Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“The absolute impertinence,” Ernest muttered to himself as he made his way down the drive, the gravel crunching beneath his feet.

The earl’s natural daughter was quite something, to be sure. He couldn’t deny her features were quite striking. He had noticed the way her raven hair shimmered in the spring sunlight as they walked through the garden, how her skin seemed to glow from within under the radiant rays.

Ernest shook his head, trying to dislodge these uncomfortable and highly unwelcome thoughts from his mind. He had neither the time nor the will, quite frankly, to involve himself in any way with the earl’s daughter. 

Miss Eleanor Whitby was certainly unlike the other women Ernest had met at Edgewater and even in the high society circles in which he was obligated to run. She smiled a great deal, which Ernest found somewhat cloying. 

Beads of sweat started to form on Ernest’s brow as his pace quickened, thoughts and feet racing as he hurried back to his estate, eager to escape the events of the afternoon. 

Inside Ledford’s stone walls, the air was cool and the halls were dark. It was a welcome reprieve and Ernest strode towards his study to bury himself in weekly reports, correspondence, and anything else that might distract him from his unexpected encounter with Miss Whitby.

Unfortunately, as much as he tried, his work seemed determined to carry him back to Edgewater. The first document he examined had a financial summary from the master of horse, a report on stable expenses. He reviewed each line item - saddles, bales of hay, rope - but as he progressed through the list, not reading the words as he looked them over, he thought back to his ride through Grovershire. 

Ernest remembered nearly running over that country maiden, he just hadn’t particularly cared at the time. In all fairness, he hadn’t run her over that day, he hadn’t knocked her to the ground. He hadn’t felt any shame about how he comported himself that day until Miss Whitby had felt it necessary to mention it to his face - and in front of the Dowager Countess no less. 

Edgewater, One Hour Earlier

“Oh, I remember you!” Eleanor exclaimed, her eyes alight with recognition as he walked out the front doors of Edgewater. 

“And yet, I cannot say the same of you,” he replied, bristling at her forthrightness. A scowl started to form on his face. He didn’t like to be at a disadvantage, but he truly had no recollection of this woman. 

“Has nearly running women over become so commonplace?” she said teasingly, “I should think our previous encounter left quite the impression.”

“You are certainly quick to judge,” Ernest retorted. He wasn’t entirely what she meant by that, but he would not tolerate baseless accusations from a stranger. 

Eleanor looked up at him, smirking, “Sir, you make it so easy with your warm personality. It’s apparent you’re the picture of a perfect gentleman.”

Ernest’s face became hot as the blood rushed to his cheeks. His eyes flashed to the Dowager Countess, who looked on with amusement and a scheming twinkle in her eye. 

“At long last. I’ve been anticipating this meeting for a while now,” she said with a satisfied smirk on her face, “Especially when this young lady looks quite handsome today. Would you not agree, sir?”

While he would never bring himself to agree to agree with Dowager Countess, he found himself unable to argue with her either. There was something captivating about this woman. Perhaps it was because as she looked at him now, she did not seem to view him as a highbrow elite or a viable marriage prospect or a dismal bachelor. 

She looked at him as if he were her equal. Her gaze was challenging but earnest. She did not mean to demean or belittle him, but she certainly wasn’t about to let him get away with anything either. A smile tugged at his lips. She was certainly different. 

“I’ll admit the look is not entirely unbecoming,” he stated, clearing his throat as he pushed his unwieldy thoughts from his mind.

The young lady looked shocked to hear such a response from him, her mouth dropped open for a moment in surprise before she replied, “Thank you, Mister … ?”

The Dowager Countess began the introductions.

“Eleanor, allow me to introduce Mr. Ernest Sinclaire, master of the nearby Ledford Park. And Mr. Sinclaire, may I present Miss Eleanor Whitby, my granddaughter?”

At last, things began to make sense. Her boldness and stubbornness were not qualities of those born of the upper-crust. 

“Ah, yes. You must be the earl’s … natural daughter. He mentioned you would be arriving soon,” Ernest replied, aware of his haughty tone of voice. It was childish, but she had put him on the spot and had been seeking a way to pay her in kind.

