Chapter Twenty Three
It had been thirteen days since she had told Benedict their lessons were over.
Thirteen days since she had heard his voice, seen his eyes crinkle, felt his arms around her.
Thirteen days since she had laughed until her stomach hurt, since she had beamed for no real reason other than he was near, since she had traced with her fingertips the shape of his smile.
It had been thirteen days since she’d truly been happy.
Eleanor watched as Benedict led one of Amanda’s friends in a dance.
They both attended the Throcktons’ ball, however she had not immediately made her way to him, nor had he to her.
It had been the same at every event they had attended these last thirteen days, where she had only ever seen him from a distance.
Though she told herself not to, she sought him out at each, her gaze searching the crowd until she found him, and her heart had both leapt and ached at the sight of him.
Everything was wretched and wrong. It hurt to breathe, to do anything without him. She relied so heavily on his friendship, his presence in her life. She’d had no idea how much until he was absent, until her days was Benedict-less. With him gone, she realised just how much she needed him.
It wasn’t the same when she saw him from a distance at some society event. She wanted to speak with him, hear his opinion on everything, have him listen and challenge her. She wanted to bury herself in his arms and just absorb him into her soul.
But she couldn’t. Because she had ended their liaison and he needed time.
Watching Benedict lead Amanda’s friend through the steps of the dance, Eleanor worried her lip.
She could have handled the ending of their liaison better.
She’d been so thrown by the Earl almost catching them, she’d been harsh when she should not have been.
She’d been a maelstrom of emotion, and when he’d mentioned marriage, she’d imploded.
It was only when she’d seen hurt and devastation in his eyes before they’d shuttered and he’d adopted that awful stiff tone she’d realised what she’d done.
And now it had been thirteen days without him.
All evening she had watched him, as she had every evening.
He danced and smiled and escorted many a young lady to the dance floor.
She may not wish to marry, but perhaps he did.
Perhaps he would succumb to the Earl’s demands and end the season affianced.
Perhaps one day soon, she would watch as his engagement was announced, as he stood at the alter, as he escorted his wife to events.
And then, after an appropriate period, she would be introduced to his children, and she couldn’t contain the anguish that rose in her, the riot of emotion that screamed no no no even as she was terrified to be the woman in her vision.
If she could marry anyone, it would be Benedict, but they were friends only and she would not risk that for the world.
Everything would be well. They had promised each other it would be. He would take his time, and then all would be as before. It had to be.
Turning, his gaze locked with hers. Holding her breath, she gave him a tentative smile. Something flickered in his face only to die just as quickly. Inclining his head, he looked past her.
Pain speared through her, and she only had herself to blame.
“Eleanor, there you are. I would swear you have been hiding from us these last few evenings.”
Blinking, she turned. Lady C stood at her side, her smile gentle. Emotion swelled inside her, such she fought the tears that threatened. She refused to cry, she absolutely refused. “Lady C,” she managed.
Concern lit her eyes. “Are you well, Eleanor?”
The smile she offered felt garish upon her face. “Of course. How is Amanda?”
“She is well. She has gathered many suitors, some of which might even be suitable,” she said. “I have watched these last days and I cannot help but notice you and Benedict no longer are together at events. I cannot recall the last time you were not in some corner together. Is aught wrong?”
Eleanor ducked her head. Of course Lady C would not be so distracted. “We have…argued. It is nothing.”
Lady C studied her and then sighed. “Eleanor, Colgrove has spoken with Benedict,” she said gently.
Her breath locked in her chest. “What did he say?”
“That you became…” Lady C bit her lip, clearly searching for the right words. “That for a time, your relationship changed,” she finished delicately
Blood rushed into her cheeks. Lady C, the woman who had been as a mother to her, knew she and Benedict had been lovers. Good lord.
“He also said that now it is over,” Lady C continued. “That you have expressed to him your complete aversion to marriage. That perhaps your actions have necessitated marriage but he will not compel you to it.” Lady C’s eyes hardened. “Colgrove is displeased with Benedict.”
“It is not his fault,” she burst out. “He was only helping me.”
Her eyebrow rose. “That is helping you?”
Ducking her head, she looked around them. They were isolated from most of the other guests, hidden by a pillar and a wall. No one paid them attention. “I wished to know what it was like,” she said almost inaudibly.
Lady C nodded. “Of course he would help.” She fell silent a moment. “Do you know why?”
Her heart began to pound. “Because we are friends.”
“Eleanor,” Lady C said reproachfully. “You are more than friends and have been for a long time.”
Helplessly, she stared at Lady C. She knew. She knew of what Lady C spoke, but she… She… “We are friends.”
Lady C sighed. “I always thought it odd you and Benedict did not marry as soon as you were presented.”
Eleanor blinked.
“However, you both were blind to what was between you,” she continued.
“And I held my tongue because it was not my place to enlighten you when you were both determined to remain oblivious. However, the situation has changed, rather drastically to tell it true. That you still would not marry, even after you have both enjoyed the…help Benedict provided, is truly confusing to me.” Her gaze searched Eleanor’s.
“Why will you not even consider it, Eleanor, when it is Benedict you would wed?”
She shook her head, her skin too tight and her stomach churning.
Lady C sighed. “I remember your mother and father,” she said.
Everything in her froze.
