Eleanor’s chin was wobbling. She knew she was only moments away from ugly, noisy tears.
“Tell me that you accept this,” Charles pleaded, squeezing her hand weakly. “I only wanted what was best for you.”
Eleanor swallowed down all the outrage, the frustration, and the simmering feeling of betrayal.
“I know you do, Papa,” she managed at last. “I… I need a moment to collect myself, though. Excuse me.”
He nodded, letting her go.
Eleanor walked calmly out of the room, closing the door softly behind her. She walked down the hall, ignoring Louisa when she popped out of the parlour door. Down the stairs, bonnet on, out the door.
When Eleanor reached the street outside, she began to run.
People stared curiously after the strange young lady, racing down the street as if someone was after her. Some even peered back up the street, to see if she was being pursued by something.
Eleanor was aware of the notice she was attracting, but she didn’t care.
She skidded to halt in the marketplace just outside the Fairfax offices, nearly colliding with a dirty-looking man with patched coattails.
“Careful, missy,” the man leered, winking. “Care for an escort somewhere?”
She gave a gasp of disgust and dodged around him, racing across the street into the office building.
The foreman blinked as she hurried past.
“Oh, Miss Fairfax, I didn’t know you were coming in today. No one is in the office today, as far as I know. How is Mr. Fairfax? Any better? I heard he took a turn.”
She didn’t answer.
Eleanor stumbled up the stairs, lungs burning, and tumbled into her office. She didn’t even look at Charles’ office, the door firmly shut.
Her things were piled up everywhere – sketches, ledgers, future plans. Every one of them was a waste.
Eleanor slammed the door so hard the room echoed. She burst into noisy tears, crumbling to her knees.
All for nothing. All a waste. Why had she even bothered working so hard? Why had she tried to be taken seriously? Their clients had been laughing at her behind their hands this whole time, hadn’t they? They must have been. They would have known all along that Eleanor’s officioushelpingwould come to an end when Charles died. No wonder he’d been so keen to find a partner.
They’ve all been laughing at me,she thought wildly, hot tears running down her face.They knew they didn’t need to bother about me, because I was too stupid to see that I wasn’t necessary.
She tried, and failed, to conjure up some anger towards Lord Henry.
It didn’t work. After all, it wasn’t his fault. She kept remembering his wide, hurt eyes when she lashed out at him only hours ago, shouting at him to get out, to go away, to leave her alone.
And he’d gone, hadn’t he? She drove him away.
That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? You wanted him to leave you alone.
No matter how firmly she thought it, Eleanor couldn’t convince herself that she had wanted Lord Henry to leave her alone.
He’d gone, though, and she had nobody but herself to blame.
Eleanor stayed where she was for a few more minutes, or perhaps an hour. It was hard to tell. She sobbed until her stomachhurt and she felt drained, cheeks sticky and itching with drying salt tears.
When it seemed that all the tears had gone, she dragged herself up and staggered over to her desk.
It was covered with her most recent sketches – scenes and flowers that would look beautiful on a teacup. Her newest one was a watercolour, a red-and-white speckled mushroom sprouting up from the grass, a miniscule mouse peering around the stem.
She’d worked on it for hours. Charles had said it was pretty, very pretty, all the while knowing that it would never grace one of their tea sets. Never.
