He knows that the day's work is not done until the sun is down. They rode on. The silence between them no longer empty but filled with the unspoken events of the day. He had seen her tenacity, her knowledge of the land, her quiet courage, her compassion in the face of cruelty. He had seen all of it.
And he knew, with a certainty that shook him, that she was the most formidable woman he had ever met. The silhouette of Oakhaven Manor appeared against the sky, a dark, sprawling shape with only one or two windows showing a faint, flickering light. He could see the crumbling gate posts, the overgrown drive. He saw the truth of it, the physical manifestation of her struggle, the plow horse, the mended habit, the quiet dignity. It all coalesced into a single, stark image of a woman holding back the tide with nothing but her own two hands.
He escorted her all the way to the stable block, a crumbling stone building that looked as tired as its occupants. An old man, the one she called Thomas, emerged with a lantern, his face etched with worry. The worry melted into relief when he saw her. "Miss Eleanor? " he breathed. "You're safe. " "We are safe, Thomas," she said.
And the weariness in her voice was profound. She slid from Perseus's back, her legs clearly unsteady after so many hours in the saddle. She stood for a moment, leaning against the great horse's side, her hand resting on his warm, steady flank. A silent communion. Alister dismounted. ""Allow me to see you to the house. "" She looked at him then, her green eyes searching his face in the flickering lantern light.
She seemed to be weighing him, measuring him. Finally, she gave a small, tired nod. He walked beside her across the cobbled yard towards a small side door. An older woman in a housekeeper's uniform opened it before they arrived. Her expression as worried as the stableman's.
"Oh, thank the lord. " the woman said, bustling Eleanor inside. "You must be frozen to the bone, child. " Eleanor paused in the doorway and looked back at Alister. ""Thank you for the escort, Your Grace. "" ""It was not necessary. "" "I believe it was. " he said. He expected her to close the door. He had done his duty as a gentleman. But, she hesitated.
The housekeeper looked from her to the duke, a question in her eyes. "Mrs. Gable. " Eleanor said, her voice barely a whisper. "Could you find some brandy for the duke? " It was a question, an offering, an invitation. And Alister knew with absolute certainty that if he walked away now, he would be walking away from something of immense and singular importance.
"I would be honored, Miss Vance. " he said. He stepped out of the cold night and into the quiet, shadowed hall of Oakhaven Manor. The house felt different from his own grand estate. It was not silent with the emptiness of echoing marble halls. It was quiet with the hushed breath of long-held history and present struggle.
It smelled of wood smoke and old paper and something indefinably resilient like winter grass. The housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, led him into a study. A small fire crackled in the hearth. A brave little battle against the cavernous chill of the room.
The walls were lined floor to ceiling with books. Their leather spines cracked and faded. A large desk was covered in papers and heavy ledgers. This was the heart of the house. The command post of Eleanor's quiet war.