.”
Trevor stifled a curse and nodded, then he allowed Eleanor to guide him out the parlor door and to the back of the house. They didn’t go outside but moments later walked into a cozy room meant for intimate family discussions. It was stately; this was the residence of the Duke of Bucklynde after all. But it had a tad less velvet, a great deal more browns from the wood, and none of the impressive knickknacks of history that were placed about the receiving parlor.
Sadly, it wasn’t in the least bit comfortable, but at least it was private. He took a breath, trying to feel his way into the conversation. He needn’t have bothered. Eleanor took that on herself. She grabbed both his hands, squeezed them warmly, and spoke in a sincere voice.
“We have known each other practically since the cradle, traveled in the same circles, and shared the same friends since the beginning. No one knows better than I the stresses you face as the heir to a dukedom. It is a daily struggle of appearances and moderated words and not a single moment to think on what we want. On what we require as people who laugh and love and wish just like the lowest bootblack.”
“Eleanor,” he began, but she shook her head, revealing a desperation he hadn’t seen in her before.
“Hear me out. I know the pressure and the constant pain of biting one’s tongue, of wishing to scream at the unfairness of it all. You are a man and have more freedom to fight back, but that means very little when the usual pleasures don’t satisfy.”
He frowned. “Usual pleasures?”
She huffed. “Come now, Trevor. You’re not the kind of man to lose himself in drink or women. You don’t gamble, and you hate politics. What is there left but your science experiments?” She said “science” as if she were speaking of a hobby like embroidery or gardening.
“Don’t be insulting,” he snapped.
“I’m not trying to be!” she shot back equally irritated. “I know you want to prove something to your family. God knows I don’t know how you’ve held off for so long. But Trevor, that’s no reason to throw away your entire future for a science chit.” This time she said the word “science” more like she might speak of kitchen scraps.
“She’s not some experiment,” he shot back. “She’s a girl. A human being. And what makes you think she enjoys science?”
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Well, I have eyes to see, don’t I? She’s got no pretense to class, curtsies like a housemaid, and doesn’t speak unless spoken to. The only way that she could have come into your awareness was through your hobby. So who is she? How did you meet her?”
“She’s the…” He sighed, knowing he was simply proving her point. “She’s the daughter of my old tutor.”
“Mr. Smithson. The one who first got you excited about all those bugs.”
He nodded, not even bothering to challenge her thought. “It doesn’t matter how I met her—”
“Of course it does.”
“What matters is that we’re engaged, and I want you to bring her out.”
“What!”