Chapter 16
Julian stood by the window, his attention fixed on the gardens below.
From that distance, the scene seemed almost orderly. It could have been mistaken for something predictable, something that he might have been comfortable at the sight of.
It was not.
Lily ran ahead of the others, her steps quick and her direction changing without warning.
Eleanor followed at a steadier pace, not attempting to correct her, and only adjusting her when needed.
Anne and Beatrice lingered slightly behind, their conversation continuing even as they were drawn into whatever game Lily had decided upon.
There was no pattern to it, no structure he could immediately recognize, and yet it held.
Henry moved slightly beside him, his presence quiet enough that Julian had almost forgotten it.
"You have been standing there for some time," he said.
Julian did not look away.
"Have I?"
"Yes."
A brief pause followed.
"They seem occupied," Henry added.
Julian’s gaze remained fixed on the lawn.
"She is not usually so at ease, I suppose."
Henry followed his line of sight.
"Your sister?"
"Yes."
"I would have thought that was a good thing."
"It is," Julian said, though the answer came more slowly than it should have.
"You do not sound convinced."
"It is unlike her, and I do not want her to be like this simply because she thinks the ladies will not want to be near her if she is herself."
Below them, Lily turned abruptly, doubling back toward Eleanor with something urgent to say. Eleanor bent slightly to listen, her attention given fully, without impatience. Julian watched the exchange more closely than the rest.
"She has always been cautious," he said. "With strangers, with anyone outside the household."
"And now she is not."
"She is not, and it is strange."
Henry leaned lightly against the edge of the desk.
"In her defense, she knows them."
"Briefly."
"That is sometimes enough. She will have decided to trust them quite quickly."
Julian did not respond. Henry’s gaze shifted back to the window. Where Julian was concerned, however, the other gentleman was perfectly content as he watched them all.
"Children do not remain as they are forever. They change."
"Yes. I am well aware of that."
"And yet you sound as though it troubles you."
Julian’s attention remained outside, though his focus had narrowed slightly.
"It does," he said. "The older she is, the more difficult it will be to ensure she makes the right decisions for herself."
"You make it sound like a statistical problem. It is not disorder that will take place, but growth, and one should hope for the most growth possible."
Julian’s gaze followed Lily again as she broke away from the others, only to return a moment later, as though unwilling to remain apart for long.
"She trusts them," he said.
"That does not seem misplaced."
Julian was silent for a moment. He had not doubted it as it pertained to Lily. The issue, for him, was that he could not make himself feel the same way. He wanted to trust his wife and her friends, but he could not.
He could not trust anyone.
"No," he said at last. "It does not."
Henry studied him briefly, then looked back toward the garden.
"She will need more of this," he said. "Not less."
Julian did not answer immediately. Below, Eleanor reached out, brushing something from Lily’s sleeve instinctively. Lily did not pull away. The ease of it held Julian’s attention longer than it should have.
"She has not had many opportunities for this," Henry added. "From what I have heard, at least."
"She has met many people," Julian explained. "For the most part, she accompanies me to events. She does meet others on occasion, but she prefers not to. She does not like to be in a position where she must trust someone that is not me."
Henry straightened slightly.
"Then perhaps this is not something to question. It is a sign that she is improving."
"It is something to understand," he said. "But I do not. I am pleased, but that does not answer the question as to why she has changed her mind now."
Henry did not argue with that. Outside, Lily’s laughter carried faintly through the open window in a way Julian had only heard come from her when she was with Eleanor.
Julian did not look away.
Henry did not remain long after, leaving Julian alone in the study. The quiet returned immediately, settling into the room as though it had been waiting.
Julian did not move away from the window.
Lily had drawn the others further across the lawn, her movements less hurried, though no less certain.
Eleanor remained near her, her attention steady, unbroken even as the others spoke around them.
There was an ease to it, and Julian watched it longer than he intended.
Then, begrudgingly, he turned to his ledgers. He had been neglecting them while in the presence of his guests, and he knew that he could not afford to do so much longer.
