Chapter 21
Eleanor had gone to the garden early, book in hand, not because she wished particularly to read, but because she needed distance from the household.
She chose a bench set slightly apart from the main path, somewhere she would not easily be disturbed. The book was opened in her hands, and anyone passing by might have assumed she had been there for some time, absorbed in her reading and entirely at peace.
In truth, she had read the same page three times without taking in a single word.
The conversation from the day before did not need to be revisited. It had already resolved itself. He had been clear, and she had understood him just as clearly. There was nothing left to question, nothing left to hope for, and that absence of uncertainty had given her something solid to stand on.
She had overstepped, and she had allowed herself to believe that something might grow where it had never been intended to, and now she had corrected it. That was all there was to it. She was little more than a guest within his house, and she could exist there easily. She would exist there easily.
Eleanor turned a page; her attention fixed on the book in a way that suggested complete absorption. It was a performance, she supposed, but it had to be done if she were to be perceived in the way that she wanted to be. If nothing had changed, then she would behave as though nothing had.
The sound of footsteps reached her after a few moments. She did not look up at once. Instead, she let the sound come closer. When she finally lifted her gaze, she saw that Julian had stepped onto the path.
From where she sat, she could see him clearly, though there was enough distance between them to preserve the separation she had already decided upon. There was nothing outwardly altered in him, nothing to suggest that anything of consequence had occurred the day before.
Eleanor watched him for a moment longer than was strictly necessary, hoping to see a sign that he regretted what had happened, but there was nothing there.
From the distance, at least, it was easier to see him as he presented himself to the world, rather than as she had seen him the night before.
It was difficult to reckon one with the other.
There was a brief tightening in her chest. She acknowledged it, allowed it to exist for exactly as long as it needed to, and then let it pass without giving it anything further.
Julian continued along the path. He did not turn toward her. There was no hesitation in him, no indication that he expected her to call out or even to acknowledge him at all. The distance between them remained intact. Eleanor lowered her gaze back to the book before he drew too near.
She did not look up again, instead turning another page.
This time, she did read the words in front of her, though she could not have said afterward what they were. That did not matter. What mattered was the steadiness of her hands, the apparent absence of anything that might betray what had been lost or what had been understood.
As the morning continued around her, Eleanor remained where she was, no longer waiting for something that would never come, no longer wondering if she would be proven wrong, simply existing.
Then she heard lighter footsteps.
They were uneven, but familiar in a different sense, and before she looked up, she already knew who it was.
Lily appeared at the edge of the path. She paused when she saw Eleanor, as though checking whether she was interrupting, though that hesitation lasted only a second before she stepped closer.
"Eleanor!"
Eleanor closed her book, though she did not rise at once.
"Good morning, Lily," she said, her tone gentle, carefully even. "Are you well?"
Lily came nearer, stopping just in front of her, her attention fixed entirely on Eleanor in that open, unguarded way she always had. There was no awareness of anything that had changed, no sense of the line Eleanor had drawn for herself only minutes before.
"I am. I hope I am not interrupting anything important."
"Of course not. I am only reading."
She would rather not have been interrupted, of course, but she took pity on the child. Lily had not done anything wrong, after all.
"I was looking for you," Lily explained. "You were not inside."
"I wished for some air," Eleanor replied. "I did not feel particularly hungry, either."
"Oh, I see. Julian thought you might be unwell. That is what he said, at least."
Eleanor scoffed at that, quickly concealing it by pretending to clear her throat. She could not believe that he would invent such a thing, rather than being honest about what he had said.
Then again, she considered, Lily was rather too young for that. He could have simply said that he had said something unkind, which Eleanor considered meant he did not think he had done anything wrong at all.
"I was not feeling well this morning, no," she lied. "That is why I was not hungry."
Lily nodded, accepting that easily, and she did not move away.
"May I sit with you?" she asked, already half-turning toward the bench.
Eleanor hesitated. Before, she would have welcomed it without thought, and made space for her immediately, but now such a decision did not come as easily.
When she had first joined the household, there was an expectation that she would not try to mother the girl.
She would be a friend, perhaps, but she was not to overstep her boundaries.
With all that had happened, she no longer knew where the line was drawn, for Lily had never allowed such a thing to be in place.
Still, she could not refuse her.
"Of course," Eleanor said at last, shifting slightly to allow her space.
Lily climbed onto the bench beside her without hesitation, settling in close in a way that might have felt natural before, but now made Eleanor aware of every inch of distance she had chosen to maintain.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Lily leaned slightly toward the book in Eleanor’s hands.
"What are you reading?" she asked.
Eleanor glanced down at it, knowing she had not truly been reading it at all. In truth, she could hardly remember what it was even about.
"A novel," she said. "Though I fear I have not made much progress this morning."
Lily considered that, then looked up at her again.
"I like it when you read to me," she said. "Could you do it now?"
The words were simple, and yet they settled heavily. Eleanor felt it immediately, the quiet expectation beneath them, the assumption that things would continue as they had before, that nothing needed to change simply because it had for her.
She kept her voice steady.
"Perhaps another time," she said.
Lily frowned slightly in confusion. Eleanor could hardly blame her for that, as she never refused her requests. She considered, however, that that was because Lily never asked for anything difficult.
"Why not now?"
Eleanor paused, searching for something that would make sense without revealing more than she intended.
"I think you may prefer to play outside this morning," she said. "It is far too fine a day to sit still."
Lily did not seem convinced.
