Eleanor nodded once.
“The anger,” Anne said softly, “at everyone still laughing, still eating dinner, still speaking normally as though the world had not ended. I hated how ordinary everything looked. And afterward, everyone suddenly treated me differently.”
“How?”
“As though I had become fragile.” Anne looked away. “Or ruined somehow.”
Eleanor frowned immediately. “You were grieving.”
“I know,” Anne sighed. “But eventually, it became easier to stop wanting things and not to hope or to love too much.”
Because loving meant losing, and losing had nearly destroyed her once already.
Eleanor was quiet for a long moment before speaking. “And then Dorian happened.”
Anne let out a soft breath that sounded dangerously close to defeat. “Yes,” she mumbled.
“And he ruined your plan.”
Anne looked up helplessly at the sky for a moment. “Completely,” she said. “And now, I do not know what to do with myself.”
CHAPTER 21
The journey back to Ashford Hall took longer than Dorian would have preferred.
Every delay felt unnecessary, every conversation in town had stretched beyond its usefulness, and by the time the carriage finally turned through the estate gates late that afternoon, he found himself looking toward the house before they had even reached the drive.
Tristan noticed immediately.
“You could at least pretend you’re pleased to have spent some time away.”
“I am simply happy to be home.”
“I know. You looked at the front door before the horses stopped moving.”
Dorian ignored him. Unfortunately, that only seemed to amuse Tristan further.
The front doors opened before they reached the steps. Several servants emerged first, then Anne appeared behind them.
The sight of her elicited an immediate and deeply inconvenient sense of relief. She stood beneath the entrance archway in a simple blue day dress, one hand resting against the stone beside her as she looked down at the arriving carriage.
For a moment, she simply smiled. The expression transformed her face completely. Dorian found himself smiling back before he realized he was doing it.
“Well,” Tristan murmured beside him, “that answers my question.”
“What question?”
“I was wondering whether you would greet your wife before or after your first smile.”
Dorian stepped out of the carriage. “I hate you.”
“Frequently.”
Anne reached the bottom of the steps just as they approached.
“You survived,” she said.
“Barely.”
