Chapter Twenty-Four
The invitation arrived just after luncheon.
Eliza was in the small study adjoining the library, reviewing the last of the tenants correspondence, when Clara appeared at the door with a folded card in hand.
“Before I forget,” Clara said, holding it out. “This came for you.”
Eliza accepted it, her expression composed as she broke the seal. The handwriting was familiar. Careful. Elegant. Confident.
A dinner.
Later in the week.
Local, but well placed.
She read the card once, then again. Not because it required it, but because her attention lingered. Her mouth curving slightly before she thought to stop it.
“What is it?” Clara asked.
“An invitation,” Eliza replied. “From Lady Harcourt.”
Clara’s brows lifted. “She moves quickly.”
“She always has.”
Clara leaned against the doorframe, considering. “You’ll attend.”
“Yes.”
The answer came easily. Too easily to be obligation. Hartleigh did not shrink now that it stood steady again. Nor did Eliza.
“And you’ll bring…” Clara began, then stopped herself, smiling. “Forgive me.”
Eliza laughed, soft and genuine. “You’re forgiven.”
The question remained anyway. Not because it needed answering, but because it had been noticed.
“I’ll make the arrangements,” Clara said.
When she had gone, Eliza stood for a moment longer. The card still in her hand. The invitation itself held no power. It was the timing that unsettled her. Not unpleasantly. Simply enough to be felt.
She folded the invitation carefully and slipped it into her desk drawer.
*
Later that afternoon, she went into the gardens.
Thomas was near the lower beds, intent on the new growth along the path. When he straightened and saw her, something in his face eased. The change was slight, but she felt it all the same. As though her presence had resolved something.
“You said you might come,” he said.
“I did.”
She stopped beside him, close enough to catch the faint scent of earth and crushed green leaves. Her attention followed his to the fragile shoots pressing through the soil.
“They’re early,” she observed.
“Yes,” he said. “But strong.”
The word settled oddly in her chest. She did not comment on it, only smiled.
“I received an invitation today,” she said.
He glanced at her. Not searching. Simply present. “Will you go?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The word warmed her more than she expected. She felt it low beneath her ribs again, that unfamiliar lightness that no longer startled her quite as sharply as it had the morning before. She told herself it was relief. It was easier to leave it at that.
“You didn’t ask who from,” she said.
“I don’t need to,” he replied. “You know how to manage those rooms.”
“I do.”
He hesitated, his gaze dropping briefly to the path before returning to her. “And you won’t forget yourself in them.”
Something shifted then. Not sharply. Just enough that she became aware of her breath again.
“No,” she said. “I won’t.”
They walked a short distance together. Their steps matched without effort. She noticed that too.
“I may be away overnight,” Eliza said. “Possibly two.”
Thomas nodded once. “The estate will manage.”
“I know.”
“And you’ll come back,” he added, lightly. Surely.
“Yes,” she said. “I will.”
They stopped where the garden dipped, the house rising behind them in pale stone and long shadow. For a moment neither spoke.
“This feels different,” Thomas said.
“Yes,” Eliza agreed. “It does.”
“Not fragile,” he clarified. “Just visible.”
She met his gaze. Her chest felt oddly full. Steady. Aware. “Joy usually is.”
His smile came slowly. Not surprised. Not tentative. As though he understood precisely what was being held between them and had no intention of disturbing it.
“I’ll see you this evening,” he said.
“Yes.”
She left him there and returned toward the house, aware of the invitation in her drawer, aware of the path beneath her feet, aware of herself in a way she had not been before.
Joy did not need guarding.
But it did ask to be acknowledged.
And Hartleigh, watchful and quietly indulgent, was allowing her that grace.