He swore that he heard her mutter that he was not her father either, but it was quiet enough that he did not question it. He remained firm, but he knew not to cause too much dissonance when they were technically on their honeymoon. In spite of how their match had come to be, he did want it to work. It was in the best interest of everyone for that to be the case, after all.
"You have always viewed the world with a degree of optimism that I have not found particularly practical."
"I would not necessarily call it optimism. I would say it is an unwillingness to reduce everything to their function. Sometimes, things can simplybe, and there is nothing wrong with that."
Julian’s gaze shifted to her more directly.
"You place too much value on feelings," he said. "They are inconsistent. They cannot be relied upon."
"That does not make them unnecessary."
"It makes life impractical."
Eleanor stopped then, turning slightly to face him.
"And what you are describing," she said, "is not a life. It is a system, and one that you do not particularly seem to enjoy."
Julian met her gaze without stepping back. He hated how well she read him. He liked his life– any man with the faintest hint of sense would know that he lived a charmed life in which he was more fortunate than most, but did he enjoy it?
Some days he did, at least.
The disagreement settled between them. Neither of them moved to resolve it. Julian did not want to dignify such an accusation, but he had to. In one day, she had befriended his sister, brokendown her routine, and told him that he disliked the way that he was living. He would have been furious if she were not correct.
Perhaps, he considered, that was precisely what angered him so much. The path narrowed as they walked, the ground dipping slightly beneath the grass, uneven in places where the soil had shifted.
Eleanor stepped forward without noticing.
Her footing slipped just enough to break her balance. Julian reacted without thought. His hand caught her at the waist, steadying her before she could fully falter. The movement was immediate, precise, and entirely instinctive in the very way he did not want to act.
She stilled. So did he. For a moment, neither of them moved. His hand remained where it had landed, firm enough to hold her but not enough to restrain.
Close enough that the distance between them had disappeared without either of them intending it.
Eleanor’s breath caught, though only slightly. Julian was aware of it. He was also aware that he had not let go. The argument, sharp only seconds before, seemed to fade in an instant.
Eleanor lifted her eyes to his. There was no challenge in them now, no attempt to continue what had been said.
At last, Julian released her. Eleanor stepped back, settling at once, her composure returning as though it had never been interrupted.
"Thank you," she said.
He accepted it with a nod and nothing more, and then they resumed walking. The conversation did not return to its previous sharpness. The points that had been made remained unresolved, but there would be time to discuss such things.
Then again, Julian was not opposed to avoiding it to begin with. It would mean not having to confront her, and keeping his household peaceful, which was the sensible thing to do.
They walked a little further before Julian spoke again, the shift in subject deliberate. He had intended to tell her before, but he had not known how to say it.
"We are expected at dinner tomorrow evening," he said. "At a neighboring estate. The invitation was extended prior to… recent events."
Eleanor glanced at him.
"Tomorrow evening?"
"Yes."
There was a brief pause.
"Is that not rather soon?"