“At long last, I can put a name to the face of the man that nearly trampled me in Grovershire,” she replied cheerfully, undeterred by his barb.

Realization hit him like a bolt of lightning.

“Oh, I do remember you!” he exclaimed, “From when I rode through the village …”

He did indeed recollect that event, though he had paid so little mind to the women who were in his way it was just a fragment of a memory. 

“That certainly took you long enough to recall,” she said with a scoff, “I see how memorable you found the occasion.”

“You two are acquainted?” the Dowager Countess interjected, looking between the two in disbelief.

Before Ernest could get a word in edgewise, Eleanor had turned to her grandmother, with a pleasant smile on her face.

“Only in passing, but the encounter remains etched in my mind. How could I forget such a hasty and ill-mannered meeting?”

That was quite enough. He would not be so maligned by a woman who had clearly never set foot on a grand estate before and who knew absolutely nothing of his character. 

“Did you ever pause and take into consideration that I had pressing matters to attend to, miss?” he retorted, his lip curling distastefully.  

“So pressing you couldn’t afford one minute to apologize?” Eleanor replied right back, once again twisting his words to use them against him. She was able to do so with such ease that Ernest’s ire only grew.

“My dear, don’t tease Mr. Sinclaire so. He is one one of the most eligible bachelors around,” she said with a sly smile, glancing up at him. 

If there was one thing Ernest detested, it was conversations of wealth and marriage. An eligible bachelor he may be, but it certainly didn’t mean that he was in any way interested in finding a wife which, unfortunately, the Dowager Countess did not seem to be aware of.

Ernest watched quizzically as the Dowager Countess leaned over to Eleanor and whispered something in her ear. 

“No wife, sir? I must admit I am surprised a man of your fortune is unwed,” she said, meeting his eyes, her gaze unwavering, “But perhaps your position will change shortly. I cannot imagine someone such as yourself remaining unmarried for long.”

“Such as myself?” he repeated back to her, hoping to sound indignant rather than defensive. He wasn’t sure what she was trying to do, but she was already under his skin and Ernest did not care for that one bit.

“You have wealth, position, good looks … ,” Eleanor stated, as if the answer were obvious, “Any young lady would be fortunate to be your wife … but only if she could get past your rough exterior.”

Ernest stood speechless for a moment. Was that a challenge or a threat? Or even worse … a promise?

Ledford Park

Ernest threw the papers down on his desk in his study in defeat. It didn’t seem to matter what he tried to distract himself with, his mind kept wandering back to her. She was occupying his mind to a disagreeable extent. He hadn’t met a woman yet who vexed him so easily. Even after hours apart, the sound of her voice echoed in his head. 

The sensation wasn’t at all favorable. Ernest was a man in command of his mind and his life. He could scarcely comprehend how a turn about the garden was enough to derail his thoughts completely. Perhaps he was ill, and his constitutions were weakened. Maybe the heat had gotten to him, and standing out in the sun had dehydrated him and clouded his judgement.

He looked at the clock on the mantle. Nearly an hour had passed since had sat down and he had accomplished precisely nothing. Pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingertips and sighed wearily. It seemed productivity would escape him for the day. 

Eyeing the bookshelves for a suitable distraction, Ernest found a tome of philosophical essays. He enjoyed pondering the great questions in life, and he could imagine that profound thought would be sufficient to drive his thoughts of Eleanor Whitby aside. 

Stepping out into the sun, Ernest enjoyed the solitude as he wandered through the lush greenery, only the sounds of birds singing to accompany him. Gardens were meant to be peaceful places, he decided, where one goes to escape pestering questions. 

Ernest meandered to his favorite bench nestled under a blooming cherry tree. He settled himself comfortably under the shady branches. There, in his grandmother’s gardens, his thoughts began to drift away from Eleanor Whitby. Cradling the spine of the leather book in his hand, he flipped the cover open. But he soon realized his folly when he opened the book and a note fell out and into his lap. 

