Too Bruised to Stand, She Collapsed at the Ballroom—Until a Duke’s Gentle Hands Changed Her Fate
Chapter 3
Eleanor woke to the smell of lavender water.
For several seconds she did not know where she was.
Then she remembered the ballroom.
The marble floor.
The whispers.
The duke.
She tried to sit up.
Pain traveled through her ribs.
A woman beside the bed immediately stopped her.
“Slowly, my lady.”
Eleanor looked around.
She was in a quiet chamber at Ashcombe Hall.
A fire burned low in the grate.
A maid was arranging folded linens.
“My uncle?”
“He is downstairs.”
Eleanor’s stomach tightened.
“Has he asked for me?”
“Twice.”
Before the maid could say more, the door opened.
The physician entered.
Behind him stood the Duke of Ravensmere.
Eleanor immediately pulled the blanket closer.
Julian noticed.
He stopped several paces from the bed.
“I shall remain here only if you permit it.”
She stared at him.
Nobody had asked her permission in a very long time.
“Why?”
“Because you asked me not to send you home.”
Her eyes dropped.
“I should not have said that.”
“Perhaps not.”
He moved toward the fireplace rather than the bed.
That distance seemed deliberate.
“I have been told you are injured.”
“I fell.”
Julian looked at her.
“Did you?”
She swallowed.
“Yes.”
He did not challenge her.
That somehow made it harder to lie.
The physician explained that she had bruising along her ribs, a badly strained wrist, and signs of exhaustion.
“She needs rest,” he said. “And food.”
Julian nodded.
When the physician left, silence settled.
Eleanor stared at her hands.
“My lord…”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“You need not thank me for preventing you from striking your head against marble.”
A faint smile touched her mouth.
It vanished quickly.
Julian noticed.
“Who hurt you?”
Eleanor’s heart stopped.
She looked toward the door.
“No one.”
“Lady Vale.”
“I said I fell.”
“You did.”
His voice remained gentle.
“But I have seen men fall from horses. I have seen soldiers wounded in duels. I have seen servants injured by machinery.”
He looked at her wrist.
“That mark was made by fingers.”
Eleanor’s eyes filled with tears.
She turned away.
Julian did not approach.
He simply waited.
At last she whispered:
“My uncle’s son.”
Julian’s expression changed.
“Why?”
“Because he wanted something I would not give him.”
“What?”
“My father’s estate.”
Julian remained silent.
Eleanor looked at him.
“My father left the property to me.”
“Then why does your uncle control it?”
“Because I am unmarried.”
Julian’s gaze sharpened.
“Your uncle intends to marry you?”
Eleanor nodded.
“To whom?”
She hesitated.
“Lord Edmund Blackwood.”
Julian knew the name.
Everyone did.
Blackwood was wealthy, ambitious, and notorious for settling his debts by acquiring the properties of those less fortunate.
“And if you refuse?”
Eleanor looked down.
“My uncle says I will lose everything.”
Julian studied her.
“Everything?”
“My home. My father’s lands. My mother’s jewels. Even the allowance my father left me.”
“And if you marry Lord Blackwood?”
“He will gain control of it.”
Julian understood.
The bruises were not the whole story.
They were merely the part she had been permitted to survive.