"I can do both. I can play while you read."
Eleanor allowed a small smile, though it did not quite reach her eyes.
"I am certain you can, but that does not mean it is a good idea."
Another pause followed. Lily shifted slightly beside her, her usual ease dimming just enough to be noticeable.
"You are different today," she said. "You sound like my brother."
Eleanor looked at her then, properly, for the first time since she had arrived.
"What do you mean?"
"You are telling me not to do something. That is all Julian ever does."
The observation was direct, without hesitation. Eleanor held her gaze for a moment, then allowed it to soften just slightly. She knew how it felt to have Julian tell her no over and over, and it was no surprise to her that Lily disliked it just as much.
"I am only thinking," she said.
"About what?"
"Nothing that concerns you. You have done nothing wrong, I am simply not feeling well."
"Then will you read to me when you feel better?"
"Of course."
Lily accepted that, though not entirely, her attention lingering on Eleanor as though she were trying to understand something that did not quite make sense to her.
Eleanor hesitated again. She did not want to withdraw completely. That was not what she intended, but she could not step into that role as easily anymore, and could not allow herself to fill a space that had not been offered to her.
Eleanor returned her gaze to the book, though she did not open it immediately, her thoughts more aware now of the distance she was trying to maintain and how easily it was misunderstood.
Beside her, Lily sat a little more quietly than before, and for the first time since Eleanor had arrived at the estate, the space between them did not feel effortless.
They remained side by side on the bench, not entirely uncomfortable, but it was undeniably different.
Lily did not usually sit still for so long, and under any other circumstance she would have filled the space between them without hesitation, saying whatever came to mind, asking questions or inventing stories.
Now she seemed to be holding something back.
Eleanor was aware of the shift, aware of the way something that had once required no thought now demanded careful attention. She had wanted distance and had chosen it deliberately, yet she had not expected it to feel so awful.
"Eleanor," Lily said at last, her voice quieter than before.
Eleanor looked at her immediately and answered gently,
"Yes?"
Lily hesitated, her fingers twisting together in her lap before she spoke again.
"Did I do something wrong?"
The question landed softly, but it struck far deeper than it should have. Eleanor felt a sharp guilt rise before she could temper it, and she answered too quickly at first, the words almost overlapping.
"No, no, not at all, Lily, you have done nothing wrong." She steadied her tone as she continued, making sure the reassurance carried properly. "Nothing at all. You must not think that."
Lily studied her, still uncertain, her gaze searching Eleanor’s face as though trying to find the truth.
"You are different," she said again, not accusing, only confused. "I thought maybe I had made you cross."
Eleanor closed the book and set it aside, giving her full attention, unwilling to let even the smallest doubt remain.
"You have not upset me," she said, more carefully this time. "If I seem quiet, it is only because I am thinking. It has nothing to do with you."
Lily considered that, not entirely convinced but willing to accept it for now.
"Then what are you thinking about that is so demanding?"
Eleanor paused, knowing she could not answer that truthfully without placing something far too heavy on a child who had done nothing to deserve it. She softened her voice instead, shaping something simpler, something kinder.
"I am only a little tired today," she said. "That is all. You need not worry about it."
"But I do worry. You are my friend, and sometimes… sometimes it feels as though you are family, too."
Eleanor felt her throat tighten at that, for it was what she had begun to think too. Lily watched her for a moment longer, then gave a small nod, the tension in her easing slightly as she accepted the explanation.
Eleanor reached out without thinking and smoothed a loose curl back from Lily’s face, the gesture instinctive, familiar, something she had done before without hesitation.
"You must never sit wondering if you have done something wrong," she added. "If I am quiet, it is my own doing, not yours."
Lily leaned into the reassurance easily, her earlier unease fading, replaced once more by the brightness that seemed so natural to her.
"Will you read to me, then?" she asked, hope returning quickly, as though the moment of doubt had already begun to disappear.
Eleanor hesitated, but only briefly this time, because she could not deny her, not after that.
"Yes, very well," she said, her voice softening. "If you would like that."
"I would," Lily replied at once, the answer immediate and certain as she slipped off the bench. "I will find a book, a good one."
"I am sure you will," Eleanor said.
Lily did not wait for anything more and ran back toward the house, her steps light again and her energy restored. Eleanor watched her go, her eyes following her until she disappeared inside, and only then did she allow her shoulders to lower slightly.
She had reassured her, had corrected the moment as was expected, and yet the feeling remained.
The distance she had chosen did not exist only in her own thoughts; it had already begun to shape the way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she held herself even in the smallest interactions.
Lily had noticed it within minutes, and it was only a matter of time before everyone else did too.
Eleanor looked down at her hands, now resting loosely in her lap, the book forgotten beside her.
How was she meant to sustain the facade, to remain careful and hold herself apart without letting it affect everything else around her?
The thought settled heavily. It was not only Lily.
It was the house, the place she had begun to find within it, the quiet moments that had started to feel real in a way she had not expected.
All of it now required distance, and it was going to be painful.
She drew in a slow breath and lifted her gaze toward the house where Lily had disappeared.
She had chosen this path, and she would hold to it, but as the garden settled around her in the same calm stillness as before, she could not help but wonder how long she could continue like this without something in her beginning to give way.
It would be noticed eventually, she had no doubt there. What troubled her most was the idea that her husband might not see a difference at all, and she wished she did not care. She was not supposed to care.
But she did, and it was going to ruin her.