Her expression calm, Lady C continued, “I remember the tension, they way they were snide to each other even when others were present.” She was silent a moment. “They were not comfortable. I cannot imagine what it would have been like to be a child in that atmosphere.”
In her head, she could still hear the scream of arguments, the shattering of glass.
“I did not wish my marriage, did you know?”
Her gaze whipped to Lady C. She had been ten when Lady C had wed the Earl, but she’d never seen them as anything other than affectionate, or as affectionate a man as reserved as the Earl could be.
A faint smile touched Lady C’s lips at Eleanor’s confusion.
“It was arranged, as was your mother and father’s.
I did not wish to marry a cold, unsmiling man, and Colgrove is very much that.
” A shadow darkened her eyes. “Our first months were…difficult. Honestly, after our wedding night, it is a wonder we ever produced children.” Lady C’s cheeks reddened.
Her own cheeks flooded with heat. She did not wish to picture Lady C and the Earl together in a bed.
“However, over time, we came to understand each other, and he…” A small smile touched her lips. “He is the very best man I know,” she finished softly.
Eyes burning, she struggled to swallow past the lump in her throat. That is how she felt about Benedict. The very best of men.
“I am not intimating our marriage is common, or even likely. Many people are ill-matched and, while Colgrove and I worked through our issues, there are many more who would not. I would venture your parents were ill-suited, and they made sure everyone knew it.” Lady C exhaled.
“Eleanor, I would think you know Benedict better than anyone, and you both are more suited than any other couple I know of. If you married him, what would change? It seems the only thing would be you will live in the same house, and your best friend will also be your lover and husband.”
Logic told her he wouldn’t change, that they would never be as her mother and father, but the fear buried deep in her would not let her speak.
“Ask yourself this, then,” Lady C tried. “Do you truly wish to remain only friends with Benedict? If you do, he will eventually marry someone else. Do you wish that?”
No. It screamed through her brain, and yet… “I cannot, Lady C,” she said. “It is…It was…”
Comprehension dawned on Lady C’s face, followed by compassion. “Oh, you poor girl. What have you been thinking all this time?”
It filled her, the fear, so much it felt as if she could not contain it.
She had never told anyone of it, not like she had Benedict, not like Lady C had surmised, and it had festered, becoming so big inside her.
She’d always pushed it away, had tried to ignore it, and it had worked for a time.
For a long time. Now, though, with Lady C before her, empathy in her eyes, she could ignore it no longer.
“Eleanor, you have a choice, and only you can make it,” Lady C said gently. “If I can impress on you one thing, it is this: Do not let fear keep you from the person you love. Do not let fear keep you from trusting Benedict. From trusting yourself.”
Fear was keeping her from Benedict. Irrational, bone-deep terror that she would again be as she was as a child, hiding from the screaming and the sound of glass breaking.
The sound of her mother shattering, the pound of her father’s boots as he stormed from the estate.
Only this time, she would not be able to flee to her treehouse and pull her knees to her chest, making herself a ball as she rocked back and forth.
Benedict would not climb the tree, settling beside her and saying nothing, watching the stars with her as the screaming in her head lessened and then disappeared.
But that was not true, was it? Benedict always comforted her. Benedict was always at her side.
Benedict would never do to her what her father had done to her mother.
She and Benedict had argued—of course they had—but it had never been a fight. It had never turned bitter, or violent, and they listened and respected each other and they would never fight. Benedict was not her father. She was not her mother. If they wed, their marriage would not be as theirs.
Oh God. What had she done?
Panic spiralled through her, her heart a frenzied beat. She had to tell him. She couldn’t let another moment pass without telling him she…she…
The ballroom snapped into focus. There were people around them, so many people. Frantically, she searched for him in the crowd, but she couldn’t see him. She couldn’t— Where was he?
“Eleanor?”
Her gaze jerked around. Lady C. Lady C still stood beside her, her brow furrowed. “Where is Benedict? Can you see him?”
“No, I— Eleanor, you must calm.”
“Lady C, I cannot find him. What if he’s gone? What if I have ruined everything? What if I have broken it so completely. I—”
“Eleanor.” Lady C took her hands. “Eleanor, focus on me. You must calm, my dearest one. Calm. Breathe with me.”
She did so, taking a breath when Lady C did, her gaze locked on hers. Slowly, the panic lessened.
“You have broken nothing,” Lady C said softly. “Benedict will listen.”
Agony ripped through her. “But he is so angry with me—”
“He will not be when you tell him what you have to say.” The corner of Lady C’s mouth tilted up. “Unless I am wrong about what you mean to tell him?”
Mutely, Eleanor shook her head.
“Then I would wager he will be delighted when you find him. I cannot think all is lost. Not between you and him.”
Hope began a beat in Eleanor’s chest. She glanced at the crowd. “Lady C, I—”
“Of course, dearest one.” Lady C squeezed her hands. “Go find him.”
Buoyed, Eleanor gave her a quick smile before rushing into the throng, however he was not with Amanda, or dancing with a friend of hers on the floor.
He was not in the refreshment rooms, or the gardens, or in the card room.
He was not conversing with Viscount Daughtry or his other friends, or socialising with his brothers.
Stopping in the middle of the ballroom, disappointment and desperation crashed over her.
He had disappeared.