Ernest,

This book served me well many times in my life.
I hope it can do the same for you.

-Vincent

Ernest held the note gingerly between his thumb and forefinger as the worn paper rustled in the soft spring breeze. Vincent Foredale was a good man, a respectable and honorable sort. A kind that was rare among the genteel. There was no denying that Eleanor embodied many of those qualities herself. As she had shown him only hours before.

Edgewater

“I’d love to explore the gardens with you” Eleanor said, looking up at Ernest with a genuine smile. There was no mirth or mischievous glint in her eyes, and for a moment, Ernest let his guard down. He stepped forward and offered his arm to her.

“Shall we?”

There was something surprisingly comforting about feeling her hand nestled in the crook of his arm, and he found himself somewhat in awe of her expressive and open face as she took in the beautiful greenery around her. In her shining eyes, he saw a genuine appreciation for the beauty surrounding her and his heart softened, if only a little.

“This is stunning!” Eleanor exclaimed, her eyes wide with delight and awe. Still unyielding, Ernest gave little in the way of conversation. He hoped his one word replies would be sufficient to stifle the idle chatter, but Eleanor seemed determined to know him.

It was a peculiar situation for Ernest. His stony exterior was usually effective at preventing others from prying into him and into his personal life, but it seemed to have little - if any - effect on Eleanor. In fact, she seemed quite determined to tear down his walls.

“I honestly don’t know what to make of you, Miss Whitby,” he said, turning to face her, his gaze quizzical.

An amused smile graced her face as she replied, “Is that a bad thing?”

“I’ve not yet decided,” he answered truthfully, “You’re clearly different from the other woman that I’ve encountered at Edgewater.”

Eleanor looked pensive for a moment.

“Let me guess,” she said, looking up at him knowingly, “I’m ‘different’ because of my low birth.”

Ernest was stricken with guilt at her words. He had made a point to mention it earlier, his own ire blinding him to the harshness of his words.  It was apparent that Eleanor felt no shame about her home or upbringing, and his mentioning it only served to show what an arrogant ass he was capable of being.

“Your background has nothing to do with it,” he answered sheepishly.

“If that’s the case, you could’ve fooled me. That was one of the first things you remarked upon!,” Eleanor replied with a laugh, sharp with derision, “And I cannot say I received the impression you were pleased to meet me, much less spend more time with.

Eleanor took a step closer to him, her eyes seeing right through him, “As you put so eloquently, I am only the Earl of Edgewater’s ‘natural daughter.’”

It didn’t seem that Eleanor felt any qualms about calling out the priggish behavior of the upper-class and Ernest suddenly felt very awkward. Even if he didn’t believe in the inherent superiority of the wealthy and royal, he certainly ran in circles with those who did. 

“I simply thought you were …,” he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

“It does not matter.”

What could he say? He had thought she was a pretender, a fake, an insidious presence in the life of the earl, who he had come to know as family. But he couldn’t find any dishonesty in her. Her frankness was unparalleled by her peers, and it was her uninhibited openness that made Ernest feel that he might be able to trust her. 

They spoke as friends as they gazed upon the water, and his heart went out to her for the loss of her mother. His own father’s passing had been painful, and he scolded himself for being so insensitive to her loss. 

As they parted ways at the grand doors of Edgewater, she bid him farewell with the hope of seeing him more. 

Ledford Park

Somehow, she had found a way to get infuriatingly close to him, both in proximity and in heart. Ernest snapped the book shut and tucked it underneath his arm as he marched back to Ledford, his frustration growing. Why wouldn’t that woman leave him alone? 

As he entered the grand entryway, the housekeeper announced that it was time for afternoon tea. Flustered and driven to distraction, Ernest blustered his way to the tea room and plopped himself down on the seat defeatedly.

“Is everything alright, sir?” the housekeeper asked as Ernest ran a hand down his face, reaching out for the hot cup of tea before him.

“Did you know that the earl’s natural daughter would be arriving at Edgewater today?” he asked abruptly.

“Yes, sir,” the maid replied, taken aback by his inquiry, “Mr. Woods had mentioned to Mr. Blackstone that he would be departing for Grovershire to collect the earl’s daughter.”

