“Yes.”
“And you decided waiting gave you time to remove the answer.”
Augusta looked away.
There.
Julian looked at the clock.
Four minutes.
He moved toward the door.
His mother spoke behind him.
“If you do this, society will talk.”
He stopped.
“Yes.”
“Your cousins will object.”
“Yes.”
“The Somerville alliance will collapse.”
He turned.
“There is no Somerville alliance.”
“Lady Catherine’s father expects—”
“I have never proposed to Lady Catherine.”
“You have danced with her repeatedly.”
“I have also danced with married women.”
Beatrice made a choking sound.
Julian almost smiled.
Augusta did not.
“Do not mock me.”
“I am not.”
He looked at his mother.
“I know what you feared.”
Her expression shifted.
He continued.
“You married Father at nineteen.”
“Your family needed his name.”
“He needed your money.”
“You spent forty years learning to make that bargain look like destiny because admitting otherwise would have made the sacrifice harder.”
Augusta’s face went white.
“Do not presume to understand my marriage.”
“I do not.”
Julian softened.
“But do not make me repeat it because it became survivable for you.”
Silence.
He left.
Outside, Eliza had already placed one foot inside the carriage.
Julian came down the steps.
“Wait.”
She turned.
“You used all five minutes.”
“I know.”
“Remarkable improvement.”
He reached the pavement.
Held out the letters.
Eliza stared.
Her handwriting.
His seal.
Everything she had not received.
Her face changed.
“Where?”
“My mother’s desk.”
She closed her eyes.
Not surprise.
Confirmation.
That hurt more.
Julian continued.
“She opened one of yours.”
Eliza looked at him.
“Which?”
“I don’t know.”
“You did not read it?”
“It was yours.”
Something in her expression softened.
Then hardened again.
“Thank you.”
She took the bundle.
Julian looked at the driver.
“Would you give us a moment?”
The driver moved toward the horses.
Not far.
Respectable distance.
Eliza held the letters against her coat.
Julian took one breath.
Then another.
“I told my mother I intend to marry you.”
Eliza stared.
He continued quickly.
“That was badly phrased.”
“Yes.”
“I do not intend to marry you unless you intend to marry me.”
“Better.”
“I am out of practice.”
“You have never been in practice.”
“True.”
She looked toward the street.
Julian’s voice softened.
“Eliza.”
She looked back.
“I came home to ask you properly.”
“I thought you had changed your mind.”
“No.”
“I thought the letters stopped because Yorkshire gave you perspective.”