Chapter 17
When Nathaniel arrived, Eliza stood near the window, adjusting a vase that did not require adjusting. She did not turn immediately when he entered.
“You are late,” she said.
“I did not give an hour.”
“You are later than usual, then. You know what I mean.”
He removed his gloves and set them aside.
“You sound displeased.”
“I am not. I had simply thought that you would be here by now. Your nephew was asking for you again.”
She turned then. She had not changed much in the past year, in spite of it all.
She did all that she could for herself, and since the one occasion where she had accepted his assistance, she had kept him at a distance again.
There were times where Nathaniel thought she might at last wish to keep him close, but it never came.
“Am I too late to see him?”
She nodded, and it hurt his feelings more than usual.
He had not meant to arrive after he had fallen asleep, but he had enjoyed his time with Miss Fairleigh and time had escaped him.
He did not regret it, of course, but he knew it had upset his sister.
She had been his only priority before, and she was not going to take sharing him lightly.
“You look distracted,” she said.
“I attended a garden party today.”
“That explains nothing.”
“It rained.”
“That explains even less, Nathaniel.”
Despite himself, he almost smiled. She crossed to the small table and poured tea without asking whether he wanted it. She knew he would, and he did.
“Did you come straight from there?” she asked.
“Almost. I stopped to change my coat and tell my staff that I would be away for the night.”
“For the night?”
“Yes. I thought I might break my fast with you both tomorrow, if you wish to house me that is.”
Eliza handed him the cup and studied his face as he accepted it.
“The house is yours. You need not wait for an invitation.”
“I prefer to have it.”
“Very well. What of the young lady? Was she suitably impressed?”
“She was not overwhelmed by the eyes of the ton, so that is a start.”
“That is also unusual.”
“Indeed, but I found it rather admirable.”
Eliza sat opposite him, folding one leg neatly over the other. A small silence passed.
“She stood her ground,” he continued. “In conversation as well as in scrutiny. She did not look to me for rescue, either.”
“You sound proud of her for that.”
“Perhaps I am.”
“That is dangerous.”
“Why?”
“You prefer control.”
“I prefer competence. It is you that prefers to have control.”
“And yet I so rarely have it.”
The room felt smaller. He set his cup down. If she did not wish to say anything more, then he would speak enough for both of them. He had enough to say, at least.
“There was a moment,” he said, “when the rain forced some privacy between us.”
Eliza’s brow lifted slightly.
“Privacy?”
“We stood apart from the others.”
“And?”
“And we may or may not have remained there for longer than was necessary.”
Eliza did not look away.
“That is new,” she said. “You do not tend to be reckless in that way.”
“I am aware. I was as surprised by it as you are now.”
She studied him more closely now, as though measuring something that had shifted in his posture.
“You told me once,” she said, “that marriage would be functional, but nothing more.”
“It still is.”
“And yet you speak as though it is more.”
He did not rush his answer, and that was partly because he did not know quite what to say. He had always been so set in his ways, but then he had met Miss Fairleigh, Margaret, and she had changed his perception entirely.
Would Eliza understand that?
“It may be.”
“You seem to truly like her,” she sighed. “In which case, I must ask you. Does she know about me?”
“No.”
“Does she suspect that I exist?”
“She likely does, considering that she heard your name.”
Eliza looked at him with a rare curiosity, and he could not help but explain exactly what had happened. Again, there was an amusement that she rarely showed.
“That was most careless of you both.”
“It was corrected. Too quickly, perhaps, but corrected all the same.”
“You were never subtle.”
“It is a trait that she and I share.”
Suddenly, a dark shadow crept across his sister’s face.
“She would dislike me,” Eliza said after a moment.
“You have not met her.”
“I know what would happen well enough.”
“It is as I already told you. She is not what you assume she will be, and she understands your situation.”
“That is what they always say. Then, when confronted by someone in my position, they change. It is for the best that we remain separate.”
“I do not intend to keep you separate indefinitely. I have already warned you of that.”
“That is to say that you intend to introduce us?”
“Yes, and soon.”
The word landed with quiet force. Eliza did not laugh, and she did not refuse. She looked toward the window instead.
“That is bold,” she said.
“It is necessary.”
“For whom?”
“For all of us. This situation is not good for any of us.”
Eliza’s fingers traced the edge of the table.
“She will judge me,” she said.
“She will not. She will want to help you.”
“That is worse. I do not want to be known as your tragic sister that is destined to be an unfortunate widow, and one that relies on her brother at that.”
“If it is any comfort, I plan to help her family as much as I help you. I bought them all gowns this week so that they could have new ones for the first time in months. Believe me, she will not judge you.”
That, at last, seemed to make her listen properly.
“Very well,” she sighed. “When do you plan to do this?”
“Is that to say that you would agree?”
“I will consider it.”
For Eliza, that was a concession, and it was what he needed. He leaned back slightly, tension easing in a way he had not anticipated.
“You surprise me,” he said.
“I am allowed to, she smiled. “And you? Are you prepared for what that meeting will do?”
“Yes.”
