Modern Romance Collection: October 2017 5 - 8. Heidi Rice

a scarlet woman, fresh from a shocking affair with the most hated man in England.”

      “But it’s a Wednesday,” Eleanor said. Scandalized.

      “Ah, grasshopper,” Vivi replied mischievously. “I have so much to teach you.”

      And that was how Eleanor found herself out at one of those desperately chic clubs that Vivi spent so much of her time in. This one was so new it was considered a coup to get in, Vivi informed Eleanor as she got them waved past the line that snaked off down the block and around the corner. On a blustery Wednesday.

      Inside, it was a cavernous place, filled with too many dizzying lights and far too many people dressed sleek and sharp. Not exactly the sort of crowd Eleanor felt at home in. But Vivi had asked Eleanor to trust that she knew what she was doing, and Eleanor had agreed to do it.

      That was how she’d ended up in the ridiculous outfit her sister picked out for her, sourced more from Vivi’s closet than her own.

      “I told you it would fit,” Vivi had said with great satisfaction when she’d finished her handiwork back at the flat. “It’s quite Cinderella, isn’t it?”

      “If Cinderella was a bit of a tart.”

      Eleanor ran her hands over the slinky, stretchy dress that gave her curves absolutely nowhere to hide. For the seventeenth time, and it still accomplished nothing. She was still all breasts and hips. There was only one person alive who had ever made her feel beautiful—

      But there was no use thinking about Hugo. The sooner she accepted that, the better. He wouldn’t have wanted to deal with an overly sentimental virgin for long anyway. That was what Eleanor kept telling herself. No one liked clingy, especially in an employee. Vivi’s tabloid story had only hastened the inevitable.

      Strange how that failed to make her feel any better.

      “There’s nothing wrong with a tart,” Vivi had admonished her, then flashed one of her grins. “It’s all in the quality of the pastry, I promise you.”

      Eleanor didn’t know what that meant. Or, rather, she opted not to pick up on her sister’s innuendo. What she did know, within seconds of entering the club, was that she was most certainly too old for this scene. Perhaps not chronologically. But she had nothing in common with the blissed-out, gleaming creatures who danced madly and drank deeply and didn’t seem remotely aware of the fact that there was a world outside where people were already tucked up in their beds, ready for the next morning.

      And yet, as soon as she recognized that she wasn’t built to enjoy flinging back spirits and then leaping around the dance floor like Geraldine on too much sugar, she really rather enjoyed herself. It was too loud to worry about Hugo. It was too dark to worry about herself and what on earth she planned to do with her life. It was too noisy and too chaotic to do more 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.