He looked at her.
“I know.”
Something in his tone changed.
She noticed.
He reached into his coat.
This time there was a ring.
Simple gold.
Small sapphire.
Not a Vale heirloom.
Eliza stared.
“Why not the family ring?”
“Because that belongs to a role.”
“This is for you.”
Her throat tightened.
Julian continued.
“I asked badly the first time.”
“You asked in a street.”
“You were leaving.”
“I remember.”
“I am asking now when you have work, income, rooms, friends, and every practical means of refusing me.”
Eliza smiled through tears.
“You planned that sentence.”
“For months.”
“It shows.”
He took her hand.
“Will you marry me?”
She looked at him.
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
Relief.
Then:
“Are you certain?”
Eliza laughed.
“You have become exhausting in the opposite direction.”
“Is that yes?”
“Yes.”
He kissed her.
The stove remained broken for another week.
Augusta learned of the engagement from Julian directly.
He visited her in Cavendish Row.
No Beatrice.
No Eliza.
His responsibility.
Augusta listened.
Then asked:
“When?”
“June.”
“You expect me to attend?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Julian looked at his mother.
“Because you are my mother.”
“You cannot pretend nothing happened.”
“I am not.”
“Then why invite me?”
“Because consequence is not exile.”
Her face changed slightly.
Julian continued.
“You will not control the wedding.”
“You will not comment publicly on Eliza’s family.”
“You will not contact newspapers.”
“You will not interfere with Beatrice’s school.”
“And you will apologize to Eliza before the wedding if you wish to sit with the family.”
Augusta stared.
“An ultimatum.”
“A boundary.”
“Modern nonsense.”
“Possibly.”
She looked toward the window.
“And if I refuse?”
“You may attend as a guest.”
“Not family.”
The words hurt.
He saw.
He did not withdraw them.
Augusta whispered:
“You would humiliate me.”
“No.”
“If you attend as guest, nobody need know why.”
“I am giving you privacy.”
“The thing you denied Eliza.”
There.
She looked at him.
Julian softened.
“I do not want to punish you.”
“I want you to acknowledge what you did.”
Augusta laughed bitterly.
“I protected this family.”
“You protected an idea of it.”
“I protected you.”
“From whom?”
“From a marriage you might regret.”
Julian looked at her.
“Mother.”
“Regret was mine to risk.”
That sentence returned to him from Eliza.