Not in the way it was meant, of course, but in the simple fact that nothing between them had faltered. They moved through conversation without strain, without misstep, without the awkwardness that might have been expected from something arranged so quickly.
Eleanor set the thought aside before it could settle. That was not what this was.
"Lady Harrowby," Mr. Denham said, drawing her attention back, "you must tell me– do you ride?"
"I do," she replied.
"Then you will find the surrounding land quite suitable," he said. "Harrowby has some of the best stretches in the area."
"So I have been told."
"You simply must allow us to show you," Mrs. Denham added. "There is a path along the ridge that is particularly fine in the morning."
"That sounds most agreeable."
"Then we shall arrange it," she said decisively.
Julian glanced at Eleanor.
"If it suits you."
"It does."
"Then we will join you," he said.
Eleanor nodded at that. The conversation moved on again, shifting to local concerns and other smaller matters. It all required less attention, less precision. Julian remained as he had been throughout; attentive where necessary, unobtrusive where not. When a dish was passed, he ensured it reached her without interruption. When a question was directed her way, he allowed her space to answer, but did not leave her unsupported.
Eleanor responded in kind, her composure unbroken and her tone easy. There was no visible distance between them, no indication that anything was lacking. And yet she felt it.
It was not absence, exactly. It was something quieter than that. This was what she had wanted, precisely what she had asked for, and yet she could not bring herself to be pleased about it.
Mrs. Denham suddenly cleared her throat, looking directly at Eleanor with piercing blue eyes.
"You must find it a comfort to be so well considered."
Eleanor met her gaze.
"In what sense?"
"In every sense," she said lightly. "It is not often one receives such attention, after all."
Eleanor’s smile held. This was what she had been waiting for– a suggestion that she had conspired in order to trap her husband.
"I can see why you might think that," she replied, "but again, I am not half as interesting as the rumors might lead one to believe. I wish that they were true, in a way, for then there would at least be a reason for them to exist, but they are all baseless. I married my friend, and we are happy. That truly is all that there is to it."
At that, the matter was left entirely. Eleanor did not know if she had been believed, but if she had not been nobody said anything. She almost shuddered at the realization that she lied as easily as her husband did, but that did not matter. The illusion had heldperfectly, and for that reason, more than any other, she would not allow herself to question her match. It was what was best for her.
Even if she knew just how wrong it was.
CHAPTER 10
By the time they returned home, the house had settled into its usual quiet.
The carriage drew to a stop, and Julian stepped down first before turning to assist Eleanor, his movements as precise as they had been throughout the evening. Nothing in his manner suggested anything beyond habit and duty, and yet the evening remained present in his mind in a way he did not immediately set aside.
She had conducted herself well. That, in itself, was not surprising. What lingered was how easily it had all come together, how little adjustment had been required once they had entered the room. There had been no visible strain, no sense of something being constructed moment by moment. It had simply worked, and he found himself returning to that fact without entirely understanding why.
They entered the drawing room together, the fire already lit, the light low but steady. The house was quiet around them, absent of interruption, and for the first time since the dinner there wasno one else present to observe or interpret what passed between them.