The relief hit Elinor so hard her eyes burned. She crossed the distance between them and pulled Joanna into a fierce embrace, her arms wrapping tight around her stepsister’s narrow shoulders. She felt Joanna stiffen for just a moment before she relaxed into it, her own arms pressing firmly between Elinor’s shoulder blades.
“Thank you,” Elinor breathed against her hair. “Joanna, thank you. I don’t deserve?—”
“You are the only person in this house who has been kind to me without wanting something in return.” Joanna’s voice was small and certain. “Whatever you are doing, wherever you go when you leave at night, I trust that it matters to you. And that is enough for me.”
They stood like that for a long moment, two young women holding each other in a dark corridor in a house that had never felt like home to either of them. Then Joanna pulled back, squeezed Elinor’s hand once, and disappeared down the corridor to her room without another word.
Elinor slipped into her own chamber. Newton raised his head from the pillow, blinked once, and settled back down. She undressed in the dark, hung her cloak, placed her muddied shoes behind the wardrobe, and climbed into bed.
Sleep did not come for a long time. But when it did, her hand rested on the celestial atlas, and Lucien’s voice followed her into her dreams.
You are the only person I have wanted to pay it for.
“What a magnificent creature. Does he always purr this loudly?”
Annabelle sat on the settee in Morland House’s parlor with Newton draped across her lap, his eyes half-closed in satisfaction, his paws kneading into the silk of her skirt with slow, rhythmic purpose. His purring filled the room with a low, contented rumble that could be heard from the doorway.
“Only when he approves of someone,” Elinor said, settling beside her. “He hissed at my stepbrother for a full minute when Gilbert arrived.”
“Intelligent animal,” Annabelle murmured, scratching beneath Newton’s chin. He stretched his neck and purred louder, his body vibrating with it. “I have always wanted a cat, but Lucien insists they shed too much on his tailcoats. As though his tailor cannot handle a bit of fur.”
“Newton sheds on everything,” Elinor admitted. “My stepmother considers him a menace. But he is mine, and he stays.”
“Good.” Annabelle’s chin lifted with an approval that reminded Elinor sharply of her brother. “A woman should keep what is hers.”
The dinner party had been her stepmother’s idea, extended with the sweetness her stepmother reserved for occasions that served her own ambitions. An intimate evening at Morland House, she had declared, to welcome Lady Annabelle to the family. The invitation had gone to Lucien and his sister. Dominic, who might have provided a welcome buffer, was occupied with estate matters in the country and had sent his regrets.
The result was Elinor’s two worlds pressed into one room, and the friction was constant.
Rebecca presided at the table with practiced ease, directing the conversation toward Lucien with questions about the duchy and the rest of the Season. Her voice held its usual warm deference, the performance of a woman who knew a duke in the family reflected well on her. But beneath the table, when Elinor reached for her glass, her stepmother’s shoe pressed sharply against her ankle. Sit straighter. Speak less. Do not embarrass me.
Across from Annabelle, Belinda spent the first course recounting her accomplishments, her singing, her embroidery, the musicale where three lords had praised her performance. Annabellelistened with polished patience, the expression of a woman well practiced in attending to what did not interest her.
“How lovely,” Annabelle said after a long account of Belinda’s watercolor studies. Then she turned to Elinor. “Lucien tells me you have been visiting the children at Lyra House. I should love to hear about them.”
Belinda’s smile thinned to a blade. Elinor felt Rebecca’s gaze sharpen from across the table. She chose her words with care.
“I have not had the pleasure of visiting yet, I am afraid.” She kept her voice light. “But His Grace has told me a great deal about the renovations, and I confess I am eager to see them for myself. The work he has done for those children is remarkable.”
She glanced at Lucien, willing him to follow her lead.
“Lady Elinor has expressed an interest in the children’s education,” Lucien said, picking up the thread without missing a beat. “I have promised to arrange a visit. With a proper escort, of course.”
“How charitable,” Rebecca said, her tone warming to the word the way it always did when charity could be displayed rather than practiced.
Annabelle caught Elinor’s eye across the table, and something in her expression suggested she understood a boundary had been drawn, even if she did not yet know why.
“Your Grace,” Belinda interjected, leaning toward Lucien with a smile that carried too much warmth for a man engaged to her stepsister. “I have been practicing a new piece on the pianoforte. Perhaps after dinner, I could perform for you. Music is best appreciated in an intimate setting, do you not agree?”
Lucien’s expression remained pleasant, betraying nothing. “I am sure it would be delightful, Lady Belinda, though I confess my ear for music is not what it ought to be.” He turned to Elinor, and his voice shifted into something warmer and less rehearsed. “You were telling Annabelle about the new star charts. I should like to hear more about that.”
The pivot was so smooth that Belinda could not object without appearing petulant. Her fork clinked against her plate with more force than the pheasant required.
Elinor spoke about the charts, and she gestured to illustrate a constellation’s shape.
“And if you follow the line from Vega down to Sheliak,” Elinor said, tracing the shape in the air, “you can see why the ancients imagined a lyre. The strings run between the two lower stars.”
Her hand passed near his on the table. His smallest finger shifted, grazing hers. The contact lasted less than a second. It sent heat up her wrist and into her chest, and she lost her place mid-sentence.