Page 24 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
“Why did you not mention it?” Charlotte asked.
“Why would I?” the Duke countered. “I was not aware that you two knew one another until I met Lady Eleanor again. We connected the dots rather late.”
Not entirely a lie. He is rather clever.
“Why did you not write?” Charlotte’s glare narrowed on her. “Three years and not one letter. A simple note! Oneline, Eleanor. I would have settled for one line just to hear from you.”
“I know,” Eleanor said tightly, emotion clogging her throat.
She fought a wave of nausea as she recalled the heavy creak of her cell door, thethwackof Sister Martha’s cane, the bite of the stone floor beneath her knees.
“Please, please, may I write to my friend? She does not know where I am.”
A hand smacking her, over and over.
“Whores beg for forgiveness. They don’t write letters.”
Eleanor cleared her throat and gulped, as though to swallow down the memory.
“My family prevented me from contacting anyone in England,” she offered. “It was more for your benefit. So you were not touched by my scandal.”
It was the truth. The nuns had been under strict instructions to enforce that rule. Eleanor simply could not clarify.
“Charlotte… Heavens, Charlotte. I cannot tell you of the nights I lay awake, wishing I could reach out to you. I always hoped to tell you the truth. To speak of my scandal, the… the hardships ever since. The unfairness of it all. And how, despite it all, you have remained close in my thoughts.”
She let her tears fall then, meeting her friend’s eyes.
Please see everything I cannot tell you right now. Please forgive me for the past and please forgive me for deceiving you now.
At her words, Charlotte blanched. Something cracked in her hard facade.
“I would have written you a letter each day, had I been allowed,” Eleanor continued. Desperation made her voice waver as she reached across the table to take her friend’s hand. “I am sorry I was not there. I am sorry I did not get to see you through your debut as I promised. I am sorry I was sent away. I-I have missed you endlessly and thought of the day I would get to beg for your forgiveness. I am sorry, Charlotte.”
And then that angry mask shattered, falling apart as if an apology was all Charlotte had been waiting for.
She shot up from her chair, startling even her brother as she rushed to the other side of the table.
“Stand up and hug me, Eleanor,” she sniffed. “Do not deprive me of my friend’s closeness any longer.”
Before Eleanor could even move, Charlotte had pulled her up and thrown her arms around her.
“I never believed Belgrave,” Charlotte whispered fiercely into her shoulder. “Not for a moment. He was cruel for ruining you like that. Heartless.”
Eleanor froze. And then?—
She broke.
Not in the way the convent had taught her to fear, but in the kind that came with relief. A quiet collapse, the kind that came when the weight on one’s back finally slid to the ground.
She had not realized how much she needed to be held.
A simple hug. A simple touch from someone who had not forgotten her.
Who still saw her as Eleanor.
She sniffled and pulled back, laughing through her tears, and Charlotte did the same.
Wiping at her cheeks, Eleanor said softly, “You’ve no idea what that means to me.”
