Chapter 26
Julian had not meant to notice his wife's voice.
He had returned to his study after seeing Halford admitted, intending to occupy himself with work that required his full attention, something structured, something that did not shift beneath him without warning.
The papers before him remained untouched for longer than he would have allowed under any other circumstance, his focus drawn instead to the awareness that something in the house had changed the moment that man had crossed the threshold.
It was not Halford’s presence alone that unsettled him.
Visitors came and went, and he had received them all with the same politeness.
This was different, though he did not immediately name why.
It was only when he passed through the corridor some time later and caught the faint murmur of voices behind a closed door that the unease took clearer shape.
It was Eleanor’s voice, lower than usual, and then the man’s voice followed, carrying a tone Julian recognized. It was one of someone accustomed to being believed, to shaping a conversation without raising it.
Julian did not stop outside the door. He did not listen long enough to distinguish words. The knowledge that they were speaking alone was enough, and it lingered long after he had moved on, settling into something that resisted being dismissed.
By the time he saw her again, her conversation had ended.
She crossed the hall as though nothing had occurred, steady in the way she had been the past days, though something in it was more distant than before.
She had not withdrawn entirely, and was not unsettled in a visible way, but she had turned inward, as though her thoughts were no longer engaged with what surrounded her.
“Eleanor?”
She paused at the sound of his voice and turned toward him, her gaze meeting his without hesitation.
“My lord.”
There was no warmth in the address, but neither was there coldness. It was exactly as it should have been, and that, more than anything, made it difficult to read.
“I would like to speak with you,” he said.
“Of course.”
She did not question it. She did not hesitate.
She simply nodded slightly and waited for him to lead.
Julian gestured toward the smaller sitting room nearby, the same one in which she had spoken with Halford not long before.
She entered without comment, and he followed, closing the door behind them.
“I heard you speaking with Halford,” he said.
“I see. Yes, we did have a discussion earlier.”
The answer came easily.
“I shall assume you know one another, then.”
“We have met before. I know him from my time in London.”
There was no further elaboration offered.
“He sought you out privately.”
“He did.”
“And you permitted it.”
Eleanor’s expression did not change.
“There was no reason not to. Do you disagree?”
A brief silence followed, not empty, but carrying something that neither of them addressed directly. In truth, Julian did disagree, for an unmarried man had taken a married lady to a room to speak with her alone, and he did not appreciate it.
That, he told himself, was all it was.
“What did he want?” Julian asked.
Eleanor did not answer immediately. She moved slightly further into the room, her attention shifting away from him for a moment, seemingly in consideration of how she would respond.
“He wished to apologize,” she said at last. “For how matters were left between us.”
“I see. How large was the grievance?”
“Not large enough for pistols at dawn. You may make of that what you will.”
“Did you accept it?”
“No.”
The word was clear, unambiguous, leaving no room for misinterpretation. Julian was secretly pleased about that, for he did not like the idea of anyone doing such a thing.
“He offered something else, too,” she continued. “He has influence in London. He claims he can restore what was damaged. My name, my standing, my place there– he believes it can be corrected.”
“And you believe him,” he said.
“I believe he has the means to do as he says. He has assured me that he can, and I am inclined to agree.”
Silence followed, as Julian wondered just how urgent such an action was.
To his knowledge, Eleanor's standing was not terrible at all.
She was liked well enough, although he was aware that she had been considered a fool after what had happened to her.
Then again, many ladies fell for similar things.
It was not something that ruined someone for the rest of their life.
“So you are considering it,” Julian said. “Is that what you are saying?”
“Yes. If that is what I decide, I shall be in London again shortly, and out of your way.”
There was no hesitation in the answer, no attempt to soften it. Julian held her gaze, searching for something beyond the words themselves, something that might suggest uncertainty or doubt, but she gave him nothing he could challenge.
“I had not intended to remain here indefinitely,” she went on. “You knew what this arrangement was.”
“And would you return?”
“I do not know.”
“But you must think of– of Lily. She would be devastated by your loss.”
He had saved himself well enough. He was about to tell her the truth; that he would miss her too terribly and that she could not leave for too long, even if he had told her she could at the start.
“I am only considering all of it.”
“For what reason? You are happy here.”
“I must think of my future,” she said simply. “But I must also consider the life I had before. I know what I want, Julian, and I will have it.”
“And you would trust him with that? Eleanor, I am not questioning your motives, but would I be correct in saying that Halford is the man that tried to ruin you? You cannot forgive him so easily.”
“That is none of your concern,” she snapped.