“I see,” he muttered, as he gazed off into the distance, absentmindedly swirling his spoon in his tea cup. The housekeeper excused herself and once again, Ernest was alone.

As he walked away from Edgewater that day, though he could hardly bear to admit to himself, something felt very different. He walked away curious, intrigued and damn near plagued by the peculiar woman he had met.

No matter how he tried, his mind kept drifting back to their conversation and to the challenging looks she gave him. He had other, far more important things to do than sit around replaying their encounter over and over in his head. But that was all he seemed capable of doing.

She was a nuisance, which Ernest had no time for. No, he did not care for Miss Eleanor Whitby one bit.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: 

The day had been pleasant enough. The sun was shining, as if the Earl of Edgewater had planned it as such for the garden party welcoming his daughter to the estate, celebrating her newfound noble status.

Unlike many, nobility and titles did not automatically earn Ernest’s deference. He admired Vincent Foredale for all the ways in which he was not like the countless earls, baronets, and dukes he had the misfortune of meeting in his lifetime.

Had it been any other garden party, Ernest would’ve found a reason not to come. But instead he found himself walking the short distance to Edgewater that afternoon. He knew he would encounter Lady Eleanor, and despite his first impression of her, he was looking forward to speaking with her again.

Ernest’s heart was hardly fluttering at the thought, but she had been occupying his mind since their last meeting and he was determined to do something about it. 

The white canvas tents flapped softly in the gentle breeze as Ernest took stock of his fellow partygoers. There wasn’t a face he didn’t recognize, which meant he would certainly be keeping to himself at this particular gathering.

His only consolation was the table of cakes and sweets that had been laid out on a table draped with white lace. If his only companions that day were the buttery shortbread and delicately sweet petit fours, it would be a perfectly fine garden party. 

Savoring the sweetness as he discretely licked the sugar from his fingertips, hastily wiping his hands with a napkin, he heard the familiar sound of Vincent Foredale’s voice from over his shoulder. 

With a sharp turn of his heel, Ernest swiveled to face his gracious host and thank him for hospitality, but he found himself silenced at the sight of Miss Eleanor Whitby standing beside the earl. He couldn’t quite read the look on her face, but she certainly looked pleased to see him. Whether it was to tease and torment him remained to be seen.

“And this is Mr. Sinclaire of Ledford Park! I believe you two will get along quite well,” Vincent said, his chest puffing up with pride as he presented his daughter to Mr. Sinclaire.

“My lord,” Ernest replied with a quick nod of his head, “I must correct you. I already had the … pleasure of meeting Lady Eleanor when she arrived to Edgewater.”

He looked to Lady Eleanor, whose eyes were sparkling mischievously. She had noted his deliberate pause, and much to his dismay, she seemed quite amused. 

“Well, well … you must forgive this old earl. I seem to have fallen behind the times,” Vincent said with a chuckle. 

Lady Eleanor dipped into an elegant curtsey, bowing her head in greeting. Her black hair shone like obsidian under the bright rays of the sun. Ernest felt heat starting to rise under his collar as his eyes caught sight of the graceful curve of her neck, her skin practically glowing in the warm afternoon light.

He averted his eyes quickly to his shoes, bending stiffly at the waist to greet Lady Eleanor in the proper fashion. She seemed to be comporting herself as a fine lady and daughter of an earl would, so he could manage the same. Even if he did feel suddenly out of sorts. 

“Mr. Sinclaire, you look dashing as always, I see,” Eleanor said with a smile. Ernest looked into her eyes, his gaze sharp and scrutinizing. He expected to see mockery and disdain, but was quite surprised to see an open playfulness. 

“Oh, I … ,” he stammered, taken aback by her frank remark. There had been no sycophancy or ridicule in her voice. Could it be that she was actually pleased to see him?

The heat Ernest had felt under his cravat had crept up his neck as a blush bloomed on his cheeks. He cleared his throat, hoping they would attribute his flushed cheeks to sun exposure. 

