Lily’s attention remained fixed on him, her questions not yet exhausted. They never were.
"Will she stay with us?"
"Yes."
"And she will not leave again?"
"No. Once we are married, she will be my wife, and she will live with us. She will be a sister to you, of sorts, I suppose."
"That is good," she said.
Julian smiled slightly, though he did not elaborate. Eleanor had made no mention of being a mother of any kind to Lily, and Julian was grateful for that. Too many young ladies saw the girl as someone in need of a mother and father, and Julian refused to let a single one think of herself as her mother. Their mother was already in existence, and she was coming back.
Eventually, she would be back.
Lily shifted slightly in her seat, her tone more curious now.
"Do you like her?"
The question was direct, unqualified. Julian did not answer immediately. He did not dislike her, but they had not had the simplest of times together. She was too bright for him, too alive even, and he did not know what to do with it all.
"She is suitable," he said at last.
She studied him for a moment, as though attempting to determine whether that answer satisfied her.
It did not.
"But you do like her?" she repeated.
Julian’s gaze returned briefly to the window before settling again.
"I suppose that I do. She is kind, and she is good with you, and from what I have heard she is rather talented with music and science."
Lily’s expression shifted at that, something brighter entering it.
"I like that about her. She could teach me to sing."
"I had the same thought."
"And she does not speak to me as though I am very small," Lily said. "Other people do that. It is tiresome."
"I am aware. You tell me often."
"And she listens," Lily added. "Even when I am not saying something important."
Julian leaned back, at least pleased with that. If Lily was happy, then so was he. Eleanor had made Lily like her, and if that was the case then Julian had to be the same, for his sister's happiness mattered to him far more than his own. Not only that, but he did not know a judge of character as good as that of Lily.
Lily’s observations, though simply expressed, aligned with what he had already noted. Eleanor did not require adjustment. She had entered the arrangement without expectation of alteration. There had been no attempt to negotiate its terms beyond what was necessary, no indication that she would later seek to reshape it into something else.
He did not doubt that she would fulfil her role, that she would maintain the order he required. And yet, despite that certainty, his attention returned once more to the moment in which the terms had been made explicit, to the absence of hesitation in her acceptance, even when he had stated, without qualification, what would not be offered. There had been no visible resistance, as though she had not considered his words at all.
But she told him that it had been understood. That was the only conclusion that mattered.
Beside him, Lily had grown quieter, her earlier questions giving way to a more settled anticipation. She looked out of the window now, her posture more relaxed, her attention drawn to the movement of the world beyond the carriage.
"We are nearly there," she said, her legs swinging.
The carriage slowed slightly as it approached the final turn in the road, the movement shifting just enough to signal arrival.