Belinda exchanged a look with her mother that carried the satisfaction of women who had been proven right, and Elinor excused herself before the conversation could sharpen further.
In her room, she sat on the edge of her bed and pressed her palms to her knees. The celestial atlas lay on her nightstand where she had kept it since the night he gave it to her, and she could not look at it without feeling the ghost of his mouth on hers in that jasmine-covered alcove, the rough whisper ofyou are mine,and the way he had held her afterward as though she were something precious he was already preparing to set down.
You allowed this to happen,she told herself.You knew the arrangement, and you let yourself feel beyond it, and now you are sitting in your room wondering why a man who told you to stop pretending has done precisely that himself.
“He has not been here, my dear,” Mrs. Neal said it with the gentle care of a woman who understood that the question contained more than its words.
Elinor stood in the corridor of Lyra House, the new name painted above the front door in letters she had traced with her fingertips on her way in, and the children gathered around her legs as they always did.
“Not once?” Elinor asked.
Mrs. Neal shook her head. “Not for the past week. The foreman says the renovation orders are still coming through, payments made on schedule, but His Grace has not visited in person.”
Elinor nodded. She bent down to greet Toby, who threw his arms around her neck, and she held him tighter than usual because she needed something solid to anchor herself to.
She taught her lesson that night with the same care she always did, but the empty space where Lucien had sat cross-legged among the children gaped like a missing tooth, and more than once she caught her gaze drifting to the doorframe where he had leaned, watching her with those unguarded eyes.
He was not there. He had chosen not to be, and Elinor did not know what that meant, only that it hurt in a way she had not given him permission to cause.
“You will attend tonight, and you will smile, and you will not embarrass this family further.”
Her stepmother’s instructions were delivered in the carriage on the way to Lord and Lady Whitmore’s ball, two days later. Elinor had tried to claim a headache, but Belinda had sweetly informed her mother that Elinor seemed perfectly well that afternoon, so the excuse dissolved before it could take shape.
The ballroom was bright and loud and full of people Elinor did not wish to see. She positioned herself near the wall, old habits offering their familiar comfort, and scanned the room without admitting to herself what she was looking for.
She found it.
Lucien stood at the entrance of the ballroom with a young woman on his arm.
The floor tilted beneath Elinor’s feet. The woman was striking: dark-haired, bright-eyed, younger than Elinor, and she held Lucien’s arm with the comfortable ease of someone who had touched him many times before. The ballroom whispered as one, a collective intake of breath that Elinor felt press against her chest like a physical weight.
“Oh, Elinor.” Belinda materialized beside her, her voice dripping with a sympathy so false it gleamed. “How mortifying for you. I did say he would come to his senses.”
Her stepmother gripped her elbow. “You will pay for this embarrassment, Elinor. I do not know what you have done, but you will pay.”
Elinor could not speak. Her throat had closed, and her vision blurred at the edges, and she was seventeen again, standing at the side of a ballroom where nobody looked at her, invisible and unwanted and foolish for having believed otherwise.
Then Lucien’s gaze found hers across the room, and he walked toward her. The young woman kept pace at his side, and as they drew closer, the woman’s face broke into a smile so wide and genuine that it stopped Elinor’s spiraling thoughts.
“You must be Lady Elinor!” The woman released Lucien’s arm, closed the remaining distance, and embraced Elinor with the unselfconscious warmth of someone who had decided to love her before they had ever met. “I am so glad to finally meet you. I have been desperate to, ever since I received my brother’s letter.”
Brother.
The relief hit Elinor so hard her knees nearly buckled.
“Lady Elinor,” Lucien said, and his voice was careful, measured, the voice of a man who knew he had caused damage and was choosing his words accordingly. “Allow me to introduce Lady Annabelle Stanton, my sister. She has been traveling abroad with our aunt, and the news of our engagement was delayed. She returned as soon as she heard.”
He took Elinor’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “My betrothed,” he added, and the word was aimed as much at Belinda and her stepmother as it was at Elinor.
Belinda’s expression curdled. Behind her, Gilbert had already straightened his cravat and was making his way toward Annabelle with the stride of a man who believed his attention was irresistible.
“Lady Annabelle.” He bowed with an exaggerated flourish. “I am Baron Henleigh. I must say, you are a vision this evening. I am one of the finest horsemen in the county, and I have recently acquired a rather impressive collection of?—”
“How lovely,” Annabelle interrupted, her smile fixed and polite, her eyes already sliding back to Elinor. “Will you excuse me? I have been waiting weeks to speak with my future sister-in-law.”
Gilbert’s mouth hung open for a full second before he collected himself and retreated, tugging at his cravat as though it had tightened of its own accord. Elinor bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.
“He smiles differently when he speaks of you.”