“You look rather agreeable yourself,” Ernest commented back, “ … the dress and all suits you.”

He felt like a fool as soon as he had opened his mouth. She was far more than simply agreeable. The dress not only suited her, but enhanced her shapely frame, and the lavender color brought out her striking hazel eyes. 

“‘Agreeable?’ Suits me? I believe I just witnessed a Mr. Sinclaire compliment!” Eleanor said, feigning shock, “Coming from you that’s a rare find indeed.”

He could see her eyes working as she awaited his response. It seemed too far-fetched a notion to be true, and he wasn’t particularly adept at identifying it when it happened, but for a moment it almost seemed as if Lady Eleanor was … flirting with him.

“Perhaps, my lady, I am not so free with my compliments because I would prefer the words to hold their value,” he replied, his eyebrow arching, “It’s easy to give out praises on every whim, but that dilutes their worth.”

Much to his pleasure, she held his challenging gaze, the corners of her mouth pulled into the faintest hint of a smile. His heart thumped a little louder in his chest as he realized that he was actually enjoying himself.  

Ernest took a deliberate towards her, so that they stood mere inches apart. Towering above her, their eyes locked, he lowered his voice so only she could hear.

“However,” he said, “When I give compliments, you can be certain that I truly mean every word.”

Blood boiled in Ernest’s veins, his fists clenched tightly at his sides as he excused himself from the conversation. 

Of course Duke Tristan Richards was in attendance. The priggish boor always found a way to force his company on others when it was most unwelcome, which, for Ernest, was all the time. Perhaps he had been naive to hope that the Duke had already made his way to London, but he blustered into the earl’s party as if it were his own, introducing himself simply to hear the sound of his own voice. 

Perhaps the Duke’s intrusion would have stung less had Ernest not been deeply enjoying himself alongside Lady Eleanor as they played skittles on the lawn. It was strange to admit, but he had found himself momentarily lost in an illusion where titles and rank were meaningless and all that mattered was a friendly competition with a truly bewitching young woman. 

Ernest had not just tolerated, but actually savored her company. Her eyes shone bright with playfulness, gleaming with triumph as she knocked down the pins, with that infuriating, beguiling, radiant smile on her face. It was a sight he found himself craving, and it had been wiped clean from her face the moment Duke Richards had introduced himself. Adding to the long list of grievances, Ernest would certainly never forgive Duke Richards for robbing him of that.

His only solace had been that Lady Eleanor seemed as repulsed by Duke Richards and his advances as he dared hope she could be. The pathetic way in which the Duke clung to her hand made Ernest clench his jaw tight, swallowing any harsh words that may have attempted to surface. 

But there was only so much he could do. It was hardly his place to stand in the way of Duke Richards’ advances. Ernest would’ve happily stood in the way of any unfortunate woman’s union to the Duke, but when thinking of Lady Eleanor at the hands of Duke Richards, Ernest felt an honest fear. To see someone like her among the gentry was a breath of fresh air, and the thought of someone like Duke Richards trying to corrupt her vivacity and intelligence made him roil with anger. 

Though having only met her twice, Lady Eleanor had left such a lasting impression on him that the thought of her bright and wondrous light being snuffed out was truly distressing. 

What he couldn’t understand was why. Ernest did not consider himself a person easily swayed by emotion, having fallen prey to the capriciousness of love and loyalty. But there was something in the way she had looked at him, something about the gentle, inviting look she gave him as he worked through his own social anxieties, that sent Ernest’s heart into a frenzy. 

No one had ever looked at him like that before. 

Finding a solitary spot under a tree, a blessed reprieve from the sun and the unsavory company, Ernest tried to push the unpleasant thoughts from his mind, but at the sounds of the string quartet warming their instruments, Ernest knew he could avoid the party no longer. 

“Sir,” Lady Eleanor said, her eyes gleaming as she sidled up to him on the edge of the dance floor, “Will you not ask me to dance?”

Ernest turned to face her fully, his eyebrow arched skeptically. 

