She didn’t know why. A reminder, perhaps. Or a token of affection.
No, surely not.
But a reminder of what? Eleanor thought about the servants, replaced so frequently. Could that all be because of this one resignation?
Her breath came too quickly as she flipped through the remainders of the letters. Several from the Earl of Greycliff, who signed himself asLukefrom the first until the last. The first letter detailed Greycliff’s intentions of leaving for the Indies for personal reasons that he never expressed. After that, he wrote further letters that Eleanor inferred Sebastian had never replied to. Eventually, after a period of years, the letters stopped, aside from one final one informing Sebastian that Luke intended to return to England.
No doubt Sebastian had not responded to that, either.
They had been young when Luke left, Eleanor saw, perhaps in their early twenties. Perhaps, even directly after they had graduated from Oxford together. She felt that blow deep in the pit of her stomach too. Understanding, on a fundamental level, what losing friendship in that manner might have done to a man who already felt so alone in the world.
No wonder he had chosen to spurn Luke now. No wonder.
Yet Luke had continued to write. And now, back in London, he continued to seek Sebastian out. Perhaps due to his own need for absolution, but Eleanor suspected it was more than that. Guilt, yes, but also genuine friendship. Friendship that Sebastian, so lost in his own lack of self-worth, could not see.
Eleanor hurt along with him. She knew how it felt to lose almost everything, the pain it brought with it, and the way that nothing could ease that hurt. But if he wanted to save himself from pain in the future, he would not achieve that by blocking out the only people who could bring him joy. His friends.Her.
The final pile of letters underneath were more notes. Slips of perfumed paper signed with anL. The perfume had almost entirely worn off now, but Eleanor could imagine that they had been once liberally scented. From the affectionate tone of the notes, agreeing to meet and expressing a wish that Sebastian would be at the same events, they had been lovers.
No, not lovers.Courting. Sebastian had been courting her. No doubt with the intent to marry. Eleanor swallowed the utterly irrational lump of jealousy in her throat. Sebastian hadn’t so much as known her then, and hehadasked her to marry him, even if his reasons still weren’t clear to her. He had shown no signs of being in love with another lady,
Except that Eleanor did not doubt hehadbeen—or at least if not in love, then certainly affectionate toward. In a way he was decidedly not with her.
Yet, for all that, nothing had come of it. After all, he had not married this mysterious woman.
Eleanor flicked through the notes, frowning when they stopped abruptly with no resolution to be seen. The last few felt somewhat colder in tone, but they still professed affection and agreed to their usual arrangements and meetings.
Eleanor sat back in her chair and tried to think. Although she had never engaged in her half-sisters’ gossip about Sebastian, she vaguely recalled someone mentioning something about a former beau of his.
Lady Lydia.
Eleanor’s stomach lurched. She knew Lady Lydia, as most young ladies did; she was nothing more or less than one of the most beautiful ladies to have ever graced theton. At three-and-twenty, she remained unmarried, but several people reported she had received no fewer than five offers of marriage.
Was Sebastian one of those number?
She disliked the thought and the surge of hurt that came with it. So what if Lady Lydia was reputedly one of theton’smost beautiful ladies, and she was not? Sebastian had marriedher.
Because she had not said no... Had Lady Lydia refused him? Or had she merely not come up to scratch?
Perhaps I should not presume, but I hope it’s the latter.
Regardless, he had kept the letters.
She tallied the loss Sebastian must have faced over the years. First the death of his parents, which he himself had discovered. Then his uncle, his butler—or perhaps valet?—and Luke. And then finally, Lady Lydia.
There was a chance, of course, that Sebastian had been the one to end things. After all, he had done his utmost to end things with Eleanor, as much as onecouldend things when they were already married. But somehow, given the affectionate tone of the notes, and the slight coolness toward the end, Eleanor doubted it.
How he must have suffered over the years. No wonder he feared letting anyone in now. Her nose stung at the thought, and she smoothed her fingers over the newspaper clippings. Still. She could do at least one thing for him: prove beyond all doubt that she wasn’t going anywhere. She would not be another person who abandoned him. Even if it took years for him to trust her, she would give them to him. After all, they had the rest of their lives together.
But she wouldn’t let him know that she had rifled through his personal things. Already, she felt as though it was too much of an imposition.
Presently, there was at least one thing she could do. She brought out Lady Lydia’s directions and a fresh sheet of paper, then began to write.
Sebastian came back from London in a bad mood, made worse by his wife greeting him in the entryway and informing him that she required him to accompany her on an outing she had arranged.
“After all, you are my husband,” she said, entirely unnecessarily. “And perhaps husbands do not accompany their wives everywhere, but they do at least accompany them sometimes. And we should go for a walk this afternoon while the weather holds. You declared yesterday you intended to meet with your tenants.” She looked up at him with smiling lips and clear eyes, and Sebastian felt his frown slipping. What he ought to do, he knew, was tell her that she was going nowhere with him, and that he would not accompany her anywhere.
But he had lost his appetite for pushing her away. The entire endeavor seemed futile, and he had given in so often in order to please her. Despite his every attempt, his days were ruled by thoughts of her happiness.
