“Now, get out of my line, please,” Emma finally demanded with a more genuine grin.
Leo and Eliza chuckled, though hers was a touch perfunctory, as they made their way to the table her mother and sister had claimed.
Eliza settled into the unoccupied chair next to Sophie, while Leo claimed the one on the other side of the small, round table.
Their families’ country estates were close enough to each other for regular visits and holidays, but the Bennet family was rarely in London. Leo’s father had his own observatory on their grounds, and Eliza found it quite fascinating. The gardens, too, were lovely—wild and unkempt, but lush with a riot of color in the spring months. As such, Eliza never minded a stop on the way to their country home.
Leo set her macaron before her with a little fanfare. “You’ll have to let me know how it is,” he said, nudging the plate before her. “I tend to stick with my usual favorites.”
“Emma’s combinations are always incredible and an unexpected delight. I enjoy trying them. I’ve never been disappointed.” Eliza was fairly certain today’s might be the exception, but that sentiment had nothing to do with the quality and everything to do with her emotional state.
Leo nodded, considering her for a moment, his dark eyes penetrating. “Still, sometimes an familiar favorite can be the right choice. Comfortable, known, a long-standing love.”
“I suppose I’ve never considered it that way…” she said, not entirely certain she was grasping his full meaning. Rather than remain in her ignorance, she pushed forward. “Forgive me, it seems you may not be speaking of pastries. But I am lacking the greater context.”
Leo’s breath caught, and he leaned in toward her before remembering himself. He turned, glancing at Sophie’s eager face peering at them without a hint of propriety.
“Oh, dear,” Mama interjected. “I think I see a dear friend over there. Sophie and I will just go say hello.” Her mother gestured toward the other side of the shop, but Eliza did not recognize a single face in the crowd. “Lizzie, perhaps you and Lord Bellemere might defend our table from the circling wolves?”
“Miss Eliza?” Leo asked, brows raised in question.
She nodded, still all befuddlement at his formality and her mother’s baffling behavior.
Once Mama had dragged away a protesting Sophie, Eliza waited a long moment. Then, realizing she would need to break the silence, she asked. “I’m afraid I’m still at a loss…”
Leo sighed before straightening. “I know Sinclair is courting you. And I know he is novel, handsome, and mysterious. But Icannot let you choose him without presenting another option. We’ve known each other all our lives. We’re well suited. And I—at least—am quite fond of you. My own parents’ marriage was based on much less, and they’re blissfully happy. If you give me the chance, I know I can be better for you than him.”
Eliza’s jaw fell to the floor in an entirely unladylike display. “I-I beg your pardon. I hadn’t the slightest notion that you harboredthat sortof sentiment toward me. I— What precisely are you asking?”
“If you tire of Sinclair, if you determine that the two of you will not suit, I’d like to ask your father for permission to court you. If you’re amenable.”
“Lord Sinclair is gone.” Whatever she had been intending to say, it wasn’t that. But Leo had her so completely flummoxed that Eliza was incapable of anything more intelligent.
“Pardon?” he asked, brows raised to his hairline.
“Father found gambling debts.” Her father’s ruse was the most comforting lie she could supply. And Eliza was certain she did not wish for the whole of London to know she’d been a wretched gambit.
“So you are free?” Leo asked, breathless.
“I-I am not prepared to… not so soon. Forgive me, I find myself absolutely baffled. I hardly know how to respond.”
“I apologize. I’ve shocked you. But you and I, we’re a practical sort. And I think we could be content together.”
“Why have you not considered Sophie?”
His brow furrowed, as if he were now the baffled one. “Sophie isn’t like us. She’s flighty, brash.”
Eliza tried to assure herself that she would rather have this—earnest honesty—than Sinclair’s pretty lies. Leo was right; they were of a similar temperament. And Eliza knew well that she was nothing like Sophie. She wasn’t the sort of girl men fell in love with. But was contentment the best she could hope for? Were thebrief, false moments of passion with Sinclair the only ones she would ever have?
She had resolved that very morning to never cry over a man again. And she was almost certain Leopold Bennet would give her no cause to cry. Certainly not with such a proposal as this.
“I— As I said, I’m not prepared to enter a formal courtship. But I would be amenable to… spending more time together. Informally.”
“Informally… That is an excellent notion. I am so pleased you’ve agreed to consider it. I promise you won’t regret it.”
“I’m certain I won’t.” She turned to her macaron. Safety would have to be enough.
“I’ll call on you tomorrow then?” he asked, eager.
