Page 39 of A Friendship In Ruins
“I would never,” Eleanor said, though satisfaction colored every syllable.
They watched in companionable silence as Caroline and Julien resumed their walk, closer now, their conversation low and private.
“You realize,” Adrian said after a moment, “that he means to secure her hand and will not return to London until he has done so.”
Eleanor’s smile deepened. “Then we must ensure he has every possible advantage.”
He took her hand, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles. “You are formidable when matchmaking.”
“I had an excellent teacher,” she replied.
Below, Caroline laughed again — unguarded this time — and Julien’s answering smile was slow and unmistakably tender but also triumphant.
Eleanor leaned lightly against her husband, contentment settling deep within her.
Summer stretched before them, full of possibility.
And in the garden below, two people who had circled one another for far too long were, at last, drawing nearer. Hovering on the cusp of romance with only the promise of happiness stretching out before them.
On the terrace, Adrian smiled. He’d let Eleanor take the credit all she wished, but he knew that Julien’s mind had been made up long ago. And if there was one irrefutable truth about Julien Harcourt, the man always got what he wanted. Even when he had to wait for it.
