Was that what she had done? Had she given up?
“If a gentleman happens along and I find myself hopelessly in love with him, I don’t say I won’t listen to his proposals, but sometimes I think. . .” Eleanor’s breath caught painfully in her chest. “I wonder if such a gentleman will ever appear.”
“He will, Eleanor.” Charlotte squeezed her arm. “He’ll be the last gentlemen you’d ever expect, and he’ll appear when you least expect it. You just need to be patient.”
Eleanor reached out to touch the horse’s nose again, but her hand was shaking, and she stuffed it hastily into her pocket before Charlotte could notice. “I suppose, but you can’t go on forever, can you? At some point, no matter how much you might wish otherwise . . .” She nodded at the rocking horse, “you come to a stop.”
“Ah, but if you do stop,” Charlotte said, with a mischievous smile, “All it takes is the right hand to set you in motion again.”
Eleanor forced a laugh. “And if the only hand on offer is Lord Ponsonby’s, or—”
“Someone like Camden West? I don’t wonder you’re skeptical of marriage if you believe he’s the best London has to offer.”
No. Someone like our father.
Hart Sutherland had ignored her. He’d ignored Charlotte. They hadn’t mattered at all to him, and yet as bad as that had been, she’d known from quite a young age she and Charlotte had the better end of the bargain.
Alec and Robyn . . . they’d had a special look fortheirfather, too, but it hadn’t been the look of smiling delight her nephew gave Alec. If baby Alec’s look was the sun itself, Alec’s and Robyn’s look for Hart Sutherland had been the deepest, darkest night.
And Camden West? Despite his reprehensible actions toward her, she didn’t sense cruelty in him, but he’d said himself she didn’t matter one way or the other to him. Why should she expect her children to matter to him, either? No. The best she could hope for from him was a father who ignored his children, as her own father had done.
It wasn’t good enough.
Charlotte lifted the pale blue rocking horse from the display and cradled it in her palm. “I’m going to buy this.”
“How nice. Our nephew will love it.”
Charlotte shook her head. “I’m sure he would, but it’s not for him. It’s for you.”
“Me?” Eleanor gave a startled laugh. “Whatever for?”
Charlotte tucked the horse against her bodice and marched up to the counter. “To remind you,” she tossed back at Eleanor over her shoulder.
“Remind me of what?”
“Not to give up.”
Chapter Eleven
“Denny!”
Cam was about to disappear into his study when Amelia came charging from the upper staircase onto the first floor landing.
“What is it, minx? Are you ready to show me your drawings?”
He’d gone into the schoolroom before breakfast this morning, as was his habit, to visit Amelia before she began her lessons. He’d found her huddled over a sheaf of drawing paper, hard at work with her pencil, but she’d sent him away without a peek.
Amelia raced down the remaining stairs and landed with a thump in the entryway. “I finished the drawings, and Miss Norwood says we might color them with pastels after luncheon.”
“Did she?” Cam smiled at Miss Norwood, who’d followed her charge down the stairs. The older woman had been Amelia’s governess for years, and she’d grown so fond of the child she’d readily agreed to come from Lindenhurst with her when Cam settled in London.
Miss Norwood gave Amelia an indulgent nod. “Oh, yes, indeed. Very fine drawings, Mr. West. I think you’ll be pleased at her progress with her pencils.”
“I’m sure I will be. Why don’t you have a walk, Miss Norwood, or some tea? I’ll sit with Amelia for a while.”
Amelia grasped Cam’s hand and tugged him toward his study. “In here, Denny. This is where you do all your important work.”
Cam allowed himself to be dragged to his desk. “Yes, and the study of art is important work. What have you to show me?” He seated himself behind the desk, pushed aside the papers to clear a space for the drawings, and held out his arms.
