than smile and then duck away from the strange men who tried to speak to her now and again.
Maybe tottering around town on a random Wednesday was exactly the medicine she needed, come to think of it. Eleanor decided it was, and let the night wash over her.
It was coming on three in the morning when Vivi was finally ready to leave her pack of posh friends and their innumerable dramas. Eleanor was quite pleased with herself for contriving to keep her eyes open the whole of the night, even if she’d lapsed into a strange state where she couldn’t tell if she was actually asleep or not. It hadn’t seemed to make much of a difference.
Vivi was chattering, as much to herself as anyone else as far as Eleanor could tell, about summoning a taxi driver with her mobile and about which of her circle she’d rowed with over the course of the evening. And Eleanor let it all wash over her, too. Because yes, she thought she really was half-asleep. But also, none of this felt like life. None of it felt real.
London didn’t fit her anymore. The thought slid into her head and stayed there, taking up space. Growing with every breath. She had no idea what she was going do about that, because the only place she’d felt as if she’d fit, she’d lost. Yorkshire was as closed to her as if there was a wall around it and several armies keeping her out.
Stop, she ordered herself. Stop thinking about Hugo.
“I cannot imagine what you think you’re doing, Miss Andrews.”
Eleanor froze. Surely that voice was only in her head, the way it had been all week—but no. It was still going.
“Role models for proper young ladies, the wards of dukes, no less, cannot be carousing in the streets of London at this hour. Whatever would the tabloids say?”
That voice was straight from her dreams. It couldn’t be real. Eleanor didn’t react—but Vivi did. She froze solid next to her.
And Eleanor let herself believe what was right before her eyes, a car or two down from where she and Vivi had exited the club.
Hugo.
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