“Ask yourself this, then,” Lady C tried.“Do you truly wish to remain only friends with Benedict?If you do, he will eventually marry someone else.Do you wish that?”
No.It screamed through her brain, and yet… “I cannot, Lady C,” she said.“It is…It was…”
Comprehension dawned on Lady C’s face, followed by compassion.“Oh, you poor girl.What have you been thinking all this time?”
It filled her, the fear, so much it felt as if she could not contain it.She had never told anyone of it, not like she had Benedict, not like Lady C had surmised, and it had festered, becoming so big inside her.She’d always pushed it away, had tried to ignore it, and it had worked for a time.For a long time.Now, though, with Lady C before her, empathy in her eyes, she could ignore it no longer.
“Eleanor, you have a choice, and only you can make it,” Lady C said gently.“If I can impress on you one thing, it is this: Do not let fear keep you from the person you love.Do not let fear keep you from trusting Benedict.From trusting yourself.”
Fearwaskeeping her from Benedict.Irrational, bone-deep terror that she would again be as she was as a child, hiding from the screaming and the sound of glass breaking.The sound of her mother shattering, the pound of her father’s boots as he stormed from the estate.Only this time, she would not be able to flee to her treehouse and pull her knees to her chest, making herself a ball as she rocked back and forth.Benedict would not climb the tree, settling beside her and saying nothing, watching the stars with her as the screaming in her head lessened and then disappeared.But that was not true, was it?Benedict always comforted her.Benedict was always at her side.
Benedict would never do to her what her father had done to her mother.
She and Benedict had argued—of course they had—but it had never been a fight.It had never turned bitter, or violent, and they listened and respected each other and they would neverfight.Benedict was not her father.She was not her mother.If they wed, their marriage would not be as theirs.
Oh God.What had she done?
Panic spiralled through her, her heart a frenzied beat.She had to tell him.She couldn’t let another moment pass without telling him she…she…
The ballroom snapped into focus.There were people around them, so many people.Frantically, she searched for him in the crowd, but she couldn’t see him.She couldn’t— Wherewashe?
“Eleanor?”
Her gaze jerked around.Lady C.Lady C still stood beside her, her brow furrowed.“Where is Benedict?Can you see him?”
“No, I— Eleanor, you must calm.”
“Lady C, I cannot find him.What if he’s gone?What if I have ruined everything?What if I have broken it so completely.I—”
“Eleanor.”Lady C took her hands.“Eleanor, focus on me.You must calm, my dearest one.Calm.Breathe with me.”
She did so, taking a breath when Lady C did, her gaze locked on hers.Slowly, the panic lessened.
“You have broken nothing,” Lady C said softly.“Benedict will listen.”
Agony ripped through her.“But he is so angry with me—”
“He will not be when you tell him what you have to say.”The corner of Lady C’s mouth tilted up.“Unless I am wrong about what you mean to tell him?”
Mutely, Eleanor shook her head.
“Then I would wager he will be delighted when you find him.I cannot think all is lost.Not between you and him.”
Hope began a beat in Eleanor’s chest.She glanced at the crowd.“Lady C, I—”
“Of course, dearest one.”Lady C squeezed her hands.“Go find him.”
Buoyed, Eleanor gave her a quick smile before rushing into the throng, however he was not with Amanda, or dancing with a friend of hers on the floor.He was not in the refreshment rooms, or the gardens, or in the card room.He was not conversing with Viscount Daughtry or his other friends, or socialising with his brothers.
Stopping in the middle of the ballroom, disappointment and desperation crashed over her.
He had disappeared.
Chapter Twenty Four
ThestreetbelowCaraneyHouse’s parlour window bustled, the bright sun bouncing off the tall hats and parasols of the passersby.From here, Eleanor could see the approach to Caraney House in either direction, though the crowded pavement made it so it was difficult to discern one body from another.
Pulling her watch from her pocket, she checked it for the hundredth time.Benedict was not late.There was still four minutes until he could be considered such, fifteen minutes after the time she’d given to meet her.He had responded to her message, had said he would be here, so she knew he would come.It was only she’d been here for almost an hour now, nerves forcing her from her home and to Caraney House well before she should have come.She still had her key and she’d let herself in, and as she’d made her way through the silent halls, memories had flooded her.The first night they’d came, his hand strong and reassuring in hers.The time they had played vingt-et-un where each time they’d lost a hand, they’d removed an article of clothing.Lying together tangled in the bedsheets he had confessed he’d learned to make, tracing the pattern the sunlight dappled on his skin, his fingers playing with her hair.
