Chapter 28

The walls are covered in flowers. The sheets are white. The ceiling is white.

The sight of red death flashed through her mind.

The walls are covered in flowers. The sheets are white. The ceiling is white.

She felt the cold blade against her throat and the pain of parting flesh. Clenching her teeth, she closed her eyes to get rid of the feeling.

The walls are covered in flowers. The sheets are white. The ceiling is white.

'We were never married.'

The walls are covered in flowers. The sheets are white. The ceiling is white.

'She has miscarried.'

At the memory, a strangled cry tore from Eleanor's throat and she hurled the pillow she had been holding across the room. And when it failed to make an impact, she grabbed the crystal glass on her bedside table and threw it with the might of a thousand warriors. The glass hit the wall opposite her and shattered into a million pieces. Chest heaving, her anger, anguish and frustration not the least bit gone, she fell back onto the bed she had been sitting on.

It had been four days since everything had been brought to light. Four days since her life had fallen apart as every harsh lie came to the forefront. She was angry - so, so angry. At her parents for not telling her upon her arrival. At Gabby, for not mentioning anything in her letter. At everyone else who probably knew and kept it from her. The maids had probably known as well - everyone but her.

And above all, she was angry at the duke.

He was no longer her 'husband'. That had certainly been a misguiding. But he wasn't Nathan either. He was simply the Duke of Wolverhampton - a bachelor. There certainly did not exist a Duchess of Wolverhampton.

And the harsh reality of it all was that there never would be an heir as well. At least, not from her womb. Her baby had died. A miscarriage was what the lady doctor, Rajalakshmi, had told her had happened. She did not know why it had occurred - maybe it was the stress and the trauma of the entire situation. But one could never know for sure. Sometimes, it happened for no reason at all, she said.

Eleanor thought it cruel. If there had been some reason - any reason - her mind would have been more at ease. She would not be holed up in her room, repeating its colours to prevent herself from crying out in rage at the emptiness.

How odd it was that only a few days back, her life had been complete and happy, with a loving husband and a baby on the way? Now, she was left with neither. She would never see her baby boy, black hair like hers and blue eyes like his father's, permanently joyous and gleeful like in her dream. Foolish of her to have even dreamt up a daughter when she couldn't even hold onto her son who would now never be. A sob escaped her at the thought.

Fate was indeed a cruel mistress.

A knock sounded at the door like it had, the last four days, at mealtimes. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was two 'o' clock. The duke was here with her meal.

Eleanor waited for the tell-tale sound of the tray hitting the floor outside the door. When it came, she walked to the door and sat with her back against it, knees tucked into her body and her head tilted up.

The day after the attack, when she had locked herself in her room, leaving the room they had shared and refusing to see anyone, the duke had banged against the door for hours, crying and pleading at her to let him in. When she hurled a miniature statue at the door, he left and was replaced by her mother, telling her that she was a lady and such blatant disrespect for a duke was unbecoming.

Her hand mirror had then joined the pile of broken china at the door.

Finally, her father had come. He begged for forgiveness, tried to convince her that he had done it only with her best interests at heart and that she could vent and scream all she wanted at him but that she should please try and talk to her.

He was simply met with cold silence.

When he, too, had finally given up, the duke returned. He was also in torment about losing the baby and he begged her to talk to him - that they could talk about it, work on it. But Eleanor didn't know what it was. Their marriage? Non-existent. And their relationship? Was there really anything left to salvage it? She did not think so. So, she kept quiet, letting him scream his anguish at the door that parted them.

Soon, the begging and pleading stopped. And when Eleanor thought he had given up and gone, he surprised her. He began to bring up her meals three times a day, at ten, two and eight 'o' clock sharp. Then he would sit outside her room and tell her all that had transpired since his last visit. He talked of regular, mundane things, made no mention at all to the events of the day before. Eleanor's blood had boiled, initially. How could he act so cavalier about it? How could he storm one minute and talk pleasantly the next? As if discussing the weather outside and that one of the maids was getting married to one of the footmen were perfectly normal in their situation. They had lost their marriage. They had lost their child.

But soon, the anger ebbed. Eleanor realised it when the sugar that had coated his voice fell away and it cracked as he recounted that her lady's maid would be on leave for the next week as her sister's child had died in an accident. Eleanor's heart ached for the child's mother - if losing a baby that she hadn't even held felt like this then how much harder would it be for her?

The veneer he had been putting up was not for his benefit alone, it was for hers as well. The steady stream of nonchalant words and frippery had detached her mind from her pain and it had the same effect on him. Now, she looked forward to his visits - not to hear his voice which tore at a part of her but to find comfort in the words he spoke. To remind herself that she could bring herself to move on.

