“I am trying very hard not to be,” Eleanor said, failing entirely. “It is not working.”
Anne folded her arms. “You are horrible.”
“He went down on his knees in the rain!”
“Yes.”
“In thestorm.”
“Yes.”
“Outside your front door.”
“Yes, Eleanor. Not only that, but he also told me I was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and that he would rather spend the rest of his life terrified beside me than safe without me.”
Silence settled between them.
Eleanor slowly turned toward her, her expression full of vindication and smug satisfaction. “I told you so.”
Anne shot her a look. “Do you understand what an appalling character flaw that is?”
“Being correct?”
“No, but enjoying it this much.”
Eleanor let out another laugh, but then her expression softened as she reached over and squeezed Anne’s hand. “I am glad,” she said quietly. “Not because I enjoy being right, but because I hated watching you convince yourself that loving someone meant preparing for loss.”
Anne looked down at their joined hands. “I am still afraid.”
Eleanor’s grip tightened slightly. “Of course you are.”
“What if this happens again? What if fear wins again?”
“Then you face it together next time instead of apart,” Eleanor answered, her voice calm and certain.
Anne pondered that for several moments, letting the words settle somewhere deep and uncomfortable and strangely comforting all at once. Finally, she exhaled and glanced sideways at Eleanor.
“That was annoyingly wise.”
Eleanor smiled. “Another terrible flaw of mine.”
This time, Anne laughed properly, and the sound coaxed a softer smile from Eleanor.
It had been far too long since Anne laughed like that, and there was hope in her heart that it would happen more often now that everything was settled.
But the calm of the morning did not last.
She and Eleanor had only just returned inside when raised voices carried faintly from the front of the house, sharp enough to cut through the quiet. Both women came to a halt.
Eleanor frowned. “What is that?”
Before Anne could answer, hurried footsteps sounded in the corridor. A maid appeared in the doorway, visibly flustered.
“Your Grace,” she said breathlessly, looking directly at Anne, “there is a… lady here asking to see the Duke of Ashford. She arrived only moments ago.”
Anne felt something cold coil in her stomach. She already knew.
Eleanor seemed to realize it at the same moment, her expression hardening.