A knock at the door broke his work. He turned slightly towards the door.
"Come in."
Eleanor entered without hesitation. She closed the door behind her, her back straight, though there was a quiet purpose in her expression that made it clear she had come for a reason.
"I hope I am not interrupting," she said.
"You are not," Julian replied.
"Good, for I wished to speak with you," she said.
Julian nodded slightly.
"You may. What is it?"
Eleanor stepped further into the room, though she did not immediately sit.
"It is about Lily."
Julian’s attention sharpened, though nothing in his expression betrayed it.
"What about her?"
Eleanor hesitated only briefly.
"She said something this afternoon," she said. "Something that I do not think she intended to carry weight, though it did. I will admit that it is not the first time that this has happened, and so I thought… I thought it was best that I came to you."
Julian did not respond, instead waiting for her to continue.
"She spoke of being alone," Eleanor continued. "Of not having anyone before."
The words settled between them. Julian’s gaze did not shift, though the stillness in him deepened slightly. Eleanor watched him, waiting for him to respond. There was a crease in her brow, as though she were nervous about what he would say.
"She has always been reserved," he said at last.
"That is not what she told me."
While not angered by this, Julian had to admit that he was rather perturbed. He knew Lily better than anyone, and yet here Eleanor was acting as though that title belonged to her.
"Then what did she tell you?"
"She says that she has been alone for some time, and that she does not enjoy the company of most adults. She wished that she had children to play with, or at least someone to spend time with her doing what she enjoys."
"It is not uncommon for children in her position to be limited in their interactions. I can understand that she does not like it, but that does not change the fact that she is vulnerable and in need of protection. I do not see the need for more than she already has."
"I do," she said quietly.
That shifted something, if only slightly. Julian studied her for a moment.
"She is six years of age," Eleanor continued. "She should not speak of loneliness as though it is something familiar."
"She is not neglected," Julian said.
"I did not say that she was."
"Then what are you suggesting?"
Eleanor did not look away.
"That she has been protected to the point of isolation."
Julian’s jaw tightened slightly at the accusation. He wished to remain calm, but with all that he had done for Lily each judgment felt harsh. He had done his best. Why could that not be enough?
"You are drawing conclusions from a single remark."
"I am listening to what she told me," Eleanor replied.
"And interpreting it."
"Yes. That is what one does when a child–"
A brief silence followed. Julian turned slightly, his gaze moving back toward the window before returning to her.
"When a child needs something," she finished.
"She required stability," he said. "After my father’s death, that was not optional."
"I understand that," she said. "Truly, I do, but stability is not the same as solitude."
Julian’s gaze met hers again.
"There were considerations you are not aware of," he said.
"Then make me aware of them."
The request was simple, and it was uncompromising.
Julian looked at her, as though weighing the extent of what he would allow her to know.
His sister was quick to trust Eleanor, and she had always been a good judge of character, but that did not mean that Julian could simply follow suit without a care.
"She was young," he said. "The household had already changed so much. There was no margin for further disruption."
"And so you limited her world."
"I ensured it remained consistent."
Eleanor took that in.
"And how long will that continue?"
"As long as it is necessary."
"She is no longer alone," Eleanor said, more quietly now. "Not if you allow it."
"I have not prevented it."
"No," Eleanor agreed. "But you have not encouraged it either, and though you may not have noticed it, Lily does think you are the most wonderful person in the world."
Julian’s expression did not change, but he was completely taken aback. The words settled between them, and Julian did not respond at once.
Instead, he looked at her, properly this time, as though reassessing something he had thought already defined. As infuriating as she was, when she was passionate about something Julian noticed that she pursed her lips, and her eyes were larger and round as she waited for an answer.
"You have known her for a matter of days," he said.
"And yet she told me that," Eleanor replied. "That in itself should tell you that she is serious. I thought you should know, that is all. I would like to have been, if it were me."
Julian lowered his eyes.
"I am pleased you have come to me, for what it is worth. Do not think that I am ungrateful."