Page 4 of A Question of Worth

Mr. Braithwaite closed the door and remained standing. "The inheritance is contingent, Miss Fairleigh," he said, without preamble. "Lady Warrington was quite specific on this point. Before the funds are released to you, you must establish — to my satisfaction and in accordance with a sealed letter in my keeping — the nature of the connection between yourself and Lady Warrington. The reason she chose you."

Eliza heard the words, but they arrived at a distance, as if spoken through glass. She looked at her aunt. Lady Newark's expression had not changed, but her gloved hand had moved to the arm of her chair and was gripping it.

"You are telling us," Lady Newark said, her voice level, "that the inheritance exists but cannot be claimed until Eliza can name the reason for it."

"Precisely so, madam."

"And if she cannot?"

"Then the sum reverts to the estate." Mr. Braithwaite's tone was not unkind but neither did it soften. "There is a period of three months. And Lady Warrington was equally particular on one further point: Miss Fairleigh is granted a single opportunityto satisfy the condition. She may present her answer to me once, and once only."

Eliza's comprehension arrived not all at once but in stages, each one heavier than the last. The gift was real. The gift was conditional. She was required to name a connection she could not name, to a woman she had met perhaps twice in her life, for reasons that had never been explained to her. Even this unexpected grace came with a requirement she had no idea how to fulfill.

She pressed her reticule against her stomach and held it there.

"I thank you, Mr. Braithwaite," Lady Newark said, rising. "We shall take our leave."

Eliza stood when her aunt stood and walked when her aunt walked. The condition sat on her shoulders alongside the shock, a second weight laid upon the first, and neither showed any sign of lifting. She walked as if her feet were on unfamiliar, unsteady ground, clutching her reticule as if it might anchor her.

"Into the carriage, my dear."

Eliza climbed inside, sinking into the seat and leaning her head back against the squabs.

"I will not speak of all that has taken place," her aunt said gently, as the carriage rolled forward toward home. "You need some time to think of it all, I believe — to make some sense of it. You need not start your search for understanding at this very moment."

With a nod, Eliza turned to look out of the window, her reflection wavering in the glass. Behind her silence, questions gathered like a storm, threatening to overwhelm her — and to tear apart every certainty she had ever held.

2

"Iam well aware that our late great-aunt was a wealthy creature, but I confess I do not understand why we have been summoned here at all — nor who that is."

Nathaniel had been wondering much the same. He and James were the only ones Mr. Braithwaite had asked to attend; the solicitor had been quite particular about it. The small office was panelled in dark, aged oak and heavy with the scent of paper and sealing wax. It seemed arranged for a far quieter occasion than the reading of a great lady's will. His attention was caught by a movement at the door, his eyebrows lifting in surprise at the two ladies stepping in to join them. The young lady's fair curls danced lightly as she walked, her eyes darting this way and that as she clutched her reticule with both hands. The older lady with her — her mother, Nathaniel presumed — gestured for her to continue into the room, directing her towards two vacant chairs near the front. He tilted his head, his gaze lingering on the young lady with the fair curls. She did not seem to belong here — and from the bewildered way she looked about her, she plainly knew it, and understood her presence no better than he did.

Her eyes flicked across the room, grazing his before pulling away again, her teeth catching the edge of her lip. Clearly, she was anxious or concerned about some matter or other, although Nathaniel could not understand why. Perhaps she was afraid she would not be given as much as she hoped for?

Turning his head away, he fixed his attention on the solicitor, who was still shuffling papers at his desk, muttering to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the young lady sitting down beside the elder, her hands gripped tightly in her lap. Much to his relief, Mr. Braithwaite cleared his throat in a manner that suggested he was ready to begin and, after a few moments, the room stilled. Nathaniel sat, stiff-backed, in his chair, his brother beside him. This was a solemn occasion, and it was only right that he give the reading of the will his full attention. He could not allow himself to become distracted by any young lady, fair-haired or otherwise.

"Thank you for coming so promptly, Miss Fairleigh." Mr. Braithwaite's half-moon spectacles glinted in the light from the window as he looked from the young lady to the two gentlemen and back. "I have asked Lord Ashcombe and his brother to attend, as the matter I am to lay before you touches upon their family — and Lady Warrington's wishes were quite particular that it be heard by all whom it concerns."

A matter that touches upon our family, yet is laid before a stranger?Nathaniel barely had time to register the strangeness of it before the solicitor continued. It was unlike his great-aunt to have arranged anything so irregular — though he recognized that Lady Warrington, having always been careful, deliberate, and orderly, would have done nothing without due consideration and purpose.

The young lady — Miss Fairleigh, then — pressed her hands together in her lap, and Nathaniel's eyebrows lifted. She was norelation, plainly, and yet here she sat, named before them, for reasons he could not begin to guess.

Mr. Braithwaite turned to her. "Lady Warrington has bequeathed to you an inheritance, namely, the sum of ten thousand — "

The words struck the room cold. Nathaniel could only stare at the solicitor, his disbelief turning to something harder as he understood that a significant sum was being given to a young lady who was not in any way connected to the family.

And there was no clear reason for it.

His gaze shot to Miss Fairleigh. Her face was white with shock, her eyes rounded.

He felt no sympathy. Only confusion and doubt.

"She is no relation to Lady Warrington!" James was on his feet before Nathaniel could prevent him, and though Nathaniel would not, in honesty, have disagreed with a word of it, he saw Mr. Braithwaite frown. "Why should she be given such a substantial amount?"

"James." Nathaniel said it low, a single word, conscious of the two ladies and of the solicitor's sharpening gaze — but his brother would not be checked.

"She is the daughter of Viscount Harding — how could our great-aunt do something so foolish?" The colour was high in James's face now. "I know our great-aunt was wealthy indeed, but that is a good deal of money for a young lady such as she. Her father is near a pauper, is he not? Why waste such coin upon a family who cannot look after their own fortune with any sort of care?"