Chapter 14
The ballroom had been his since birth, and tonight he did not recognise it.
The chandeliers he had watched lit a hundred times threw the same light across the same floor, but the dancers beneath them were masked, their faces hidden, and he could find no familiar face among them to anchor him.
He clasped his hands behind his back — then, with a conscious effort, let them hang at his sides.
When she had accepted his invitation to the masquerade ball, he had barely slept for the planning of it.
When she had pushed him away, it had been as if something inside him had shattered and as yet had not been restored.
He had tried to think of his life without her in it, had tried to imagine a day going by and then another without a single thought of her — and his right thumb had found his left palm more than once in those empty hours, pressing hard, finding no relief in the old habit.
Yes, the inheritance was important and yes, finding out how she and Lady Warrington were connected was also crucial but suddenly — and confusingly — none of it seemed to matter as it once had.
To have her care for him had been an astonishing, confounding, exhilarating realization, but to hear that she was going to step back from him, that she was going to do it to protect him, had been a dull, aching blow that still had not entirely faded from him.
A footman crossed his line of sight carrying a tray of champagne coupes, the crystal catching the candlelight in brief, sharp flashes.
Laughter skimmed the air, but Nathaniel did not smile, the light and careless sound grating against his fraying nerves.
What if she did not appear? What if she chose not to come?
As yet, he did not know what mask Miss Fairleigh might have chosen.
She had not written to him with a description of it, as he had hoped.
There was nothing to separate her from any of the other dancers here.
Would he know her, still? He himself had chosen a mask that clearly displayed his face, aside from a small covering over his eyes.
He wanted to be seen — but only by her. The thought tightened his chest, reminding him of just how much he had altered in both his thinking and in his emotions when it came to Miss Fairleigh.
His mind returned to the tears on her cheeks when he had been with her at the alcove, when he had seen that desperate sorrow in her eyes.
Her fingers had curled around his, her touch had sent something through him that had not slowed in the days since — the same arrested movement, the same shoulder pulled back from a turn it wanted to complete.
It had not faded since that moment; he was sure of it.
"Lord Ashcombe?"
Turning swiftly, he looked down into an ivory mask, eyes glinting behind it. Silver embellishments ran along the edges, hiding the lady's expression almost entirely.
He knew her at once.
"Miss Fairleigh?" Speaking in a low voice, he did not hesitate but caught her hand and, praying she would come with him willingly, walked to the side of the room, stepping into the shadows that lingered there.
Her hand did not tug out of his; no resistance met his steps.
It was only when he stopped that her hand escaped away, perhaps afraid that they would be seen — even with their masks.
"Eliza," he said, lowering his head, hearing the sharp intake of breath as he searched her eyes, a sweet scent of lavender tickling his senses.
"I must speak with you. I understand that you have decided to step away, that you think you must and that it is for my own good, but you cannot. I beg of you to reconsider."
Her head lowered. "Ashcombe, I cannot have your good name torn apart because of your connection to me.
You have done so much for me already, but I see now that the inheritance is of little worth to me.
" A weight rounded her shoulders. "Yes, it would keep me comfortable, would keep me safe and free from my father's debts, but it would do nothing for my heart.
Perhaps... " A long sigh escaped her and she lifted her head, her eyes now somewhere around his shoulder rather than his face.
"Perhaps, had society not turned away from me as they have done, there might have been some hope, but there is nothing for me now.
Society has turned against me, and regardless of whether I find out the truth, they have already decided upon my guilt.
Some say that I am cruel and cold-hearted, manipulating Lady Warrington into leaving me that inheritance.
Some state that the inheritance comes from Lady Warrington's guilt in some matter or other — and that I am the cause of that guilt.
There are even some who whisper that I am illegitimate, that I am, in fact, the daughter of the Warrington line rather than of the Harding line.
" Her voice grew softer with the pain of such lies.
"Even if I were to gain the inheritance, what would it give me? It would give me nothing of worth."
"Eliza." Nathaniel's throat constricted as she still did not look up at him, her eyes still near his heart rather than moving to his face. "I care for you."
At this, her gaze shot to his, her lips parting gently.
"You know that I tried to hide our connection from society," he said, reaching to take her hand again. "That was wrong of me. I have learned, through all of this, that it is not a pristine reputation that matters. It is one's heart."
Miss Fairleigh's lips parted, shock bright in her eyes as he smiled, gripping her fingers tightly.
He did not release them. "I must know that you trust me, Eliza. That no matter what happens this evening, you give me your trust, wholly and completely, knowing that I care for you deeply. Might you be able to do that?"
Something dark flickered in her eyes.
"I want you to have your inheritance," he said, leaning down towards her. "Lady Warrington added you to her will for a purpose and then told you to find the connection, to find the reason that she did so. I know it, now. I am sure of it."
The lady closed her eyes. "I do not think — "
"You are afraid, I understand," he said. "I can see that you fear society, that you understand that their whispers might bring you to ruin even if you took the inheritance — but what if there was also to be a message for society hidden in amongst this also?"
Her fingers pressed his lightly. "No matter what you say, I fear they will tear it apart." She blinked quickly. "Just as they have already torn me."
"No." He smiled with as much hope, as much encouragement as he could.
"I hope that, by the end of this evening, you will not only have the clear connection to Lady Warrington, you will also have society's full understanding and, mayhap, even an apology or two.
" He shrugged. "Not everyone will do so, of course, and I would never promise that the entirety of the ton will do as they ought, but I have every hope that the majority will listen to what I have to say and will realize their error.
But," he finished, letting his thumb run lightly back and forth across the back of her hand, "I can only do so if you trust me in this, Eliza.
I would not step forward without your consent. "
For a long moment, she said nothing in response to him. The music swelled in a gentle crescendo, the perfect accompaniment to the moment they shared. Candlelight flickered across her mask, the shadows a picture of the uncertainty he was sure now twisted through her.
Then, she closed her eyes and sighed aloud. "I do trust you, Ashcombe," she said, sending a thrill running through him. "How could I not? After everything you have done for me, after every defense you have made, every hope you have offered, you have earned my complete and utter trust."
"I thank you, Eliza." He whispered it, the words meant only for her, and as the last syllable left him the ballroom seemed to fall away at its edges.
The music had swelled moments ago and then quieted, the orchestra pausing between movements, and in the hush he became aware of how little space remained between them.
She had not stepped back after giving him her trust. Neither had he.
The distance between them — which had begun at arm's length when he led her into the shadows — had closed over the course of the conversation without either of them deciding it should.
Candlelight reached them imperfectly, his mask catching the warm light fully whilst hers fell partly in shadow, the silver filigree at its edges glinting and then going dark again as the flame swayed.
He was looking at her eyes. He was aware that he had been looking at her eyes for some time. Then he was not looking at her eyes.
He did not decide to lower his head. He was aware that he was doing it only after it had begun — a slow, involuntary inclination, his breath shortening, the world narrowing to the space directly in front of him.
Her face tilted up slightly. Involuntarily, he thought.
Then he thought again, because there was nothing involuntary about the way her gaze held his.
The candlelight found the line of her jaw beneath the mask.
He could feel the warmth between them before any contact was made — the heat of her skin through the thin evening air, the lavender scent of her that he had noticed before and would not now be able to forget.
He was aware of her breathing, the slight change in its rhythm, a catch and then a steadying, before he was aware of anything else.
The space between them was measured in inches. Then less.
She stepped back.