Patience

Previously

…“Eleanor!” The sharp, imperious voice shattered the fragile intimacy. Lady Beatrice stood at the entrance to the studio, her face a mask of disapproval, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. Beside her stood Mr. Thomas Cartwright, his expression one of polite, bewildered curiosity. The contrast between the two men, Julian’s vibrant, paint-splattered smock and Mr. Cartwright’s impeccable tweed suit, was stark. The weight of expectation, heavy and suffocating, descended upon Eleanor once more. The choice, she knew with a chilling certainty, was no longer a distant possibility; it was here, demanding to be made.