“Thank you.”
“You do not need to thank me,” she said. “Only promise me one thing.”
“What is that?”
Anne met her gaze directly.
“Do not convince yourself that this is what you wanted all along,” she said. “It is easier to leave when you believe that, but it is rarely true.”
“I will remember that,” she said.
And though she did not say it aloud, she knew that remembering it would not change what she had already decided to do.
Anne did not leave her long in quiet reflection.
The following afternoon, the sound of movement in the hall signaled new arrivals, and Eleanor barely had time to gather her thoughts before the door opened again. Two familiar voices carried in ahead, light with curiosity, the kind that came from concern rather than idle interest.
“Anne would not tell us anything,” Clara said as they saw her. “Which means it must be something worth knowing.”
“And which means you must be prepared to tell us everything at once,” Beatrice added, though her tone softened the moment she took in Eleanor more carefully.
Anne rose from her seat, entirely unapologetic.
“I asked them to come,” she said. “You may object if you wish, but I thought it better that you did not sit here alone with your thoughts.”
Eleanor looked between them, surprised but not displeased, and after a moment she smiled and nodded.
“I do not object,” she said. “I would be inclined to say that this is precisely what I need.”
“She is leaving the estate,” Anne announced, sparing Eleanor the need to begin.
Both women reacted at once, their surprise immediate.
“Leaving,” one repeated. “So suddenly.”
“For London,” Anne added. “Potentially.”
“Then something has happened,” the other said, her gaze returning to Eleanor. “You were not speaking of returning in your correspondence.”
Eleanor folded her hands together, her composure intact despite the weight of their attention.
“Something has changed,” she said. “Or perhaps it has only become clearer.”
“Which is rarely an improvement,” Clara remarked. “Will you tell us what has made it so clear?”
“Mr. Halford has come,” she said. “He has offered to repair what was damaged in London. He believes my name can be restored, my place regained, and I have no reason to doubt that he has the means to do so.”
The reaction was immediate, though not entirely aligned. One of them leaned forward, her eyes filled with interest, while the other drew back slightly, her disapproval more difficult to conceal.
“You cannot be serious,” Beatrice said. “You cannot trust him again after what he did.”
“I do not trust him,” Eleanor replied. “That is not what is required.”
“And yet you would accept his help.”
“I would accept the outcome,” Eleanor said calmly. “He is merely the means by which it is achieved.”
The distinction did not entirely satisfy them, though they understood it well enough.