How to Marry a Marble Marquis(30)
Eleanor felt numb. She felt hurt and humiliated, foolish for the hurt, and an extra compounding of humiliation for having felt anything at all. Lessons, that’s all it was. Of course, he agreed to help you. You were foolish enough to let him between your thighs. She’d allowed herself the rest of the day to be upset. It hadn’t felt like a mere lesson. Dancing with him felt like flying, kissing him felt like singing, and she had already let him take more liberties with her body than she had given to any other man in the past. And he left to spend the night in some brothel the minute you were gone. You’re a fool for thinking he felt anything but lust.
She had spent the subsequent day of their journey to Basingstone hardening her heart. She was not finished with the marquis. She would let him have her again, she decided, let him have her every day she spent in his home, as long as she was the recipient of the pleasure he had to give. These were lessons, and she intended to learn to her best ability. All the better to seduce your husband and put every thought of the Marquis of Basingstone behind.
With each bucolic little village they passed, she shed another layer of her vulnerability. This was a business transaction. That was all. He was executing a favor for another titled nobleman, likely so that he would, in turn, have a favor owed, or else, he was already on the repayment end of the equation. Lord Silas Stride saw her as some tatty little plaything, a temporary diversion while he frittered away his time in London. That he could earn favor with the earl in the process was likely his sole impetus for completion. The fact that his success would be life-changing for her and her family was inconsequential to him, and that was fine. She would make him as inconsequential to her in return.
And, after all, wasn’t that the point? Wasn’t the entire reason for soliciting his help because he was a rake? A philanderer? The one person who could prepare her to fall in love with a stranger within a weekend, or at least learn to tolerate them well enough to win a proposal of marriage? Lovemaking without consequence, that was the name of the game. Look how well he’s done his job — you’re half in love with him already! He’s playing his part. Start playing yours.
“Welcome to Basingstone, miss.” The mothman who greeted them at the top of the circular carriage lane before the manor bore a striking resemblance to her permissive London chaperone, and Eleanor remembered what the mothwoman had said about her entire family being in service to the Strides. “If there’s anything you ladies need in your time here, Miss Winswode will see to it.”
The woman who stepped up beside him was sylvan, her warm brown skin accentuated with curling gold around her eyes and down her long, graceful fingers. “I oversee the daytime staff, miss. You ladies will have your own chambermaid, and if there’s anything I can do to see to your comfort while you are a guest here, please do not hesitate to ask.”
“His Lordship has already arranged for flight transport for you, Miss,” the mothman went on in a bored-sounding voice. “More details will be provided once I have confirmed with our gryphon provider.”
They were left alone then, Hettie already giddy over the accommodations. Eleanor lingered at the cracked open door, listening to the two servants as they departed down the hall.
“You ought to get to bed now,” the sylvan woman hummed, “sleep while you can. He’s been in a wretched mood since he arrived. I don’t envy you lot on the night shift.”
The daytime staff. The qualification of daytime clearly meant there was also a nighttime staff. She thought that made sense. After all, the manor itself and its grounds would need to be kept throughout the days, but the lord in residence was only awake at night and would have need of a full staff to dress him and feed him and ferry him from one illicit affair to the next. Hettie and her grandmother both announced that they were going to take short naps. Grandmother was weary from a long carriage ride, and Hettie was positively gleeful at the thought of sleeping on such a fine featherbed.
They are the worst chaperones in all of England. Hettie and her grandmother would clearly not adjust to a life nocturnal. They were not used to staying up until all hours and had never experienced stage life, one that necessitated sleeping during the day and being alive and alert after the sun went down. She would likely have no true chaperone for the duration of her time at the marquis’s residence. He’d likely known that. All the better, she thought to herself firmly. Fewer interruptions for when he puts his tongue between your thighs. She was furious with him for toying with her heart, even if he hadn’t meant to do so, and she couldn’t promise she wasn’t going to beat him with her fan the instant she saw him . . . but she intended on making him pay her back in pleasure.
Eleanor was too full of nervous energy to think about resting. She changed her dress, changed her shoes, hoped her parasol wasn’t too tatty and set off. Basingstone was beautiful. Hundreds of acres of manicured gardens, fruit orchards, dense forests, and agriculture surrounded the manor, ringed in rolling green hills. She exclaimed at the sight of beautiful swans gliding across the glass-like surface of a lake, downy cygnets of smoky grey paddling furiously behind their regal-looking parents.
There was a hedge maze and meticulously maintained topiaries, great winged figures, and dragons amidst curving spires of intricately cut boxwoods. She strolled through the rose garden, not yet in bloom, through the endless aisles of greenery in the glassed-in orangery, coming out on a beautiful stone terrace at the rear of the main house. There was a grape arbor and a picturesque gazebo amidst a curious garden of flowers and vines that were tightly closed. Too early for them to bloom, no doubt. Far beyond the back of the house, she could hear the roar of the waves crashing against the base of the cliffs. It was a stunningly beautiful home, and that wasn’t even taking into consideration the loveliness of the manor house itself. The leaded glass windows cast rainbow prisms throughout every room, winking in the sunlight as she strolled up the gravel path from the rose garden. Far nicer than he deserves.