Patience

Previously

…“Of course,” Julian said, his gaze lingering. “Perhaps our paths will cross again, Miss Ainsworth.” “Perhaps,” Eleanor echoed, a strange mix of apprehension and exhilaration coursing through her. As she walked away, the image of Julian Vance and his vibrant painting remained etched in her mind, a splash of colour against the muted canvas of her life. The gilded cage, for the first time, felt a little less secure, a little less absolute. And the prospect of Thursday tea with Mr. Cartwright, once a matter of dutiful obligation, now seemed utterly, irrevocably dull. A seed of rebellion, small but potent, had just been sown.