Page 118 of Oddity of the Ton
“I see,” Eleanor said. “And doyouthink I’m a harlot?”
“Of course not!” Harriet replied. “I only heard that you’d drawn some very…revealingportraits of the duke.”
Eleanor shook her head. “What was Ithinking?”
“You mean what was Miss Juliette thinking, showing them to everyone? What was she doing in your private study?She’sthe one to blame.”
Eleanor sighed. “No, it’smyfault. I should have known someone might find the pictures. Oh, Harriet, what shall I do?”
“You must tell him, miss.”
“Who?” Eleanor asked.
“The duke. He’ll know what to do.”
For a moment, Eleanor envisaged Montague coming to her aid, sweeping her off her feet to sanctuary. Then another image darkened her mind—a marriage of necessity, followed by a lifetime of resentment and the loss of her freedom. Or worse…
A life as his mistress—tucked away in an obscure little corner of his estate in disgrace, to be vilified and looked down on by his mother, desperate for his visits when he remembered that she existed, and her children…
Her children banished like Olivia, to never fit in—too far above the villagers to be deemed one of them, yet too much of a disgrace to be included in the family.
No—a life of obscurity was better than that.
Anythingwas better than that.
“I cannot burden him with this,” she said. “Besides, he made it clear that we couldn’t be together.”
“Surely that’s changed now?”
“I don’t want his pity, Harriet,” Eleanor said, “or to be rescued out of obligation. I want to beme, Eleanor—not some disgraced creature forever under obligation to those who took pity on her. No—I must leave.”
“To go where?”
“I care not, but I must go tonight, and you must help me pack my things. I cannot face them after what’s happened—I cannot faceanyone. I’m on my own.”
Harriet placed a slim hand on Eleanor’s arm. “No, miss,” she said. “You’renotalone. You have me. If you must go, let me come with you.”
The maid reached inside the chest of drawers beside the door and began to pull out the contents, folding them and placing them on the bed.
Dear Harriet! Her steady, practical approach was just what Eleanor needed, together with an occupation to divert her attention from whatever must be going on in the drawing room right now. Taking comfort in the repetitive act of folding petticoats and stockings, she began to pack her trunk.
Before they finished, the door was knocked upon softly, and Eleanor froze.
“Daughter—I know you’re in there.”
The door opened, and her father entered the chamber.
“What has my girl been up to?” he asked.
“Papa, I’m sorry—I’d never have done those drawings had I known…”
He shook his head. “It’s not just the drawings,” he said, “but what they signify. Did you…”
He gestured to the space between them, as if unwilling to voice his fears.
Blinking back tears, she nodded slowly.
“I thought as much.”