“What makes you think I’m the kind of man that dances?” he replied curtly, hoping he could end the subject with his terseness. As a delighted smirk spread across her face, he knew his efforts were to no avail. 

“What makes you think I’m the kind of lady who takes ‘no’ for an answer?” she said, her gaze never wavering from him as she narrowed her eyes, bright with anticipation, as she awaited his reply.

It certainly wasn’t the answer he was expecting, but Ernest found himself thoroughly amused. Lady Eleanor was nothing if not charming, he had come to find, and while that charm drove him to distraction, it also was beginning to draw him in. 

“My lady, would you do me the honor of the first dance?” 

“Indeed, I will. So kind of you to ask.”

Mercifully, after a few hours, the garden party ended and the guests began to disperse. Ernest bade farewell to his gracious hosts, and began the trek back to Ledford. Once again, his mind was consumed with thoughts of Lady Eleanor. 

Ernest had never been one for dancing. This wasn’t to say he couldn’t dance, he just preferred not to. It seemed a ridiculous pursuit, a needless expenditure of energy. But when Lady Eleanor found her way to his side, looking up at him expectantly, he knew he would be dancing whether he wanted to or not. He was not a man easily plied or manipulated, but she was making it impossible for him to say no to her. 

Lady Eleanor was challenging and determined, and usually he would find such stubbornness off-putting.  But he was finding it difficult to see her insistence as an impertinence when all she seemed interested in was getting to know him better. She had never asked about his social standing or his wealth, or inquired about his bachelor status and whether he had intentions to change that. 

Talks of marriage were anything but joyous to him, serving only to remind him of a bitter and unhappy time in his life, so Lady Eleanor’s seeming lack of interest in him as an advantageous partner struck him in a peculiar way. He wasn’t sure how, but each encounter with Lady Eleanor left him wanting more. 

Even the presence Duke Richards hadn’t been able to completely sour his experience that afternoon. Lady Eleanor, in all her boldness, had been able to dilute the displeasure he felt as she confidently took Ernest’s hand as they strode across the dance floor. And while Ernest considered himself above pettiness and revenge, the look on Duke Richards’ face as he and Lady Eleanor passed in front of him, hand in hand, had sent Ernest reeling with a deep sense of satisfaction. 

Smiling to himself, Ernest marched up the gravel path leading to the doors of Ledford Park. Perhaps the afternoon hadn’t been a complete waste. No, in fact, he had found the occasion quite enjoyable. And it was all due to Lady Eleanor.  

As he sat down to dinner later that night, the feeling of her hand, soft and delicately cradled in his as they danced, still burned under his skin, calling out for more of her gentle touch. Their time together that afternoon had been too fleeting, and Ernest found himself already anticipating their next meeting. 

While difficult to admit, Ernest had felt a twinge of disappointment when Lady Eleanor revealed that she would not be travelling to London for the upcoming season. Even more alarming to him, Ernest had been thrilled at the earl’s announcement that Lady Eleanor would in fact be joining them all in a few weeks’ time. 

Ernest had no option but to travel to London to fulfill his social obligations, despite not being in the market for a new bride. The thought was loathsome enough, but the situation had instantly become more bearable knowing he was certain to run into Lady Eleanor. He found her presence tolerable, which is more than he could say for most of his long-held acquaintances. 

Any reassurance he felt for his own circumstances was dashed, for while he did not travel to London in search of a spouse, that was the exact reason for Lady Eleanor’s visit. To find a husband. To be paraded around like a prize horse up for auction - the prize going to the highest bidder. 

Ernest shuddered at the repulsive thought, made more appalling knowing that Duke Richards would be among them.  He had seen the keen, lustful look in the Duke’s eye as the Dowager Countess introduced him to Lady Eleanor. His gaze had been possessive and ravenous, and even though Lady Eleanor herself did not welcome his advances, Ernest was more than aware that a young lady’s wishes could be overwritten by money or status or family.

Ernest would not allow it. He would never let the Duke near Lady Eleanor. If it was the last thing he did, he would not let that lecherous scoundrel harm and corrupt her in any way. He would be her protector in London, whether she knew it or not.