She looked at him then, eyes wide and hair coming undone, and he realized what he had done to her. Suddenly, she seemed intent on keeping to their arrangement, and that made him all the more aware that he was less inclined to do so.
“I do not trust him,” she continued. “That is not required. All that I must believe is that he is capable of doing what he claims.”
“And what if he is not?”
“Then I will find a solution and take care of myself. It is all I have ever done.”
He steadied. This was the moment, the point at which something could be said that would alter the course of what lay ahead, something that would challenge her decision, that would make her reconsider.
Julian knew it. He felt it in the way she was looking at him.
He could stop it all. He could question her reasoning, dismantle it, point out the risk, the uncertainty, of the man who stood behind the offer.
He could remind her of what had passed between them, of what she had shared, of what he had already begun to understand too late.
He could say something that would matter.
“If that is what you wish, you are free to do so.”
The words fell into the space between them without him thinking. Eleanor did not look away.
“No,” she said quietly. “I am not free.”
“You are not bound here. If you choose to return, I will make the necessary arrangements. If you feel you must return to London, then I will not stop you. I have no say in what you do. That is what we agreed.”
He cursed himself for not being honest, but he could not. When she looked at him with her innocent eyes, all that he could think was that he was doomed to hurt her. He could not let her in, and so he had to let her go.
“If you believe it is the right choice,” he said, his tone detached, “then you should do it.”
The words came without resistance, as though the matter required nothing further from him.
There was no question in them, no attempt to challenge what she had just said.
He did not ask her to reconsider, did not ask whether she was certain, did not press against the decision in any way that might suggest it affected him beyond what was reasonable.
“It would resolve the situation cleanly,” he said. “Your return to London would restore your position, and there would be no further need to maintain an arrangement that no longer serves its original purpose.”
There was no ambiguity in that.
Eleanor did not move. It was as though she was waiting for him to argue the point, but he was not going to. This was what was best for them both, he reasoned, and there was no changing that no matter how much he wanted to.
“I see,” she said.
“And,” he continued, almost as though the thought had occurred to him only then, “it would allow me to consider other options that are more aligned with what was originally intended.”
That was what seemed to startle her.
“What options?” she asked.
“You are not happy with our arrangement, and in spite of what you might think of me I do want you to be happy. The way that you have been offered late shows that you are anything but. We could– we could seek an annulment and find what we are looking for.”
She faltered, but her eyes did not leave his. Julian hardly knew what he was saying; it was not what he wanted at all, but it was what she deserved. If she were in the arms of another man, it would kill him, but at least she would be happy. She would know love, just as she deserved.
“Lady Rosamund has been mentioned,” he continued. “She is familiar with the nature of such arrangements. There would be no expectation beyond what is agreed, and no complication.”
For a moment, the room felt very quiet. Eleanor understood it completely, and Julian felt the impact of it. It confirmed what he had already begun to suspect, what he had tried not to fully accept even as he adjusted himself to her distance.
There had been something, and he had chosen to dismiss it. Eleanor drew a slow breath, the motion controlled, to gather herself fully before she spoke again.
“Of course,” she said. “That would be far more suitable.”
Julian did not react to the words, taking them as agreement. He had hoped, foolishly, that she would argue the point. She had changed, but he wondered if that was only because he had expected it. This was not her, and he wanted the Eleanor that he had married back, but he knew why she was absent.
“It could be preferable, in fact,” she continued. “It would avoid the unnecessary difficulty of our match, and allow us to find what we truly want.”
Julian regarded her for a moment, as though confirming that the matter had been settled.
“Then it is agreed,” he said.
“It is.”
“I will make the necessary arrangements,” Julian said.
“Thank you.”
She did not look away from him immediately, though there was nothing left to search for in his expression, nothing left to interpret. Whatever she might have hoped to find there no longer existed, if it ever had.
“I wish you every success in London,” he added, as though offering a courtesy to a guest rather than speaking to someone who had stood before him only nights before in a very different way.
“And I wish you the same,” she said.
The words were correct, entirely so, and entirely empty. Eleanor turned then, her movements unhurried as she crossed the room and reached the door. She did not falter, did not pause, and did not allow even the smallest hesitation to betray what she might have felt.
Only when she stepped into the corridor and the door closed quietly behind her did Julian allow himself a single, steady breath to hold everything exactly where it was.
Because whatever had just been confirmed between them, whatever had been ended without being named, he would not allow her to be hurt by it.
He would take the blame, refuse to let her reputation be hurt again, and do all that he could to protect her from afar.
She had never been able to choose what happened to her, and he was determined to give her that choice.
He simply wished her decision had not destroyed him the way it had.