But what he saw was not her face, but that of a man, one he had seen before but couldn’t place.How could her amazing eyes be here?
On the last vestige of consciousness, his mind grasped one detail. Eleanor’s eyes were no longer flowing mercury, warm, welcoming, and overflowing with affection.
The grey irises were cold as steel.
Please let my mother remember me today.
Ellie repeated the phrase every morning as she sat down to breakfast, the words changing from a plea towards a higher authority to a mantra. A superstition she knew held no power, but nevertheless, she feared that as soon as she stopped thinking the words, her mother’s mind would disappear entirely.
“Good morning, Mama,” Ellie said as she slid into the seat beside her mother, as she had every morning for the first twenty years of her life. Morning light shone into the bright breakfast room through tall mullioned windows, blanketing the furniture upholstered in sunny shades of butter yellow and soft lavenders with a warm glow. Ellie loved this room for its ease, memories of reading and sharing tea, painting watercolors and playing dolls by her mother’s side. Just stepping into the space sent her back to her childhood.
She had spent her nights in London staring at the ceiling in her bedroom, the slight dips and imperfections in the paint exactly as she remembered them. While they did nothing to comfort her, she did not cry. Her soul had numbed, frozen, as though her body had reached the limit of pain she could feel and simply… stopped.
Her mother looked up, stacking each vertebra like a hermetic creature unfurling itself, then fixed Ellie with a slow smile, her face creased with far more wrinkles than a woman her age should wear. Lady Warwick’s youth had escaped with her memories, aging her into an old woman before she left her fifth decade, the sheer effort of holding her mind together robbing her of her future and her past. “Good morning, my dear. Is Victor awake yet?”
“No, Mama,” Ellie said, fixing herself a cup of tea. She had seen her brother’s trunks in his room when she passed by in a fog the previous night, her mind absorbing the information without processing it until that moment. Victor came to London a few times a year, met with her father to ascertain the wellbeing of his mother and sister, then fled back to the continent and the safety of his writing. He also frequented one of the many clubs in which he held memberships and therefore was unlikely to rise before dawn.
Her mother tsked and shook her head. “His tutor will be so cross with him. He won’t survive at Eton if he hasn’t mastered the Greek alphabet.”
Ellie pursed her lips. Victor was on the cusp of earning a teaching position at the Sorbonne and was fluent in six languages. “He was practicing with me the other day, Mama. He’s mastered it quite well.”
Her mother’s mind always returned to when she and her brother were small. When Ellie made a mess with Cook in the kitchen before Victor left for school. When her father still doted on their family. Ellie rationalized that not correcting her, allowing her to relive the time of her life when she was happiest and most fulfilled, was an act of kindness, even if it left Ellie sick to her stomach.
“That’s good to hear.” The woman wrapped her trembling fingers around her tea cup and held them there, as though absorbing the heat. “Would you like to go shopping today, Eleanor?”
Ellie remembered sitting at the same table, grinning at her mother while they planned for her debut. Her mother had been so happy, and Ellie’s future held the promise of happiness and fulfillment. “No, Mama, I’m set for dresses for the season.”
“But you’re finally out of mourning, darling. It’s time to wear some color again.”
Sharp tears pinched the back of Ellie’s eyes. The moments when her mother was lucid were worse because they were so fleeting. If the woman lived entirely in the past, Ellie could mourn her properly and say goodbye to the woman who loved and supported her. Every time her mother stepped back into the present, Ellie had to grieve all over again, ripping the wound open without letting it scab.
“Mama,” she whispered, knowing she was pressing her luck, “did you want me to marry Ashby?”
Her mother released an indistinct sound akin to a growl. “I wanted you to be happy,” she said, her eyes glazing over. “I worried about you… without me or your brother to protect you. Your father, well…” Again, the low growl. “Ashby could give you a family. Protection. Everything I couldn’t.” She put down her teacup and took Ellie’s hand, squeezing it once. “Was he dreadful, darling?”
A sob escaped Ellie’s throat, tears escaping down her cheeks. “He was, Mama.”
Dipping her head, her mother sighed heavily. “If only the other boy had gotten to you first.”
Ellie blinked through her tears. “What other boy?”
“The nice-looking one, Penelope’s boy,” she said, her pale eyelashes fluttering.
“H-Henry?” Ellie gasped. “Lord Morley?”
She nodded, as though proud of her recollection. “Such a handsome one, and so kind to you. He took a shine to you right away, you know.”
The ache that had lodged in Ellie’s chest since the terrible fight on the boat grew stronger, making it hard to breathe. “No, Mama, we were just friends. He was never interested in me as anything more.”
“Oh darling,” her mother breathed. “I remember Penelope telling me all about it, how he couldn’t stop talking about you, and the letters he wrote to you. He tookhoursto write them.”
Ellie shook her head. What happened in the past had no bearing on the present. “Even if he had cared for me, he never asked for my hand. He never even asked me to dance.”
“He did ask for you, don’t you remember?” her mother said, lifting her cup to take a long, leisurely sip while Ellie’s insides did a riotous somersault.
“Mama, you’re mistaken. I would remember something like that.”
“You were distracted. It was your wedding day, after all. You should ask your father. He spoke with the boy.”
