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; thathewould 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 seemedintent 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 wouldmatter.
“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.”