“Elegant,” Eleanor murmured, tapping the page with her pencil. “Almost insoluble.”
Graham met her eyes. “But not for us.”
“No,” she agreed. “Not for us.”
Colin had nearly left, one hand on the latch, when he paused as if recalling a final detail.
“One practical note,” he said lightly. “The Home Office prefers its scandals contained. A quiet marriage does wonders for containing a great many things.”
Graham’s gaze narrowed. “Are you suggesting?—”
“I am suggesting,” Colin interrupted pleasantly, “that if you mean to marry her, do it swiftly, do it discreetly, and do it somewhere the ton cannot make into theater. St. George’s. Hanover Square. Morning. A handful of witnesses. Lady Ainsworth has already offered her support.”
Eleanor’s pulse gave a small, startling jump.
Graham looked at her, and the question in his eyes was not strategy this time.
Choice.
Eleanor lifted her chin. “Yes,” she said simply.
Colin’s smile turned smug. “Excellent. I will secure the special license and arrange for the ceremony.”
When the door shut behind him, the mews house went quiet again.
Graham stepped closer, careful as if the moment might fracture. “Are you certain?”
Eleanor’s smile was small and sharp. “I choose the risk.”
Chapter 15
St. George’s, Hanover Square, was never truly quiet. Even on a morning chosen for discretion, the church held the rustle of silk, the echo of carriage wheels, and the low murmur of prayers—half devotion, half performance.
Eleanor stood in the anteroom off the nave with her gloves folded in her hands. Her gown was ivory muslin, high-waisted, sleeves to her wrists, unadorned save for a narrow band of embroidery at the hem. Forget-me-not blue. Not as a threat, but a claim.
Lady Ainsworth, an old friend of her late father’s and one of the few women whose sympathy did not arrive with a lecture, fastened the last pin at Eleanor’s hair.
“You may still change your mind,” Lady Ainsworth murmured.
“Nonsense,” Mother said, waving a dismissive hand.
Eleanor met her own gaze in the mirror. Clear. Unflinching.
“I already did,” she said. “From fear to choice.”
Lady Ainsworth’s mouth softened. “Then you are braver than most of the men who will call themselves brave.”
Eleanor’s lips curved. “I have had practice.”
“Indeed.” Mother drew closer, adjusting a curl near Eleanor’s temple. “From your father as well as your recent…escapades.”
The door opened before Eleanor could speak.
Lord Highwood, stepped in with all of his normal ease, his expression composed, until his gaze landed on Eleanor. The corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. “Well,” he said, as though discussing a chess move. “Rathbourne has done the impossible. He has convinced you to appear by choice.”
“One could say the same of you,” Eleanor returned.
Colin’s smile flickered. “Touché.”
