Estelle
Atlas gave me plenty of time to think over his revelation by avoiding me the rest of the day. I knew he cared for me, but his confession had caused him to withdraw into himself. His haunted eyes and somber demeanor concerned me.
That evening, I retired to bed early as a favor to us both. Atlas would not have to worry about running into me, and I did not have to make excuses for not paying attention to Augusta. I was the one who was supposed to have confessed my secret, and I had not been prepared to have the tables turned on me. At least his secret was out, while mine was festering inside.
If only he hadn’t walked away in the garden.
I rolled over in bed and propped my book up against a pillow. I had been attempting to read for the last half hour, but I kept repeating the same four sentences.
A knock sounded on my door.
Augusta occasionally visited my room for a late-night chat. She had probably grown bored without me. “Come in.”
A maid entered, carrying a tray of food.
I sat up, surprised. “What is this?”
“I was told this was for you.” She set it on my bedside table.
My brow furrowed. Atop the wood tray lay two slices of bread with a spot of jam on each and a cup of steaming chocolate beside it. I reached over and lifted the napkin, revealing a slice of cheese.
Atlas had been behind this. Because the maid was watching, I tempered my reaction and bit back my smile.
“Is there anythin’ else you need, miss?”
I shook my head. “No, thank you. This is wonderful.” Atlas no doubt regretted his abruptness and did not want me to worry for him. How could I not? When you cared for someone, you wanted to help them through their struggles. If he thought this confession could change my heart, he was wrong. He was not the man he had described—or rather, he wasn’t that man any longer.
Picking up a toast, I took a large bite. It tasted lovely and reminded me of my time in the larder with Atlas. Without a note, I could only wonder what else he had been trying to tell me.
I imagined my own interpretation:This toast is to remind you of our kiss. I would like to repeat it at the soonest opportunity.I kicked my legs under my coverlet and silently squealed.
Once I finished eating, my stomach was full, and I was a great deal happier. My restless energy had diminished, and I could relax against my pillow. Still, my thoughts circled back to our conversation. He had been right. What he had done was deceitful and absolutely horrible. No wonder he had nightmares. But he was wrong about himself. People could change. I wasn’t the same Estelle I had been at Norwood Hall. Each experience shaped us, giving us an opportunity to grow. Atlas had chosen a better path, and I wanted to walk it beside him.
The next morning, I found the family had gathered for breakfast. This was not the most usual occurrence. Augusta had forgone her occasional morning ride, and Lady Camden had risen earlier than normal. Now weonly needed Atlas to join us. A thrill of anticipation ran down my arms. I could not wait to thank him for the bedtime tray.
I dished my plate at the sideboard and took a seat beside Augusta. Not two minutes later, Atlas entered the room. Jerking my head up, I waited for him to look at me and smile.
He did not.
Why? Why did he not so much as glance my way? I shoved bite after bite into my mouth to hide my disappointment.
A few minutes into the meal, Atlas cleared his throat. “I am leaving town again.”
Mid-swallow, I choked. I reached for my water, some of it sloshing out in my haste, and gulped rapidly.
Augusta slapped my back. “Dear me. Are you all right?”
“Yes, it was the scone. Such a delightful scone. I should not have inhaled it so quickly.”
Atlas finally met my gaze with a curious one of his own. I shoved another bite in my mouth—a glutton for punishment.
“How long will you be away?” Lady Camden asked.
He shrugged. “I am not entirely sure.”
I coughed. This time I could not blame the scone.
Atlas was running away. I knew it because I had done it myself. I poked at the remains of my breakfast, watching him out of the corner of my eye. When I first met him, I thought him solemn. Now I wondered if it was a mixture of self-loathing and too much time in his own head. The real him was more light-hearted and amiable, and I wished to see that side of him appear across the table from me now.
