Chapter 14
Julian did linger to listen to his wife’s conversation.
Whatever passed between Eleanor and her friend was not his concern. He had someone else to consider, and that was the man that had come to see him.
Henry was waiting when he entered. He stood near the window, his posture less rigid than it had been upon arrival, though he was not entirely relaxed. He turned as Julian closed the door behind him, looking at him expectantly.
"I thought it best we speak," Henry said.
"As did I," Julian replied.
For a moment, the conversation remained polite, almost casual, as though neither of them wished to begin too directly.
Julian was not necessarily intimidated by his guest, though he had to admit that if another man was, he would not blame him.
There was a way in which the gentleman carried himself, as though afraid of nothing and nobody.
Julian reasoned, however, that that could well have simply because it was a matter pertaining to his sister. If it were Lily, he would have felt much the same about it all.
"You have both settled quickly," Henry said. "The house seems well managed, and your staff appear to be content."
"It always has been this way."
"And what of my sister?"
"She has adapted."
"That is not quite what I asked."
Julian did not respond immediately. It was not his place to speak for his wife, but he was quite convinced that Eleanor was happy enough with their arrangement. If she was not, in any case, she had not said as much, and he knew Eleanor well enough to know that she had a voice.
"Everything is as it was intended," he said at last. "As we agreed."
Henry watched him for a moment, then exhaled slightly.
"I would like to speak as a friend," he said.
"You may."
"Have you begun to feel anything for her?"
Julian stilled. Henry had not softened his question at all, and it did not feel like a polite question from a friend. It was more an interrogation, which again, Julian did understand.
"If you have begun to feel anything for her," he repeated, "you must be honest about it. I do not take kindly to liars."
"This arrangement was entered into with full understanding," Julian said. "On both sides. That should tell you all that you wish to know."
"It does not protect her," Henry said, his voice tightening slightly. "Nothing about this match protects her, not if those terms begin to shift."
"They have not."
Henry did not accept that. Julian could see in the man’s eyes that he did not believe a word of it, and Julian wished that he was a more convincing liar.
The truth was that, though he would not allow the terms of their marriage to change for her sake, there was no denying that she was alluring.
Lily adored her, the staff more than appreciated her, and if he had to fall in love through a curse or some other cruel twist of fate, he supposed that she would not be objectionable.
That was why he had agreed to marry her, after all.
"If you are going to involve yourself in her life beyond what was agreed," Henry continued, "then you must be certain of what you are doing, and you must be worthy of her."
Julian’s expression did not change, though his focus sharpened slightly.
"I have no intention of failing in my responsibilities, nor of involving myself any further than we planned."
"This is not about responsibility," Henry replied. "It is about Eleanor. She is my sister, the most precious thing that I have, and I will not see her hurt again."
Julian stilled. The words settled with more weight than the others had. It was not as though he had ever been particularly friendly with Eleanor, but he had at least thought he knew a lot about her. Enough to marry her, in any case.
"Again?" he repeated. "What do you mean?"
For a moment, Henry said nothing. Then he exhaled, the certainty in his posture giving way.
"She has not told you?"
Julian’s tone remained even.
"No. She has not, though I believe I ought to know, given the circumstances."
"That is not my place. It is hers."
Julian did not move.
"You have already said enough to suggest otherwise. I deserve an explanation, do I not?"
"I have said enough to make you understand that you should not be careless," Henry replied. "Nothing more was suggested, and nothing more will be."
Julian’s attention remained fixed on him.
"And so you expect me to proceed without knowing what has happened to her?"
"I expect you to respect her," Henry said. "And to allow her to decide what she shares and when. If she has not told you of her own accord, then it quite clearly means that she does not trust you, and I will not go against that."
Julian did not press him further, as he knew that the refusal was absolute. Henry stepped back slightly, the tension in him not entirely gone, but no longer directed outward in the same way.
"Do not take lightly what you have entered into," he said. "And do not assume she will remain untouched by it, simply because she has agreed to it."
Julian’s expression remained controlled.
"I do not make that assumption."
"Then do not prove me wrong."
The warning was clear. Henry held his gaze for a moment longer, as though ensuring the meaning in his words had settled, before turning toward the door. He paused briefly, his hand resting against it.
"Do not be careless with her," he said.
Then he left. The door closed behind him, leaving the room in silence once more. Julian did not move immediately. His thoughts, for once, did not arrange themselves into anything clear.
He had done the right thing, had he not? A lady required a husband, and so he took her as his wife. She had expectations, as did he, and they came to an agreement. It was perfectly sensible, he reasoned, so why was he being looked at as though he were a villain?
Why did he feel like one?
Dinner had passed without incident, the conversation light, the company small enough that nothing felt forced.
Afterwards, they drifted into the drawing room, the atmosphere relaxed.
It was the kind of evening that required little from anyone, and Julian observed more than he participated.
It was a habit, one that he did not intend to break.
Anne stood near the window, her attention half on Eleanor, half on something beyond the glass, though that shifted when Henry approached. The movement was unremarkable at first, a simple crossing of the room, but it did not remain so.
"You seem to have claimed the best position here," Henry said.
Anne turned slightly.
"I was not aware it had been required."
"It has not," he replied. "Though I might argue that it ought to have been discussed."
Anne considered him briefly.
"You would have lost."
"That is a bold assumption."
"A reasonable one. I rather enjoy proving a point, as well as finding a quiet corner where I shall not be disturbed."
Henry smiled faintly.
"You know, I am not accustomed to being dismissed so easily."
"Then you should consider this an educational experience."
