Page 100

Charlotte did not look as forgiving. “Nothing is as important as my daughters, Eleanor. I know I may play the role of the over-bearing mother who just wants to see her daughters married to important men, but just like the role you play in society, I am more than mine.”

Eleanor looked at her mother, confused as to where this was coming from all of a sudden.

“I know, Mama. You just wanted the best for us.” Eleanor looked down the aisle and saw Simon standing there next to one of the men she met at a ball earlier in the season. He looked calm, perhaps a bit nervous, but that was to be expected of the groom. “And it looks like your wish is coming true for me.”

Charlotte followed Eleanor’s gaze down the aisle and made a noncommittal noise. “Yes, well. Remember what I said to you—keep the faith and trust the process. I just know everything will work out in your favor.”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “That sounds very cryptic. Are you well?”

Charlotte’s eyes brightened, and a smile spread across her face. It was as if the curious conversation never happened. “All is well.You are getting married today! I just wish your father were alive to be here.”

Eleanor softened at the mention of her father. “Me, too.”

Charlotte kissed her daughter’s cheek and extended her arm. “Shall we?”

Eleanor assumed she’d walk down the aisle herself; it wasn’t necessarily a custom for fathers, or another male relation, to walk a woman towards her soon-to-be husband, but Eleanor was grateful for the support.

As her mother lead her down the aisle, both of Eleanor’s feet felt like leaden pipes that were being dragged. Her back began to ache with how straight she was walking. She shifted her shoulders, hoping to relieve some of the pain.

“What are you doing?” Charlotte whispered from the corner of mouth while smiling to the peerage she was passing in the pews.

“My back hurts,” Eleanor whispered back.

“Oh heavens, don’t tell me Mary tied your corset too tight. We can’t have you fainting like when you met the Duke.”

Eleanor forced the corners of her mouth to upturn. Truth was her corset was a little too tight. She probably should have said something when Mary tightened it, but her mind was elsewhere this morning.

Tiny beads of sweat began to form on her brow, and she itched to wiped them away. Her eyes landed on Simon, standing straight as an iron rod and patient as can be. He didn’t seem as nervous as he did before. He looked almost bored.

Eleanor began to chew her bottom lip. She didn’t feel very inspired to continue walking towards someone who looked like he’d rather be anywhere but waiting for his bride to reach him, so they could marry.

What would it be like to walk towards Derek standing there?

That simple thought took her mind to places she promised she’d never entertain again in her thoughts. Questions like what would he look like waking up after a long night’s rest, or how would he hold a child, or what does he look like when he’s fully relaxed and being himself flooded her consciousness. She had seen glimpses of the real Derek, but what would he be like if she were able to see him like that every day for the rest of her life?

Her mother nudged her. “If I knew Simon’s church’s aisle was this long, I would’ve worn different shoes.”

“We’re almost there, Mama.” Eleanor nodded to Caroline, who was beaming a bright smile back at her.

Eleanor refocused on Simon, reminding herself that thinking of another man while she was quite literally walking towards her soon-to-be husband was very likely the most despicable thing you could do. Especially when the man in question did not wantyou, and you felt as if you were beating a dead horse. The man all but said the words…

Eleanor’s feet stopped. Her mind raced to replay last night’s conversation.

“Eleanor?” Charlotte leaned in with a strained smile. “Eleanor, dear? Everything all right? Just a few more steps, and we’re at the altar. Look. There’s Simon?”

Eleanor looked at her mother and smiled. “Sorry, I, um, must’ve stepped on my dress.”

Eleanor forced her feet to move while her mind rewound the conversation from last night.

“That is not what I’m asking, I’m saying if you had a choice, would I be it?”

“Those questions will only lead to heartache, Eleanor. I’m not the man for you. I never will be.”

“Says who?”

“Me.”

No. That was not it. What else was said?