“So I have been told,” he replied.
Her mouth curved faintly.
They sat in companionable quiet for a moment, the fire snapping softly between them.
Then James spoke.
“You defended your sister today.”
Eleanor nodded. “You defended me today.”
He studied her profile and hummed a response before taking a sip from his glass. The silence stretched only momentarily. “Tell me about your family,” he said finally.
She hesitated, then drew a steadying breath.
“You know my father came into his title at a very young age. Raised by governess after governess until finally he kept his own house.”
“I see,” he said with due consideration. “And your mother?”
“My mother was not born to a title,” she said quietly. “She was a maid in my father’s household.”
James’s brows rose slightly.
“She was young,” Eleanor continued. “Very young. And kind. And clever. My father married her in a moment of sentiment and then seemed to resent her for the rest of her life.”
James leaned forward slightly. “Theton?”
“Yes,” she said. “She died of a fever. I was still small. Arabella barely remembers her. After that… we were no longer daughters. We were reminders.”
His jaw tightened.
“He kept us,” she added softly. “Which is more than he had to do. At least he did not send us away.”
James nodded once.
“Charlotte’s mother came later,” Eleanor continued. “She was everything my mother was not. She was fashionable, well connected, polished albeit less fortunate than he. Charlotte became his golden child. Her dowry was already spoken for.”
“And you?” James asked.
Eleanor gave a small, bitter smile. “Arabella and I are… acknowledged. But only just. The treatment started with Charlotte’s mother, and was never corrected by my father.”
James shifted closer.
“You are not illegitimate,” he said.
“No,” she replied. “But we were never fully claimed either.”
His hand lifted almost unconsciously, brushing the back of her fingers.
She inhaled sharply.
“You deserved better,” he said quietly.
Her gaze lifted to his.
They were very close now.
Too close.
