“You aren’t the one who owes that debt, Eleanor, no matter what Camden West might say, and I think you’re well aware of that.”
Eleanor’s mouth went tight. “There’s the other matter still.”
“Ah, yes. The other matter.” Charlotte leaned against the railing, her eyes on the garden again. “I doubt there will be any gossip, but if there is, it will die a quick death.”
“Indeed? I wish I could be as sanguine as you are.”
“Oh, you can be. Hadley has made me an offer, and I’ve accepted him.”
Eleanor drew in a long breath. She’d known it, even before Charlotte said it, in the same way she knew each time her sister looked into the garden, she saw Julian West.
Six weeks ago Eleanor would have been thrilled at this news, but now her heart sank. “Charlotte, are you . . . do you love him?”
Charlotte hesitated, then, “He’s a good man, a steady man, and I’ve no doubt he loves me.”
Eleanor squeezed her eyes closed. It wasn’t what she’d asked, yet it was an answer all the same.
“So you see,” Charlotte went on, “you no longer need to marry Camden West to save my reputation.”
Eleanor gripped the railing to steady herself.Of course.Charlotte’s marriage—to a Marquess, no less—would silence any wagging tongues, no matter what Cam or Julian West might say. Thetonwouldn’t dare insult the new Marchioness of Hadley, and after all, no one cared if Charlotte were ruined. They only cared if she were a scandal.
Charlotte’s voice came to her as if from a distance. “There’s no reason you can’t walk into the ballroom this minute and jilt Camden West. He hasn’t any power over you now. I expect you’ll want to do so right away, won’t you?”
Eleanor’s heart rushed into her throat. It was true. She could walk away from Cam tonight, this very moment, if she chose. She could forget him— forget the way his eyes turned as soft as spring leaves when he looked at her, forget the warm pressure of his mouth against the pulse at her wrist, the sound of her name on his lips.
Something shifted inside her then, shook loose, fell away. She turned to Charlotte, stricken.
“Shall we try again?” Charlotte asked. “Why have you accepted Camden West?”
Eleanor stared out into the dark garden. She tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. If she said it aloud, it would be real, and then, then . . .
But Charlotte read the truth in her face. “Marry him or don’t, Eleanor, but don’t lie to yourself.”
Eleanor had the oddest urge to cover her face with her hands, but it was too late. Her polite mask dissolved, exposing the raw skin beneath.
Charlotte touched her hand. “Not long ago you told me you would never marry without love. I believed you then, and I believe you still.”
Eleanor looked down at Charlotte’s hand, but it was Cam’s hand she saw, touching hers.
She’d taken his hand. That night at Lindenhurst, she’d taken his hand in hers and urged him to lie next to her, and it had been the simplest thing in the world. Then she’d panicked, and she’d been hateful to him. He’d been so tender, and she’d thrown it all back in his face, and now maybe he would never believe she cared for him, no matter what she said.
Behind them the first few notes of the waltz drifted through the French doors. “We’ve been gone too long.” Eleanor took Charlotte’s arm and turned back toward the ballroom. “Mother will wonder where—”
“Why did you tell me Julian West wasn’t involved in his cousin’s plan to trap you into marriage?” Charlotte pulled her arm from Eleanor’s grasp. “That day we went shopping, the day I bought you the rocking horse, you denied it, but all along you knew he was, didn’t you?”
Eleanor looked down at her hands to avoid her sister’s eyes. “I knew. That is, I suspected.”
“But instead of confiding in me, you misled me, to keep me out of it. You said Julian didn’t act as if he knew, and then you said he seemed taken with me.”
“Hedidseem taken with you.”
“Taken. Yes, you have no idea how right you are. The moment you suggested it, I seized on it, because I wanted it to be true. You’ve always been clever at that, Eleanor—at telling people what they want to hear.”
Eleanor stiffened.Clever. It sounded like an accusation. “I beg your pardon. I thought it better you didn’t know. I wasn’t sure what you’d do if you did, and I knew I could manage it—”
“On your own?” Charlotte’s laugh was short, hollow. “Yes, you always think so. You didn’t trust me, Eleanor. I suppose you think I can’t be trusted with anything more important than rocking horses.”
“But I do trust you, Charlotte!”
