Page 15 of A Question of Worth

"I am quite all right, Aunt Letitia," Miss Fairleigh said, offering Nathaniel a brief smile before returning her attention to her aunt. "I have another avenue to pursue, thanks to Lord Ashcombe."

Lady Newark smiled. "That is good."

Nathaniel inclined his head. "I look forward to hearing what you discover, Miss Fairleigh. Good afternoon."

He was already on the pavement before he registered that his hands were not behind his back. They hung at his sides, open, the right thumb idle rather than pressing into his left palm as it always did.

He walked three steps. Then he stopped.

Through the glass he could still see her — a shape of fair curls moving toward her aunt, her small hand raised in a final wave. The impulse arrived before the thought: he wanted to go back. His shoulder turned. One foot shifted.

He caught himself. The arrested movement lasted less than a second, but he felt it in the muscles of his back, in the precise angle of his reversal — a pivot that had begun without his permission. He picked up his hat from the ledge by the door, settled it on his head, and made himself walk toward the street.

His hands found their familiar place behind his back, the thumb pressing into his palm. But the pressure was lighter now, and he knew exactly why. There was another avenue to pursue, and he intended to pursue it at her side.

7

"Lord Ashcombe does appear to be more of a help than either of us anticipated."

Eliza smiled softly and nodded, reaching for her cup of tea. "He is, yes." Having reflected on the previous afternoon's meeting for some time, she had all manner of thoughts and considerations — some of which she was doing her best to forget.

Her aunt sighed, a half-finished piece of needlepoint in her hands. "I am sorry that there has been a lack of invitations of late, Eliza. That has been disappointing to see."

"It is not your fault, Aunt." Eliza lifted her shoulders and then let them fall, hoping that her aunt would not take on responsibility that was not her own to bear. "Neither is it mine, but Lord Ashcombe was correct in what he said of society's reaction to the news of my inheritance, was he not?"

Lady Newark grimaced. "Unfortunately, he was." Her lips pursed. "I did not anticipate that we would be seated here of an evening, entirely alone and without company at the height of the London Season. I was quite sure you would have all manner of events and occasions to attend."

"But if I find out the connection between myself and Lady Warrington and thetonis shown it, then their imagined reasons for such a boon will be struck into smithereens and I shall be exonerated of all supposed shame," Eliza replied, trying to find a confidence within herself that so often appeared elusive. "Lord Ashcombe's help has proven invaluable thus far, and we have only been speaking of this for less than a sennight. There is hope and comfort in that, is there not?"

This brought a gentling to the scowl on her aunt's face, making Eliza smile. She was grateful for her aunt's ongoing support and encouragement, and even her upset over society's treatment of Eliza was a balm to her wounds.

"That is true, certainly." Lady Newark paused, a needle hovering over the fabric as she looked back at Eliza. "And you still cannot remember who introduced you to Lady Warrington? It was not your father?"

Eliza shook her head, her lips flattening as her own frustrations returned. She had spent much of the day writing down everything she could remember about her meeting with Lady Warrington, but much of it had been a blurred, distant memory that she could not bring clearly to mind. She had been young, certainly, with hopes and dreams of a Season of her own, of a debut that would lead to a joyous future with a husband of her own. Lady Warrington, older, elegant and almost regal in the way she carried herself had been kindness itself, and Eliza could remember almost every word of their introduction to one another. Yet, she could not remember who it was that had brought her to Lady Warrington, who it had been that had made the correct introductions. The only thing Eliza knew for certain was that it hadnotbeen her father for he, no doubt, would have made some sort of foolish remark which would have stuck fast in her mind as a shadow upon that afternoon.

"Do you remember where it was?"

"A garden of some description," Eliza replied, sitting back in her chair and allowing herself to slump, weariness overcoming her body and her mind. "It was a beautifully sunny afternoon. If I remember rightly, it was the gardens of a manor house — butnotLady Warrington's home, I am sure of that."

"Oh?"

Hearing the unspoken question as to how she could be so certain, Eliza smiled ruefully. "I recall every word spoken of my conversation with Lady Warrington, and she told me how glad she was to have been invited to such a fine occasion."

"But no faces are there beside you."

"None that I can recall clearly."

Her aunt shook her head. "That is frustrating indeed." She jabbed her needle into the fabric, her eyes narrowing on the thread as she pulled it through. "Can you remember anyone else present that day? Is there anyone we are acquainted with that you would remember as being there?"

This was not something that Eliza had given any thought to whatsoever, having centered her thoughts solely upon Lady Warrington. "I do not know. Let me take a few moments to think."

The silence that followed allowed Eliza to close her eyes and place herself back in that very garden, seeing the sunshine and practically smelling the scent of the roses as they carried through the air. Steadying herself, she took in long, steady breaths and tried to bring to mind any others that had been there.

Her eyes popped open. "Lord and Lady Hargreaves."

Her aunt's smile was big and bright. "You remember them being there also?"

"I do. Lord Graves also, I believe, for I recall him coming to speak with Lady Warrington and he, in fact, drew her away from me and brought the conversation to a close." She paused, the memory sharpening. "And Sarah was there, I think."