She searched his face as though verifying the truth of it.
“At least,” he amended, “I intend to be.”
Eliza nodded once.
“Then choose the day carefully,” she said. “And do not arrive late.”
He rose. As he retrieved his gloves, she spoke again.
“She must be remarkable.”
He paused.
“She is,” he said simply.
Eliza did not argue. He wondered if, somewhere within her, she felt the same relief that he did that soon, there would be no distance between them. And this time, there would not be rain forcing the moment. It was to be deliberate, and it would serve as proof to all that he was serious.
Nathaniel called at Fairleigh House the following afternoon at an hour respectable enough to avoid comment yet early enough to suggest intention.
The maid admitted him promptly. The house felt as it always did; modest, orderly, striving toward elegance within its means.
He had grown accustomed to the scale of it. It no longer felt small.
Lady Fairleigh received him in the drawing room with her usual composure. Margaret rose from her seat near the window as he entered. She was poised, perfectly arranged, and unmistakably reserved. He could not put a name to it, but something was different.
“Your Grace,” Lady Fairleigh said warmly. “How kind of you to call.”
“The pleasure is mine.”
He greeted Margaret with the smallest inclination of his head before taking the seat indicated. Tea had already been laid. That, at least, had not changed.
“I hope you were not inconvenienced yesterday,” Lady Fairleigh began. “The rain caught many unprepared.”
“It did,” he replied. “Though I suspect the spectacle will be remembered fondly.”
Margaret’s lips curved faintly at that, but her gaze did not quite settle on his. He noticed immediately.
“Miss Emily is not with us today, I see,” he asked lightly, glancing toward the door.
“Emily has a slight headache. She preferred to rest.”
“I hope it is nothing serious,” he said.
“I am certain it will pass,” Lady Fairleigh replied.
The explanation was smooth. Too smooth. Conversation resumed in its expected rhythm. Lady Fairleigh spoke of a forthcoming musicale. Nathaniel responded appropriately. Margaret contributed when necessary, her tone measured and intelligent as ever.
Yet something had shifted. She did not lean into the conversation as she had at the garden party. She did not withdraw either. She occupied a careful middle ground. He watched her over the rim of his cup.
When Lady Fairleigh inquired after Parliament’s schedule, Margaret listened rather than engaging. When he posed a question to her directly about the charitable committee mentioned at Halworth House, she responded clearly but without the ease she had displayed beneath the oak.
He felt it then; not coldness, but distance.
“Lady Halworth spoke highly of your insight,” he said, turning the conversation deliberately toward her. “She intends to consult you again.”
“That is generous of her.”
“It is deserved, too.”
“You are kind to say so.”
Lady Fairleigh rose briefly to instruct the maid regarding fresh lemon slices, leaving them momentarily alone. The silence that followed was almost impossible to bear.
“You called at Ravensmere yesterday,” he said. “My staff alerted me to it.”
Her eyes lifted at once.
“Yes. I did.”
“I regret that I was absent.”
“So I was told.”
Her tone revealed nothing.
“I was otherwise occupied.”
“So I was told,” she repeated.
“Did you not wish to leave a message?” he asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
She held his gaze evenly.
“If it were important, I would have.”
The phrasing was deliberate. He recognized it. She did not elaborate, but she did not need to. She considered her troubles unimportant, and he had not acted in a manner that would prove the contrary.
He regarded her steadily.
“If you wish to ask something, ask it.”
Her gaze flickered briefly toward the doorway through which her mother had disappeared.
“You were not at home,” she said.
“No.”
“You did not say where you would be.”
“I was not aware I was required to report my movements.”
The answer was calm, but he heard the edge in it and regretted it at once. Even so, she did not retreat.
“I did not say you were required,” she replied evenly. “I only said that you did not do it.”
A pause settled between them.
“I was engaged elsewhere,” he said more carefully.
“With someone?” she asked.
There it was. He could have deflected, and to do so was tempting, but he did not.
“Yes.”
She absorbed that without a visible reaction, though he saw the faint tightening at the corner of her mouth.
“Is this someone I should know?” she asked.
He considered his answer.
“In time,” he said.
Her gaze sharpened at that.
“In time,” she repeated.
“Yes.”
Lady Fairleigh’s footsteps sounded faintly in the adjoining room, and Margaret set her cup down with precise care.
“I do not object to your engagements,” she said quietly. “I object to ambiguity.”
“I have not misled you.”
“No,” she agreed. “You have not, but you have not clarified either.”
The words were controlled, not emotional.
That, somehow, made them more pointed. Lady Fairleigh reentered, smiling as though nothing had shifted.
Nathaniel resumed the conversation seamlessly, yet the air felt altered.
When he rose to take his leave some minutes later, Margaret accompanied him to the door as courtesy required.
The hallway felt narrower than usual, and them not saying another word to one another did not help that.
As he stepped back into the late afternoon light, he was aware of two things at once. Margaret was aware that something was wrong, and she would not tolerate uncertainty with regard to it. He had intended to control the timing of it all, and he had only caused himself more trouble.
But he had to have her wait a short while longer.