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Dorian did not like the thought of that one bit. He knew daughters were primed for this, as men were to take over the lands and titles they inherited, but… For some reason, he didn’t like to think of Eloise this way.
She only nodded, and Dorian couldn’t fight the urge to step in and make sure she got away from them. She was not happy, and he would not start his marriage with an unhappy duchess.
“Come,” he said firmly but not sharply, “we must depart. The carriage will already be waiting.”
His pocket watch confirmed that much. He was on schedule, and by the time they arrived in Kent, his staff would have Eloise’s rooms prepared and would be waiting to greet their new mistress.
Eloise nodded, stepping back from her parents. She did not hug any of them, but curtsied instead.
“Goodbye, Mama,” she said, nodding to her mother, “and Papa. Do take care of one another.”
The sentiment was empty, but she said it with a hint of hope, like she wanted to part on some sentiment, but all three of them looked as though such a concept was foreign.
“Have a safe journey, Your Grace,” Lord Wittby said, no longer focused on his daughter, until he gave her a brief glance and said, “and be well, Eloise.”
“And do write with those invitations,” Lady Wittby added.
Dorian bristled, seeing right through them. Their social standing really was all they cared about. He tugged Eloise away by her elbow gently, steering them back to their friends.
Their farewells were brief, with Gideon shaking Dorian’s hand, promising to bother them both soon, while Lady Nancy hugged Eloise, and Dorian overheard a murmured promise of always being there for her.
Soon enough, they finally left Wittby House, and Eloise did not look back once as they pulled away.
Chapter Four
The journey lasted around five hours, and Eloise couldn’t help but notice how much her new… husband—a term she had been preparing herself to use for a while, given her engagement to Lord Sarling, but now, with the Duke of Oldcliff taking that title, it felt more daunting—checked his pocket watch.
She was about to ask if everything was quite all right, or if he was waiting for something, or had further engagements for the evening, only to have her attention severely snagged by the view beyond the carriage window.
It was still light enough outside in the late afternoon to see the expanse of cliffs in the near distance, just past the border of what had to be Oldcliff Hall.
The mansion was wide, with east and west wings jutting out from the central part of the building. An expansive front garden rolled out before the mansion, trimmed and fresh, the scent of it in the recent rain rising in the air.
Beyond the border of the estate, white cliffs gave sharp way to what had to be the sea from the rushing current, a sound Eloise could hear even from her place in the carriage.
She hadn’t realized the door had been opened for her until a hand brushed the back of her own, and she looked at her husband, who held out a hand. He had already departed.
“Well?” he asked, tilting his head.
“Well…?” she echoed. “Well, what do I think of my new home, or well, are you coming?”
The duke’s mouth twitched as though he did not know how to let a smile properly form, but he tried. “Well, are you coming?” he confirmed, but Eloise was more focused on her surroundings.
Still distracted, she let him lead her from the carriage.
He let go of her hand once her feet met the gravel that cut through the front garden in an entry path of sorts.
Eloise did not look at the mansion for a moment. Her focus was utterly fixed on the lighthouse in the near distance, jutting out into the water from a long length of a wide, grassy walkway that extended from the cliff face.
It looked dangerous—yet Eloise was lured forward.
The structure itself was beautiful, tall and white, imposing but standing out. Flanking it was two small outer structures, and Eloise’s interest was piqued. She had read plenty about lighthouses but had never seen one in person.
“Lady Eloise?”
She barely heard the duke, too enraptured by the sound of the crashing water. Her feet ached to take her forward to beyond the grounds, to keep on going, until she met the cliff’s edge, so she could peer down at the foam that would slam against the rocks beneath.
Would there be a beach, if she looked down enough? If she was allowed, or if she dared, to get that close to such a height?
