Chapter 18
The town was quiet that evening.
Julian had chosen the club deliberately, for it offered a kind of anonymity he did not have at Harrowby. It was a place where he could sit without interruption, without expectation, and attempt to put his thoughts back into order.
It was not working.
He sat at a table near the window, a glass untouched in front of him, his attention fixed somewhere beyond the street outside.
The events of the previous evening refused to arrange themselves into anything coherent.
They did not fit within the structure he had built his life around, and every attempt to force them into place only made the disruption more apparent.
He had kissed her. That fact alone should have been enough to require distance, or at least some immediate effort to restore control. Instead, it was not something he regretted, but it had altered everything in a way he could not ignore.
He could still feel it; the certainty of it, not to mention his utter lack of hesitation. It had not been an accident. That was the problem.
Julian reached for his glass, though he did not drink from it. His grip tightened slightly before he set it down again. He should not have allowed it. He should have–
"Lord Harrowby."
The voice cut cleanly through his thoughts. Julian looked up to see Rosamund standing beside the table, composed as ever. There was no surprise in her expression, no uncertainty. He almost envied her for that.
"Lady Rosamund."
He did not rise.
"I had thought I might find you here," she said, taking the seat opposite him without waiting to be invited.
"That was presumptuous."
"And yet correct."
Julian did not answer that. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet between them was not comfortable, but it was familiar at least.
"You have been difficult to reach," she said at last.
"That is because I had no desire to be found."
"That has never stopped me before."
"No," Julian said. "It has not."
Rosamund regarded him for a moment, her gaze assessing, taking in more than he would have preferred.
He did not want to see her, for he had very little to say to her.
Not only that, but he had gone to the club that evening with the hopes that he would have some time alone, not with the intent of being hounded.
"You look unsettled," she noted.
"I am not."
"You are," she said calmly. "You simply do not care to admit it. But then, I cannot say that I blame you for that."
Julian’s attention returned to the glass in front of him, though he did not touch it again.
"What do you want, Miss Rosamund?"
She did not answer immediately. Instead, she leaned back slightly, smiling as though she were thoroughly enjoying the exchange.
"I wished to see how you were," she said. "It has been some time since we last spoke properly."
"That was by choice."
"Yes," she said. "Your choice, not mine."
"I have little interest in revisiting old arrangements."
"Nor do I," Rosamund replied. "That is not why I am here, if you can believe it."
"Then you should come to your point."
She watched him for a moment longer, then nodded slightly, as though acknowledging that he would not indulge anything further. It was true, too. Julian did not want to hear any of it, but if she was to insist upon speaking with him, he at least wanted her to say what she needed to.
"Very well," she said. "You are married."
"That is not new information."
"No," she agreed. "But what has followed is."
"I do not know what you believe has followed," he said.
Rosamund held his gaze without hesitation.
"I think you do. I understand you better than anyone else here. I know how you think, how you act when something does not fit within the plans you have made for yourself."
"This is not your concern."
"It is," she said. "Because I can see where this will lead, and in the end I will end up being the one to fix it."
A brief silence followed.
"What you have done," she continued, "and what you are now beginning to do, is a mistake. Your wife is not suited to what you offer. She does not approach things with caution or restraint. She feels deeply, whether she intends to or not, and you are prone to hurting people like that."
Julian did not know quite how to refute such a claim, but he knew he had to. He did not intend to hurt Eleanor, and he never had. He only wanted to help her, but .
"You presume a great deal about my wife. I will not take that lightly, I hope you know."
"I am only observing," she replied. "And I am rarely wrong when I do so. She will come to love you, if she does not already. That is the kind of person she is. Everyone knows as much, and I dare say that you were also quite aware of it."
Julian’s hand stilled against the table.
"And you," Rosamund added, her voice lowering slightly, "will not be able to return it in the way she requires. You will hurt her, and I only wished to tell you that it need not be that way."
Julian did not answer at once. He was more than aware that he did not want to keep his wife at arm’s length, but he needed to.
Then again, that was not what the young lady before him had meant.
He highly doubted that she had intended for him not to push Eleanor away anymore, after all, for that would be of no benefit to her at all.
Rosamund watched him closely.
"You know that I am right," she said.
Rosamund did not shift her gaze from him as she continued, her tone steady, measured, as though she were guiding him toward a conclusion he had simply failed to reach on his own.
"You have always preferred clarity," she said. "You have never engaged in anything that cannot be managed, and unless I am sorely mistaken, that has not changed."
Julian did not answer.
"With me," she went on, "there was no confusion.
We understood one another. There were no expectations beyond what we agreed, and you were never required to give more than you wished to give.
You knew exactly where you stood, and so did I.
That is not something you can say of your current situation.
I thought that was precisely what you had wanted. "
"You should not have assumed as much. I am sorry for what transpired between you and I, but I apologized at the time. I am married now, and I would prefer that you did not speculate about my marriage."
"I understand it," she replied. "Better than you would like me to. You have married a woman who does not think as you do. She feels deeply, whether she intends to or not, and she will not be able to separate herself from that. You may wish for distance, for order, but she will not allow it."
