Eleanor gave him a tepid smile. “I’m glad to see you are well.”
He tilted his head quizzically. “And why wouldn’t I be?”
A faint blush appeared high on her cheeks. “Last January, when I invited you to tea.” She averted her gaze. “You never wrote back.”
Guilt pierced Henry’s chest like a rusty blade. “I’m sorry, Lady Eleanor. I took ill and then needed to return to Oxford.”
Illness.He supposed he could characterize it as that. The doldrums seemed to arrive every January, washing over him like an inexorable icy tide, leaving him paralyzed. The night before he was due to visit Ellie, he could not sleep and buried himself in brandy to take the edge off. One bottle turned to two, and when he next saw the sun, it was nearly time for supper. He had been so humiliated he couldn’t bear to write and beg forgiveness.
She gave him a soft smile. “Well, your life is so interesting I can understand the oversight. Now, as a person of meager talents myself, I feel obligated to sit through the performance.” Eleanor turned towards the rows of chairs facing the stage. “Would you care to join me, or are you plotting your escape?”
“What about your sudden and completely unexpected apoplexy?” He had forgotten how soothing her voice was, low and smoky like a fire on a frosty night. His pulse calmed just hearing it.
Eleanor winced. “Unfortunately, my mother would be horrified if I were to slight our hostess. Nothing short of a sucking chest wound would preclude my attendance.”
The wordsuckingon her tongue sent a shock of heat through his veins, and he shook his head to quash it. He wouldn't sully her with his debauched thoughts. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you to suffer alone,” he said, offering his arm.
The pair found adjacent seats near the end of one row. Someone of a smaller stature must have designed the seating arrangement; while Eleanor fit into her seat, Henry’s lanky frame stretched beyond the spindly boundaries of the chair. He shifted like a child in church, twisting and crossing his legs in every direction. Eleanor watched him for a moment before standing.
“Exchange places with me,” she said, motioning to her chair on the aisle. “You’ll be far more comfortable.”
He stood and offered her a wry smile. “Are you certain? It would make your escape more challenging.”
She shrugged as she settled on his other side. “I seem to be a glutton for punishment.”
The first three-quarters of an hour were barely tolerable. Fortunately, Mathilda required frequent breaks, and a distant cousin who was somewhat proficient on the piano filled the gaps. The music was competent, but Henry’s legs itched to move. Unable to hold still any longer, he withdrew his drafting pencil. In the program’s margin, he drew a quick sketch of a face, its features twisted in a grimace.
Eleanor’s eyes dropped to the page. She pressed her mouth flat, the corners of her lips pulling into a smile.
Henry was inordinately pleased with her reaction. He added hands pulling out the poor face’s hair, then smoke coming out of its ears. When her eyes glittered with mirth, he added a violin with broken strings and a battered flute.
Eleanor’s eyes flitted over the page and he heard a snort of laughter escape before she brought her attention back to the musicians, her fingers pressed demurely to her lips. Henry nudged her on the elbow, then pushed the pencil and paper towards her.
You’re a nuisance,she wrote in the margin. Her handwriting was looping and elegant, the words as lovely as the finest calligraphy. He had admired it every time he received one of her letters, tracing his fingers over the script, memorizing each curl and curve. Despite his best efforts, his writing always appeared childish, as though he had dashed off the words without care, while the opposite was true.
She pushed the paper back towards him with a light in her eyes.
He took the pencil from her fingers and drew a figure shrugging his shoulders, then pushed the paper and pencil back in her direction.
You’d rather draw than write?
drawing is easyer
For you, perhaps.
draw somthing
Eleanor hesitated, then took the pencil. She drew a perfect oval, then drew a series of black dots over the back, before adding what appeared to be antennae and wings. She winced as she passed it back for his judgment.
Henry nodded appreciatively.
very nice Elinnor
Eleanor, she wrote beneath it, aligning each correct letter under the incorrect ones. After studying it closely for a moment, he set his jaw and swallowed hard, heat rising to his cheeks. He hated writing; the painstaking process only made him feel foolish. Tutors had called him simple, despite reading nearly every book in his family’s library and comprehending every word. Unable to put his ideas to paper, he remained a dullard to the world. Drawing allowed him to express himself without words, and therefore was one of the few skills he possessed that he had developed into somewhat of a talent.
Henry glanced up at her, expecting to read judgment over his face. The lazy nobleman, too busy bedding every light skirt in London to learn how to spell. But he saw nothing of the sort, only openness and warmth in her silver eyes.
My friends call me Ellie.
