As soon as her maid left, Eleanor clenched her hands in her lap. The last thing she wanted was to get involved with anyone connected to the novel's main plotline, especially someone as important as the Heroine's father.
Eleanor had no idea what kind of relationship the original Eleanor Gwendolyn had with Duke Emmeline-were they on friendly terms? Merely acquainted? Did he see her as an obstacle, given that she was Cecillia's childhood friend and, in the original plot, Cecillia's rival in love?
She wished she had clearer memories from the original Eleanor. Even though some fragments surfaced from time to time, they were always blurry and incomplete.
Her mind began to wander.
For the past week, Eleanor had been confined to her chamber, her world reduced to the wide space within these four ornate walls. The lingering headache and dizziness from her injury had kept her bedridden, and though the Marquess and Marchioness had ensured she lacked for nothing, Eleanor had quickly grown restless. She was not one to waste time. If she was to be trapped here, she would at least make use of it.
There had to be something useful about the real Eleanor, some piece of information not found in the novel. Whatever it was... Eleanor thought, caught between cautious optimism and reluctant acceptance. After all, the girl had been rather unremarkable.
With careful determination, she had begun sifting through the personal belongings of the real Eleanor Gwendolyn, searching for anything of value-anything that might reveal information not written in the novel.
It was a necessary step if she was going to pretend to be this person, she needed to understand her as much as possible.
She had found many things. Jewelry, letters from noble acquaintances, expensive perfumes, nothing too interesting at first. But then, purely by accident, she had stumbled upon a hidden drawer within the vanity table.
That was how she had discovered the hidden drawer.
Tucked behind the carved wooden panel of her vanity table, it had been almost imperceptible, a secret only its true owner could have known. Yet, Eleanor had found it, her fingers brushing against the faint groove in the wood before pressing just right.
Click.
The compartment slid open with a whisper, revealing a stack of old letters tied with a faded ribbon and a leather-bound diary, its edges worn from years of use.
Eleanor exhaled slowly, her pulse quickening.
This was personal.
Feeling a bit uneasy, Eleanor quietly apologized to the original Eleanor before reaching for the object inside.
She carefully untied the ribbon, unfolding the delicate letters written in a childish hand. Most were the ramblings of young girl scattered thoughts, silly frustrations, and innocent dreams. But it was the diary that captured her attention the most.
Flipping through the pages, Eleanor found herself deciphering messy scribbles, the kind only a child would write, where words tumbled over each other with unrestrained emotion.
It took some effort to comprehend at first, but the diary's owner was a Gwendolyn-sharp-minded and literate from an early age. So, Eleanor had no trouble reading it.
Eleanor had flipped through the pages with careful fingers, her pulse quickening as she realized what she had found.
This... This isn't in the novel.
The diary belonged to the original Eleanor. It documented small snippets of her life, her thoughts, her feelings, and moments she cherished or resented. Many pages were about her family, her childhood struggles, and even her longing to be seen as more than just 'the youngest daughter of the Gwendolyn household'.
But what truly caught Eleanor's attention were the entries about Cecillia Emmeline.
She traced the inked words with her fingertips.
<"Cecillia and I played in the garden today. She braided my hair and said it looked beautiful. I know she was just being nice, but I wanted to believe it. I hope we stay friends forever.">
<"Father says I must learn my place. He doesn't like that I'm so close to Cecillia. I don't understand. She is my friend. Why must rank matter?">
<"Cecillia is different now. I see her less often. I wonder if she has new friends. I wish she would write to me more.">
Eleanor frowned as she read through the entries.
The diary entries became increasingly messy and difficult to read as if the writer were caught in a state of emotional turmoil. Yet, Eleanor was able to sum them up with ease.
One particular entry stood out.
Little Eleanor had overheard a secret—one she was never meant to know. A secret about Cecillia.
The details were vague, as expected from a child's writing, but one thing was clear: the knowledge had made young Eleanor uncomfortable.
Every time she looked at Cecillia, she had felt a strange mix of emotions she didn't understand, and because she was naturally reserved, she never spoke about it.
Cecillia, who was particularly sensitive due to her mother's background, had noticed Eleanor's changed demeanor. Misinterpreting her silence as condescension, she had assumed that Eleanor was looking down on her, just like the other nobles did.
And so, their friendship began to fracture.
Eleanor, unable to express herself properly, had withdrawn further. The misunderstanding deepened, and by the time she realized what was happening, the distance between them had grown too wide.
In the diary, the young girl had resolved to leave for the academy earlier than planned, hoping that time away would help her understand her emotions. She had promised herself that once she returned, she would explain everything to Cecillia and apologize.
But that never happened.
Because by the time she came back, Cecillia had already taken everything from her.
Eleanor closed the diary, her expression unreadable.
A long silence stretched in the room before, unexpectedly, laughter bubbled up from her lips.
It was almost funny.
A part of her was pleased. This was information that hadn't been in the novel, meaning her efforts weren't wasted.
But at the same time…
Eleanor exhaled, setting the diary aside as a dull ache pulsed in her temple.
So even the real Eleanor had known 'that secret' about Cecillia, perhaps the very same secret that I had uncovered from the [World For Her].
And yet, despite everything, despite losing her intended twice, despite being humiliated and cast aside, she had never once considered using that knowledge against Cecillia. She had never tried to take revenge.
She had simply been a kind, introverted girl who didn't know how to express her emotions properly.
And that kind girl had been trampled on.
Eleanor sighed heavily, pressing a hand to her temple.
"Take it easy, Eleanor," she muttered to herself. "I don't know why you couldn't, but let me handle Cecillia for you."
Her lips curved into a slow, determined smile.
"Just watch from up there."
She carefully placed the diary back in the hidden drawer, tying the letters neatly as they were before.
Her thoughts resurfaced in the present when she heard footsteps approaching, followed by the creak of the dark oak door to her chamber opening.
Tina had returned, but Eleanor knew the answer before her maid even spoke.
"The Marquess and Marchioness said there's no need for you to strain yourself, my lady," Tina relayed but then hesitated before continuing, "However... Duke Emmeline said that instead of you coming to greet him, he will come to your chamber to see your condition directly on behalf of Lady Cecillia, who is very worried about you."
Eleanor stiffened.
So he was coming to her instead.
Her fingers curled around the fabric of her dress. She had wanted to avoid meeting him entirely, but now there was no escaping it.
She exhaled through her nose.
Fine.
If she couldn't avoid this, she would just have to handle it carefully.
"Very well," she said at last, keeping her voice steady. "Tell the maids to prepare tea."
If she was going to meet Duke Kenneth Emmeline, she might as well do so properly.
After Tina left, Eleanor leaned back against her chair, letting out a slow breath.
The Duke himself is coming to see me...
She rubbed her temples. This wasn't part of her plan. Meeting him directly meant she had to be even more careful with how she acted.