Julian said nothing. Rosamund leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering.
"She will come to love you," she said. "If she does not already, she will.
That is inevitable, and you will not meet her there, at least not in the way she will need.
You do not build your life around feelings; you avoid them where possible, and that is perfectly fine for some ladies, but others will take issue and end up devastated by it.
You can enjoy your marriage all you like, but when it fails, it will not be you who suffers most."
"I have not once suggested failure of any kind," Julian snapped. "And I do not appreciate you speaking of my wife in this way. You do not know her. You know of her at best, based on gossip, and if we were to base ourselves on that very same thing, my wife would look a damn sight better than you."
For a moment, he thought he might actually have hurt her feelings, and though he never liked upsetting a lady, he had not known what else to do to make her leave him be. However, she quickly fixed her smile, one eyebrow perfectly arched.
"There is a simple solution to your predicament, of course," she said. "If all is as you say, then this will make no difference to you, but if I am right, then you may wish to think on this. Marriages can be annulled, Lord Harrowby. People can go their separate ways and find what they truly want."
The meaning was unmistakable.
"And do you believe that is an acceptable thing to suggest?"
"It is better than the cruelty of knowing you can never give someone what they so desperately need. With me, you would have what you have always preferred. Nothing would be asked of you that you are not willing to give."
Julian’s attention shifted inward, her words having struck something he could no longer ignore.
Eleanor would not accept this treatment forever.
She would not stand at a distance, untouched.
She would not agree to give part of herself while withholding the rest. That was not how she lived, and certainly not how she had spoken the night before.
She would care, and if she cared…
"You see it," Rosamund said quietly. "You know that I am right."
Julian drew in a slow breath, his focus returning fully to her.
"No. Whatever existed between us is finished. It will not be resumed, not in any form."
She held his gaze, searching for hesitation.
"You would choose uncertainty over something you know works?"
"I am not choosing uncertainty."
"Then what are you choosing?"
"That is not your concern," he said.
Rosamund studied him for a moment longer, something unreadable passing through her expression before it settled again.
"She will suffer for this," she said. "You may not intend it, but it will happen."
"That is not inevitable."
"It is," she replied. "Because she will feel more than you do."
A brief pause followed. Julian’s voice was steady when he answered.
"You are wrong."
Rosamund exhaled slowly, as though accepting that she would not move him further.
"Something has changed," she said. "I can see that, even if you refuse to name it."
Julian did not respond. She rose from her seat, smoothing her gloves.
"This will not remain as you think it will," she said. "You have built your life on control, and now you are beginning to lose it."
"That is not something I intend to allow."
Rosamund met his gaze one last time.
"You may not have a choice."
She turned and left without another word. Julian remained where he was, the noise of the room returning gradually around him, though it felt distant. For a long moment, he did not move, then slowly, he reached for his glass.
His decision had already been made.
Eleanor was in the drawing room when he returned.
She stood near the window, one hand resting lightly against the back of a chair as she spoke with a maid about something, though her attention shifted the moment he crossed the threshold.
The change in her was immediate, unmistakable in its sincerity.
The moment she saw him, something in her lifted, a brightness settling into her expression that had not been there earlier in the day.
She dismissed the maid without hesitation, her focus already fully on him.
"You have returned," she said, stepping toward him. "I had wondered how long you would be."
Julian stopped a few steps into the room.
"I did not intend to be gone so long," he replied.
Eleanor closed the distance between them, without the caution that had defined so many of their earlier interactions. There was a confidence in her now, a quiet assumption that something had shifted between them, something that allowed for ease.
"I thought perhaps," she continued, her tone softening slightly, "that you might wish to avoid me this morning, after last night."
"I did not avoid you," he said.
"I am glad," she said. "It would have been rather disappointing if you had."
The words were light, but there was something beneath them, something tentative, as though she were waiting for him to meet her halfway, to acknowledge what had passed between them without forcing her to name it first.
But Julian did not.
The shift was subtle, but it was there. Eleanor slowed, her attention sharpening as she studied him more carefully. The ease in her expression did not vanish, but it became more measured as though she had begun to sense that something was not aligning in the way she had expected.
"You are very quiet," she said after a moment. "That is rarely a promising sign."
"I have something I wish to discuss with you."
The words were formal. Eleanor stilled, just enough for the change to register.
"Must it sound so serious?" she asked, though her tone had shifted with his. "You are beginning to make me apprehensive."
"I would prefer to speak in private."
That was enough. The lightness that had greeted him did not disappear entirely, but it receded, replaced by caution. She looked at him for a moment longer, as though trying to match the man in front of her now with the one who had stood beside her the night before.
"Of course," she said at last.
She did not ask why, and she did not press him further. Instead, she nodded slightly and stepped back, gesturing toward the adjoining rooms with quiet composure.
Julian moved first, and Eleanor followed, her steps slower than before.
The distance between them, which had felt so easily crossed the night before, had returned without either of them acknowledging it outright.
Whatever she had believed had changed between them the night before, she carried it with her still, and she followed him as though she expected him to confirm it.
Julian almost wished that she was right.