Chapter 9 #2
Julian glanced at her once during the meal, not for long, not in a way that would draw attention, but enough that she noticed.
"Are you enjoying your evening?" he said quietly.
"Yes."
He studied her for a fraction longer, as though confirming it.
"Good."
Then his attention shifted away again, returning to the conversation at the table. Nothing in it was lacking, but Eleanor felt the absence of sincerity all the same.
She did not dwell on it. She could not afford to, and so she did what was required of her and did it well.
"And you have only just returned to Harrowby," Mrs. Denham said, folding her hands lightly. "It must feel very different without a full house."
"It is what I am used to," Julian replied. "Which I prefer."
"And you, Lady Harrowby?" she asked, turning. "Do you not miss the excitement already?"
Eleanor smiled slightly. This, at least, she could answer honestly.
"I think I would find it all exhausting if it continued indefinitely."
"A very sensible answer," Mr. Denham said. "Though I suspect some would disagree."
"They are welcome to," Eleanor replied.
A small ripple of amusement passed around the table.
"You must have had very little time to settle," another guest added. "Everything has happened so quickly."
"The house required very little adjustment. The staff have been wonderful, and most patient."
"That is fortunate," she said. "Not everyone manages it so smoothly."
"She is well suited to it," Julian said.
It was said simply, without emphasis. Eleanor felt the shift again as attention settled more closely upon them.
"How very fortunate for you both," Mrs. Denham said. "It is not always so aligned."
"No," Julian replied. "It is not."
"And yet," Mr. Denham added, with a glance between them, "one might almost think it had been planned."
Eleanor allowed a small smile.
"I am afraid we cannot claim that level of foresight."
"Then we must hope it continues to appear so," she said. "I have no doubt of it, of course. It has been a long time since we have seen a true love match, and may I be the first to say I am thrilled."
Julian reached for the glass beside Eleanor without looking away from the conversation, passing it to her before she needed to ask.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
"Of course."
The exchange was brief, and entirely observed.
"I think," Mrs. Denham said after a moment, her tone light but certain, "that you are very well matched indeed."
Julian did not contradict her. Eleanor felt the words settle more heavily than they ought to have done.
Very well matched.
It was said so easily, and accepted without resistance as though it were something visible, something that could be measured from the outside and confirmed without question.
For a brief moment, she found herself wondering whether there was something in it.
Not in the way it was meant, of course, but in the simple fact that nothing between them had faltered. They moved through conversation without strain, without misstep, without the awkwardness that might have been expected from something arranged so quickly.
Eleanor set the thought aside before it could settle. That was not what this was.
"Lady Harrowby," Mr. Denham said, drawing her attention back, "you must tell me– do you ride?"
"I do," she replied.
"Then you will find the surrounding land quite suitable," he said. "Harrowby has some of the best stretches in the area."
"So I have been told."
"You simply must allow us to show you," Mrs. Denham added. "There is a path along the ridge that is particularly fine in the morning."
"That sounds most agreeable."
"Then we shall arrange it," she said decisively.
Julian glanced at Eleanor.
"If it suits you."
"It does."
"Then we will join you," he said.
Eleanor nodded at that. The conversation moved on again, shifting to local concerns and other smaller matters.
It all required less attention, less precision.
Julian remained as he had been throughout; attentive where necessary, unobtrusive where not.
When a dish was passed, he ensured it reached her without interruption.
When a question was directed her way, he allowed her space to answer, but did not leave her unsupported.
Eleanor responded in kind, her composure unbroken and her tone easy. There was no visible distance between them, no indication that anything was lacking. And yet she felt it.
It was not absence, exactly. It was something quieter than that. This was what she had wanted, precisely what she had asked for, and yet she could not bring herself to be pleased about it.
Mrs. Denham suddenly cleared her throat, looking directly at Eleanor with piercing blue eyes.
"You must find it a comfort to be so well considered."
Eleanor met her gaze.
"In what sense?"
"In every sense," she said lightly. "It is not often one receives such attention, after all."
Eleanor’s smile held. This was what she had been waiting for– a suggestion that she had conspired in order to trap her husband.
"I can see why you might think that," she replied, "but again, I am not half as interesting as the rumors might lead one to believe.
I wish that they were true, in a way, for then there would at least be a reason for them to exist, but they are all baseless.
I married my friend, and we are happy. That truly is all that there is to it. "
At that, the matter was left entirely. Eleanor did not know if she had been believed, but if she had not been nobody said anything.
She almost shuddered at the realization that she lied as easily as her husband did, but that did not matter.
The illusion had held perfectly, and for that reason, more than any other, she would not allow herself to question her match. It was what was best for her.
Even if she knew just how wrong it was.