'This morning was eventful, Eleanor,' the duke started, his voice slightly muffled through the wooden door. 'Mahendra informed me that Ram had landed at the Kochi port. He has enough money to start a new life and hopefully, he'll make good use of it. No one has been harmed so I'd say things are looking up.' There it was again, his attempts to lighten the mood. But Eleanor did not mind it much. Her own needed brightening. The broken bits and pieces around her reminded her of it.

'Also,' he said, an edge to his voice. 'There is something else you must know.' He hesitated for some time before he continued. 'Gresham is dead. He slit his own throat with a shard of tile yesterday in the jail after he was convicted of treason. He was to be hanged.'

Eleanor's eyes widened. He had not thought much of the coward the past few days. He had just been an inconsequential speck in the ravage of her problems. But now that he was dead, by his own hand, at that, Eleanor felt...she felt nothing, really.

'There is also a letter from your friend, Gabrielle,' he continued. 'Perhaps you should read it before you draw conclusions.'

Eleanor watched as a letter slid under the door and landed right beside her. True to his word, a white envelope carrying the seal of the Earl Addington lay there. She briefly considered sliding it back under the door. Gabrielle had attempted nonchalance at knowing about the truth of her marriage and Eleanor wanted nothing to do with her.

But a thought gnawed at her. Why would Gabrielle pretend? She had nothing to gain of it. What possible reason could she have had to keep it from her?

The logical response was - none. It was entirely possible that Gabrielle had not known and that Eleanor had miscalculated. Silently chastising herself, she broke the seal. It was dated two days after the first letter her friend had sent was written.

Lady Eleanor Huntington

Huntington Estate

Bombay

1 August, 1875

Ellie,

Did you know? Did you know that your marriage is more of a farce than it already is? Or has the duke deceived you? I really do not know if you do or if you don't but I shall tell you everything anyhow.

London is buzzing with the news that your marriage is not legal, Ellie! The archbishop, when he heard of the wedding, he declared that he had not issued a special license and that he actually denied it! Which means that your marriage is null and void!

Heavens, Ellie, do you know what that means? You and the duke are living in sin. You are ruined. Oh, Ellie, I can't even begin to imagine how you must be feeling now - to learn that everything you thought true and pure is actually a sham. I really feel quite awful.

And if by some bizarre chance, you already knew this before marriage, let me tell you that I am thoroughly disappointed in you. Not for sticking to the plan but for not telling me - we have been through thick and thin and I shall feel most insulted if that was the case.

But if it was not, and you have been tricked, then I implore you to return back to London, darling. I will not deny it, you are thoroughly ruined. But no one blames you - at least, not most people. They simply feel sorry that you have been tricked for how could one know that the license was a forgery? Just this morning, I heard papa and mama talk about your ill fortune - not with contempt but they were sorry. You will not be cast out of society though, Eleanor. You will not. I guess that the ton is far more merciful than you and I imagined it to be.

I hope you are otherwise well, Eleanor. You are strong and beautiful and you do not require the approval of society to find your place. You are more than what society deserves and I know that from first-hand experience. There is no one more destined for good things than you. This is merely a temporary distraction from the greatness that you are meant for. Please, I beg you, do not cry away.

Stand tall and tell the world who you are.

You are Eleanor Mary Cantwell, a fine young woman that cares twopence for what people think of her and you make your own way in the world. Remember that, darling.

Yours truly,

Lady Gabrielle Addington

post script - Papa and mama think the duke ought to marry you proper now that you are a soiled dove but you mustn't. Instead, you must leave him and knee him thoroughly as you leave. Just as you are destined for greatness, he is destined to be beat by you.

Eleanor was in tears by the end of the letter. The ink on the fine paper was smeared with her tears and they kept falling in earnest as she stared at the letter.

She was mad at herself, for one. So, dreadfully, mad that she had thought the worst of her friend. She clutched the letter to her chest and sobbed, her eyes burning with the heat of her tears. Gabrielle's words had burned a hole into her head and the way she saw her - had always seen her - made her feel more loved than she ever had, by even Nathan or her father.

They had seen her as a gentle and lovely thing with an occasional ferocious streak. Nathan had embraced it although her father had occasionally resented it. But both of them did not see her. She doubted that she herself had. Gabrielle's words were not all true. She knew she wasn't all that Gabby said she was. She was not the queen that her mother said she was. She was not Eleanor de Aquitaine.

She was simply Eleanor Cantwell. She was not a queen. But she could damn well strive to be.

With steely determination she called out to Nathan, much to his shock, if the startled gasp that issued from behind the door as she called out to him was any indication.

'Tell a maid to draw me a bath. And then send for my father. I wish to speak with him.'

**********

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Prepare for a spam of chapters in the next few hours!