“I have been thinking,” Helena began, her voice calm but purposeful. “The time for hesitation has passed. If the Earl of Blackburn should ask for your hand, you must accept him.”
The words, though softly spoken, struck Eliza like a physical blow. “Must?” she repeated. Her grandmother had always encouraged her independence, her free thinking.
“Yes,” Helena said simply, as though the matter were beyond question.
Eliza rose, pacing to the small hearth before turning back to face her grandmother. “You speak as though I have no say in the matter.”
“You have every say, my dear,” Helena countered, “but you must use it wisely. You are a proud girl, and pride can make a woman foolish when her happiness is at stake.—and her safety. The Earl is a good man. Strong, honorable, and not untouched by feeling. If he asks, do not refuse him out of stubbornness or fear.”
Eliza’s pulse quickened. “You believe he will ask?”
“I do.”
Her throat tightened. “And you would have me marry him out of duty? Out of fear of this supposed curse that has ruled our lives for generations?”
Helena’s gaze softened, though her tone remained resolute. “I would have you marry him because you care for him, though you may not yet be ready to admit it. And because he cares for you, though he has not yet named it for what it is. Fate has a wayof offering us only one chance to choose rightly. Take it when it comes, Eliza. Do not let it pass you by.”
Eliza turned away, her hands gripping the edge of the mantle. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple,” Helena said gently. “Do not cut off your nose to spite your face. The path before you may not be the one you had envisioned for yourself, but it may yet lead you where your heart most wishes to go.”
There was no arguing with that quiet certainty. Helena had spent a lifetime cloaking her will in soft-spoken wisdom, and Eliza knew better than to press further. “Very well,” she murmured. “I will… consider it.”
Helena inclined her head, satisfied. “That is all I ask.”
But as Eliza left the room, her thoughts were far from settled.
A short time later,Eliza entered the breakfast room. She was still pondering her conversation with her grandmother. She did not wish to be ungrateful or unkind. She certainly did not wish to allow pride and arrogance to dictate her actions. But she could not bear to be coerced into something that should belong only to the realm of the heart. And yet… there was that heart of hers, foolish and contrary, aching whenever she thought of him. It wasn’t love. Not yet. But she was not so foolish as to deny that there was something there.
The internal battle with herself still raged when she entered the morning room. The day was cool enough to warrant a small fire, and the scent of it mingled pleasantly with beeswax and violets. She had little appetite and had only just reached for a cup of tea when the door opened and Gabriel appeared.
“My lord,” she said, her composure faltering only slightly.
“Miss Ashcombe.” He bowed, his tone formal but gentle. “Might I have a word?”
“Of course,” she said, setting her cup down to follow him into the morning room. It seemed the place for serious conversations.
As they entered, a maid who had been polishing furniture immediately withdrew. When Gabriel turned to her. His face was drawn, his expression grave but steady. “I know you have had a difficult night,” he began. “I would not add to your distress, but there is something that must be said.”
Eliza’s fingers tightened around the edge of her sleeve. “Then say it plainly, my lord.”
He nodded once. “The circumstances in which we find ourselves are… delicate. You are under my roof, unchaperoned save for your grandmother. And in a community where I am all but a stranger and your reputation is somewhat precarious to start, that is a recipe for disaster.”
“Precarious is a generous description, my lord,” she replied dryly. “We are met with disapproval, suspicion or cool disdain by everyone in the community… until they require some remedy or charm. Then they are only too willing to brave the darkened woods to seek our aid.”
He nodded. “I have seen the reactions of others at church last Sunday… I fear now that the gossip this arrangement invites is inevitable, and I would spare you that indignity. Beyond that, I wish to ensure your safety and wellbeing. It seems the most expedient solution is to offer for your hand.”
Eliza stared at him. The words were not a surprise, not truly—Helena had prepared her too well for them—but hearing them aloud still stole her breath. “You make it sound very proper, my lord. Very… measured.”
He inclined his head slightly. “I mean it to be. You deserve my honesty, Miss Ashcombe… Eliza. You deserve the respect of full transparency.”
“And affection?” she asked, the faintest quiver of defiance creeping into her tone. It was the rest of her life they were speaking of, after all. If she were to tie herself to a man for the remainder of her days, then surely there should be some promise of at least a chance at happiness. “Do I not deserve that as well?”
“You do,” he said quietly. “More than you know.”
“Yet you do not love me.”
His gaze held hers, steady and unflinching. When he spoke, there was a new warmth in his voice, a warmth that held promise and offered hope. “Not yet. But the foundation for it is there, I believe. And if you will have me, I would build upon it. With you.”