Julian’s attention lingered. It was not the conversation itself that drew it, but the ease of it. There was no hesitation in either of them, no careful positioning of words, no attempt to manage the impression being made. It unfolded naturally, without calculation.
"You wound me," Henry said, with a chuckle. "And unnecessarily so."
"I do not think so," Anne replied. "You began it."
"I may regret that."
"I doubt it."
"No," he said after a moment, "you are probably correct."
There was a brief pause, though not an awkward one. Anne held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary, then glanced away, though not before the meaning had settled.
"You must find all of this quite strange," she said
"I do. I knew that my sister would one day settle, but not so suddenly. I am pleased for her, of course, we all are."
Julian rather thought that he was not a man that a lady would settle for, but then he considered that he came with more baggage than most gentlemen. He brought a little girl with him, one that might as well have been his own daughter. Not every lady would be pleased about that.
But Eleanor was.
He looked around and found her across the room, watching them with quiet amusement. It was as though she had seen it all before, and that she rather enjoyed watching it happen. At that moment, Anne and Henry seemed to notice too.
"You are being observed," he said lightly.
Anne did not turn.
"I am accustomed to it."
"Not by me," Eleanor called, laughing.
"That is unfortunate," Anne said. "I had hoped for your approval."
"You do not require it."
"Perhaps not," Anne said. "But it would be welcome."
Henry glanced between them.
"Am I to understand that I am the subject of discussion?"
"Only briefly," Eleanor said. "You may consider yourself fortunate for that."
"I shall."
The moment eased, the attention shifting again as Eleanor moved toward Anne.
"Come," she said. "I promised to show you the terrace in the moonlight You shall not believe the difference!"
Anne allowed herself to be drawn away, though she cast one last glance back.
"I shall return," she said.
"I look forward to it," Henry replied.
Eleanor did not miss that, nor did Julian. They left together, their voices fading into the corridor beyond. The room quieted. Julian remained where he was for a moment, then turned his attention to Henry.
"What was that?" he asked.
Henry looked at him, the faintest hint of amusement still present.
"I am not sure what you mean."
"You are."
"That was a conversation between myself and a young lady that I have known for years."
"Do you know her well?"
"Not particularly, no, but I respect her a good deal. My sister thinks highly of her, and she has always been a good judge of character. There is nothing more to it than that."
"And yet, you appear interested."
Henry did not immediately deny it.
"I find her agreeable," he said.
"That is not what I meant."
"I am aware. I am being cautious."
"With me?"
"With the situation," Henry replied. "I do not think that my sister would be approving of any such thing even if it was what I wanted, which let me be abundantly clear that I am not."
"You need not explain yourself to me. I will not judge you for anything that you do or do not decide. It is not my place to."
"Interesting," Henry said quietly.
"In what sense?"
"You are very particular about what is and is not your place."
"I am. I do not tend to approach people that I do not know very well and instruct them on how to behave, either."
Henry gave him a knowing look at that, and Julian was certain that he could see respect in his eyes too. He was not at all perturbed by what had taken place earlier that day, but he did want to make his position known.
"I know that you understand my position," Henry sighed.
"You are a brother yourself, after all. I love my sister, and much of the time I can quite comfortably say that she is far more intelligent than the other ladies around her, but there are moments where she decides that something is best for her and once that happens she is not easily swayed in the other direction. "
"I have noticed that."
"Then you understand why, if you have no intention of catching her, you cannot let her fall."
Before Julian could answer, the ladies reappeared. She stopped before him, her expression composed as ever, though not entirely neutral. There was a faint blush in her cheeks, and it was evident that she had been conspiring with her friend moments before.
"I wished to ask you something."
"You may."
Eleanor held his gaze for a moment, as though measuring how directly to proceed.
"It pertains to my friends," she said. "A few of them remain in the country for the season. I wondered whether it would be agreeable to you if they were to visit."
Julian did not hesitate.
"Of course."
The answer was immediate, for it served him well. Given what he had just heard, he saw no harm in causing a small distance between them. Eleanor seemed almost faintly surprised by the lack of resistance.
"You have no objection?"
"There is no reason for one," he replied. "You are the mistress of the house. You may receive whom you wish."
Eleanor studied him briefly, as though waiting for him to change his mind.
"You are very accommodating."
"It is a reasonable request."
"I had thought you might prefer a quieter household."
"I prefer a well-ordered one," Julian said. "The two are not always the same."
Eleanor allowed a small smile.
"I shall endeavor to ensure it remains so."
"I have no doubt that you will."
"Then you do not know my friends."
There was a brief pause.
"Thank you," she said, her eyes on his.
"You are welcome– and Eleanor, you need not ask my permission for such matters."
"Perhaps not," Eleanor replied. "But I thought it best."
"It was not necessary."
"Even so."
Neither of them moved immediately. There was a moment, brief but noticeable, in which the formality of the exchange had concluded, but neither had yet stepped away from it. Julian became aware, again, of her presence in a way that was increasingly difficult to ignore.
It was not the conversation, nor the request, simply the fact that she stood there, close enough that the distance between them felt less defined than it should have been. Eleanor seemed equally aware of it, though she did not step back.
"I shall write to them in the morning," she said at last.
"That would be sensible."
"Yes," she replied, her tone light again. "We must not risk unnecessary spontaneity."
Julian’s expression shifted, just slightly. He could not help but wonder what she thought of that trait of hers.
"Certainly not."
Eleanor held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded her head.
"I shall show our guests to their rooms for the night, and then I believe I ought to rest too. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
She moved past him, her presence lingering. Anne and Henry followed, though Henry remained in the doorway for a moment and gave Julian a look with far more knowing in it than Julian would have liked.
Julian could only leave once he was certain they were gone.