Her breath caught, just briefly. She let out a small, uneven exhale. Her voice trembled, though she did not stop.
"I had been foolish. That was the conclusion that everyone reached. I had imagined something that had never been offered, and I was left to accept that fault. I felt ridiculous, exposed in a way I had not expected. It felt as though everyone around me could see how misplaced my faith had been."
She turned further away, one hand lifting slightly as though to steady herself, though there was nothing there to take hold of.
"I thought he would choose me," she said, barely above a whisper now. "I thought that was what it meant, but he never had such intentions. No man ever would."
The silence that followed held, and this time, she could not hold herself together. Julian did not do anything immediately. He stood there, listening to the quiet sound of her breathing as she tried and failed to regain control of herself. Everything she had told him remained suspended between them, raw and stripped of the distance he wanted to be maintained.
"He was a fool," he said simply.
Eleanor did not turn back toward him. Her gaze remained fixed somewhere beyond the balcony, though it was clear she saw nothing at all. Julian stepped closer.
"He had no understanding of what was in front of him," he continued. "No understanding of you, and certainly no understanding of what it meant to lose it."
Eleanor drew in a small, uneven breath.
"It did not feel as though I offered anything, as far as he was concerned."
"Then he was even more witless than I had assumed."
A sound escaped her then, something between a breath and a broken laugh. Her hand rose briefly to wipe at her face, frustrated by her own tears that had suddenly started to fall.
"I should not be crying over this still," she said, her voice strained. "It is ridiculous."
"It is not ridiculous."
"It was so long ago."
"That changes nothing."
"It should!" she said. "It should be long behind me, and yet here I am, still speaking of it as though it matters."
"It matters because it hurt you. What he did to you was cruel, and what he allowed others to assume was worse. None of that reflects on you."
"You cannot possibly know that," she said, trying to straighten herself. "You did not stand there while everyone looked at you that way, nor endure being pitied. You did not have to hear people speak as though your greatest failing was simply caring too much."
Her voice trembled again at the last words. She did not want to care, not about the other gentleman nor the one standing before her.
"If he had possessed even a fraction of sense," he said, "he would have done everything in his power to keep you. And yet, I am grateful."
Eleanor looked at him then, truly looked at him, as though she had not expected that.
"He was a fool," he repeated. "And if he had not been, I would not be standing here with you now."
The air seemed to still around them. Eleanor’s eyes widened just enough to betray her and show that she had truly taken his words to heart.
"Do not tell yourself that you were foolish for hoping," he said. "Do not reduce yourself to the measure of someone too shortsighted to recognize what was before him. You are worth far more than whatever he led you to believe."
Eleanor swallowed hard, her voice almost gone.
"You should not say things like that."
"Why?"
"Because I might believe you."
"Then believe me."