“He does.”
Nathaniel studied her carefully.
“This was not decided alone.”
“No,” she admitted. “But I was consulted.”
“And you are content?”
Eliza held his gaze steadily.
“I will be safe,” she said. “And my child will be safe. That is more than I expected months ago.”
He nodded slowly.
“When will this occur?”
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
“A few weeks. I have wanted to tell you, but I knew you had troubles of your own.”
Nathaniel absorbed that without an outward reaction.
“You should have informed me sooner.”
“I wished to be certain before raising your hopes.”
“My hopes are rarely raised.”
She smiled faintly at that.
“You have carried enough for me already,” she said. “I thought you deserved good news for once.”
Nathaniel considered her words in silence. Outside, the afternoon light had begun to shift.
“If this gentleman fails you,” he said finally, “he will regret it.”
“I know.”
“And if he proves worthy–”
“He will have our gratitude,” she finished gently.
Nathaniel rose from his chair. Eliza watched him with quiet affection.
“You worry less now,” she said.
“I worry differently.”
“Because of her.”
He did not answer immediately.
“Yes,” he said at last.
Eliza’s smile returned, softer this time. She watched him with quiet patience after his answer. Nathaniel had already moved toward the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked out across the small garden. The afternoon had softened into that gentle hour before evening when shadows lengthened and the world slowed.
