Page 137 of Oddity of the Ton
“But surely, when you declared your heart, he ought to have—”
“I never declared my heart,” she said. “I wouldn’t—I mean, that’s a risk I’dnevertake.”
“I understand,” he said quietly. “The deepest love goes hand in hand with a fear of rejection that overcomes all hope. And you therefore take what is on offer, knowing that the pain of rejection if you admit—even to yourself—that you yearn for more would be too much to bear.”
She drew in a sharp breath at his words. How could he possess such insight, almost as if he’d crawled inside her mind? Such an ability to understand her—she’d only seen it in another…
But she could no longer think ofhim.
“So, you ran from him,” the reverend said.
She shook her head. “He and I parted as friends. We’re still friends, I believe.”
“You believe?”
She forced a smile. “I’m hardly likely to see him again. Doubtless he’ll live out his life with little thought for me, and I’d rather remove myself from his path. I shall always hold him in high regard, but I would rather never see him again than endure the prospect of being merely his friend.”
“Is that why you came here, changed your name, and removed yourself from London Society?”
Her stomach flipped at his words. “H-how did you know…”
“Your accent betrays you,” he said, smiling. “Having two sisters who are readying themselves for their first Seasons, I can tell when a young woman has been subjected to years of elocution lessons. But running from your problems is not the solution. And running from your family…” He hesitated. “Unless they cast you out—Sweet heaven, Eleanor, is that why you’re here?” He shook his head. “I despair of the world sometimes. A parent’s duty is to love their child no matter what. Perhaps if I wrote to your family on your behalf, they might relent. I’m ashamed to say it, but we live in a world where the word of a man of the cloth may be enough to effect a reconciliation.”
“I’m here by choice,” Eleanor said. “My father hasn’t forsaken me—he set me free. I have no wish to return to London.” She smiled at the memory of the last time she saw Papa—his strong, steady arms around her, the familiar smell of him, of cigars and spices, while he bade her farewell and a prosperous, happy, and independent life. “Most fathers would have thrown their daughters out after what happened. But Papa didn’t, not even when…”
“When what?”
“I promised myself I’d never speak of it again,” she said. “Harriet knows, of course, for I couldn’t bring her with me under false pretenses, but we agreed that neither of us would mention it. But I find myself compelled to speak of it, just once, so that you may judge me as I ought to be judged.”
His eyes widened, but he remained quiet, as if he waited for her to trust him.
As another had done, that beautiful night at Rosecombe when she had given her heart and body to the man she loved.
Perhaps itwaspossible to have a friendship with a man. Here—and now—was a man who offered that friendship.
“You can trust me with the truth, Eleanor,” he said, his voice catching at her name, “though I understand that your trust is not something I can ask of you. If you cannot trust me today, I shall be patient and wait until tomorrow—and all the tomorrows thereafter. Then, if you are still unable to trust me, I shall accept, with grace, my flaw in not being worthy.”
He leaned back, then retrieved his teacup and took a sip. “Perhaps you might like some fruitcake after all?”
“I lay with him,” she said quietly.
He said nothing, but when she looked up, his gaze was filled with understanding.
“And then I drew portraits—to remember him by…” Her cheeks warming, she looked away. “Intimateportraits.”
He remained silent for a while. “You mean like William Etty?”
Etty—where had she heard that name?
“Etty’s making something of a name for himself for depicting nudes,” he continued. “Causing something of a scandal, due to the accuracy of the color tones when depicting the—ahem—flesh. Or so my father tells me. He’s a patron of the Royal Academy.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks grew hotter until they almost burned.
“I take it you drew a ratherdetailednude of your lover.”
Shame needled at her.
“Iknewyou’d judge me,” she said. “Like all the others, when my sister—” She broke off and sighed. “They weren’t meant to be seen. They were a private treasure for me to keep, to remindme that, for a brief moment, someone found me desirable.” She rose. “I should go.”
