“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.”
