**The Illusion of Deception**
Working at the Royal Academy of Music, Eleanor had never cared for anything but music. From childhood, her world had been her mother and the piano. At twenty-eight, she was unmarriedshed dated a fellow musician once, but it hadnt lasted. Two artists, each lost in their own world, rarely make a harmonious pair.
Three months ago, shed met Oliver, a barrister, in a café near the academy. She hadnt wanted to go homenot since burying her mother. The silence in that flat was unbearable.
*”You look awfully sad,”* Oliver had said, sipping his tea. *”Im Oliver. And you?”*
Shed been beautiful, distantintriguing. Hed had to know her.
*”Eleanor,”* shed replied softly, with a faint smile.
Theyd been seeing each other ever since. Oliver often stayed over, even proposed, but she hesitated.
*”I cant say yes yet, Ollie. Not so soon after losing Mum.”*
Her mother had raised her alone. Eleanor had never met her fathernever even asked who he was. Some questions were best left unspoken. But now, with her mother gone, the weight of loneliness pressed down. A thought gnawed at hershould she try to find him?
*”I dont even know how to feel,”* she confessed to Oliver. *”What if he doesnt want me?”*
Eleanor had never handled bills or household affairsher mother had taken care of everything while she lost herself in music.
*”You should learn these things, love,”* her mother had warned. *”What will you do when Im gone?”*
*”You manage perfectly, Mum,”* Eleanor had laughed. *”Why should I bother?”*
But life was cruel. Her mother fell ill suddenly, and within weeks, she was gone. *”Too late,”* the doctors said. *”She never complained.”*
*”She didnt want to worry you.”*
Oliver was sharp. The first time he visited her flat, hed been struck by the expensive paintings on the wallsthough Eleanor paid them no mind, shed grown up with them. He, however, knew their worth.
In the evenings, she played the piano, preparing for concerts, while Oliver listenedor pretended to. Hed already realised Eleanor was worth far more than her talent. Rifling through her mothers documents, he found no close relativesjust an aunt, Margaret, living in Scotland. So he pushed for marriage. The sooner, the better.
But Eleanor wouldnt rush. Something about him unsettled her. Still, Oliver persisted, sensing her longing to find her father.
One evening, he arrived with news.
*”Weve got guests coming. Lets pick up some champagne.”*
*”Guests? Who?”*
*”I found your father.”*
*”Oliverreally? Here in London? I always imagined he was abroad.”*
*”No, he lives right here.”*
Half an hour later, the doorbell rang. Oliver answered, and Eleanor saw a tall, dark-haired man.
*”My girl,”* he breathed, pulling her into an embrace. *”Youre beautiful. Im Robert.”*
Her middle name *was* Roberts. The evening unfolded with stories.
*”Your mother and I parted waysshe never told me she was expecting.”*
Seizing the moment, Oliver interjected. *”Robert, since fates brought you together, may I ask for Eleanors hand?”*
Still reeling, Eleanor froze.
*”If Oliver loves you, Ive no objections,”* Robert smiled. *”You have my blessing.”*
From then on, Robert visited oftenthough he was vague about his past with Eleanors mother. *”It was brief,”* hed say.
Eleanor sent a wedding invitation to Aunt Margaret and her husband. They arrived earlyMargaret insisted on helping with preparations.
One evening, the doorbell rang.
*”We made it at last!”* Margaret said, hugging Eleanor. *”The train was dreadful.”*
Oliver excused himself, leaving Eleanor to catch up.
*”Aunt Margaret, I found my fatherwell, Oliver did. His names Robert.”*
Margaret exchanged a glance with her husband.
*”Trouble, love,”* she murmured.
*”What trouble?”*
*”Your fathers name isnt Robert. Its James. James Whitmore. Your mother invented the surnameshe didnt want you knowing. James is the dean of your old conservatory.”*
Eleanor paled. *”James Whitmore? My piano professor? Then whowho is Robert?”*
*”Thats what well ask Oliver tomorrow. Why the charade? Have you claimed your inheritance yet?”*
*”No, its only been five months”*
*”Good heavens, child! Your mother wasnt poor. Those paintings? Worth a fortune. Our parents left us both a tidy sum. And since weve no children, youll inherit ours too.”*
The wedding was off.
Oliver returned to packed bags. Under Margarets steely gaze, he left without protest. Eleanor felt only reliefsomething had always felt *wrong* about him.
The next evening, Margaret announced a guest.
*”Who now?”* Eleanor asked warily.
*”Youll see.”*
The doorbell rang. Margaret returned, arm-in-arm with James Whitmore.
*”My God,”* he whispered. *”You look just like me. I never knew.”*
That night, Eleanor learned everythingeven of a half-brother, a soldier stationed overseas.
*”Only you inherited my love for music,”* James said proudly.
*”I always wondered where it came from!”* she laughed.
In time, she grew close to her father, his wife, and eventually her brother.
A year later, she married Williaman economics lecturer, the son of Jamess old friend. Hed fallen for her at first sight.
Margaret and her husband beamed at the wedding. William was steady, dependablea man who loved her for who she was.
**Lesson learned: Not every man with a ring is a knight. Some are just pawns in their own game.**
