Page 27 of A Question of Worth

Lady Sarah closed her eyes, clearly struggling to gather herself. The shock of James's harshness must have stunned her; else Nathaniel was sure she would have gone after Miss Fairleigh. "Yes, of course." She let out a shaky breath. "Will you — ?"

"I must go and find Miss Fairleigh," he said, stepping away from her. "She has to know that I do not agree with my brother — and that I am heartily sorry for all that he has said."

Ignoring the curious glances that were cast his way and the whispers that quickly followed after each footstep, he pushed through the door he was certain she had disappeared through. The door was heavy, and it closed behind him with a dull finality, sealing the ballroom away. The corridor was marble-floored, the sound of his footsteps sharp and solitary. A single sconce burned at the far end, its candlelight throwing long shadows along the walls and leaving the middle distance in near darkness. The air was cooler here — almost cold after the press of the ballroom — and it carried no sound of music, no laughter, no whispered judgement. Only silence.

He walked slowly. The door behind him muffled the ball to a distant murmur, something happening in another country. He could hear his own breathing, the rustle of his coat as he moved, and then — faintly, so faintly he almost missed it — the sound of someone trying very hard not to cry.

He stopped.

The sound came from his left, from a shallow alcove between two marble columns where the candlelight did not reach. He could see her shape before he could see her face: small, hunched, her back pressed against the cold stone wall, her head bowed so low that her fair curls hid everything. She had not sat down so much as folded, as if the last of whatever had been holding her upright had given way in the moment she was certain no one could see.

Her hands lay open in her lap, palms upward and slack, as if she had finally been holding too much and had simply let it fall.

He did not speak immediately. There had been a time — recently, in fact — when he would have moved straight to the practical matter: an offer of assistance, a plan, a next step. He would have managed the situation. That was what he did. But something held him in the corridor a few feet from her, something that recognized she was not a situation to be managed. She was a woman who had been publicly humiliated by his own brother while he stood close enough to have prevented it.

He knelt on the cold marble and set his hands open upon his thighs, visible. He waited.

Her breathing steadied by degrees — not to composure, not to anything resembling calm, but to the shallow, careful rhythm of someone who has decided to stop fighting the tears and simply let them fall.

"Miss Fairleigh."

She did not lift her head.

"I am here. You do not have to speak."

A long moment passed. The sconce at the end of the corridor flickered, the shadows shifting around them both. Then, slowly, she raised her eyes to his, letting him see the tears that streaked her cheeks. The despair in her expression made his heart shatterinto a thousand pieces, knowing that his brother had been the cause.

"I should not have let the evening proceed as it did." The words came out rougher than he intended, and he did not smooth them. "I knew what James was capable of, and I did not remove you from his reach before he could do this. That is my shame to carry, not yours."

She shook her head in a helpless, miserable gesture. "You could not have known he would say such things."

"I should have." He heard the anger in his own voice and did not try to contain it. It was not directed at her. It was directed at the room behind the closed door, at his brother, and at himself — at every moment in the last weeks when he had told himself that managing the situation from a careful distance was the same as protecting her. It was not. "I should have known, and I should have acted before he had the chance. Instead I stood there calculating the risk to my own reputation while he tore yours apart." He paused, the honesty of it settling on him. "I am sorry, Eliza. Truly."

Her name was out of his mouth before he had weighed it. He heard it land in the quiet corridor —Eliza, not Miss Fairleigh — and felt the small shock of it in his own chest, the crossing of a line he had kept himself carefully behind for weeks. He did not take it back.

She studied his face for a long moment, the tears still wet on her cheeks but no longer falling. She had heard him — he was sure of it, and sure too that she had heard the name. Not forgiven — the wound was too fresh for anything resembling forgiveness — but heard, in a way that mattered.

Reaching out one hand, he settled it on hers. She did not lift her head. "You have no reason for shame, truly. It is I who bear it."

Her eyes closed again, her composure fraying as fresh tears dropped to her cheeks. "You have done nothing but good, Ashcombe."

Despite her sweet words, Nathaniel felt a surge of anger at the injustice of all she now faced — an injustice that had been forced upon her by the words of his brother. "I did not always do good," he said, reminding her of their first few interactions. "Recall, I wanted to keep our meetings away from prying eyes, wanted our connection to be hidden."

Slowly, she raised her head, looking back at him with glistening, sorrowful eyes. "You turned from that. Your attentions, your notice of me, your desire to support my endeavors so I might gain my inheritance... that has all meant so much to my heart. But I fear... " Her eyes closed again, a catch in her voice. "I fear that your brother has voiced what so many others think and believe. Society will not be easily dismissed, will it?"

"Butyoushould not be dismissed from it either. These words my brother spoke, I am utterly ashamed that he chose to do so. His response was cruel and unwarranted, and I have told him so plainly."

She looked at him then, her tears finally abating. "It was not your fault, Ashcombe. You cannot and should not answer for another gentleman's bitterness."

His fingers tightened gently on hers. "I can answer for myself. I need you to know, to hear from my lips that you are entirely undeserving of such suspicions. You are kind-hearted, charming, delightful, courageous and intelligent, my dear Miss Fairleigh, and society should see that rather than judge you on whispers."

After a few moments of silence — a silence where Nathaniel's hands stayed open at his sides, ready, waiting — Miss Fairleigh nodded slowly and then made to rise to her feet. Nathaniel rosewith her, his hand refusing to part from hers, his eyes searching her face and seeing the sorrow still lingering.

"I care for you, Ashcombe."

His breath hitched, a jolt of warmth, ofjoy, slamming through him.

"But it is because of that care that I must ask you now to step away."