“It gave me rain.”
“Not perspective.”
“No.”
A tiny smile appeared.
Then vanished.
Eliza looked at the letters.
“You cannot propose because your mother mistreated me.”
“I am not.”
“Or because I am leaving.”
“I am not.”
“Or because you are angry.”
“I am angry.”
“Yes.”
“But the proposal existed before the anger.”
Eliza stared.
He reached into his coat.
Not a ring.
A folded document.
She frowned.
“What is that?”
“A lease.”
“What?”
“Number Nine Pembroke Street.”
Eliza stared.
Julian continued.
“I signed it in York.”
“You rented a house?”
“Yes.”
“For whom?”
“For Beatrice.”
She blinked.
“What?”
Julian smiled slightly.
“She intends to open a small school for girls who cannot afford private tutors.”
Eliza stared.
“She told you?”
“Six months ago.”
“She told me three.”
“I know.”
“You agreed?”
“I agreed to finance the first two years if she could produce an actual budget.”
Eliza laughed despite herself.
“That sounds like you.”
“She produced twelve pages.”
“That sounds like Beatrice.”
Julian nodded.
“The upper floor has rooms.”
“For teachers.”
“One could be yours.”
Eliza stared.
He continued.
“I had planned to ask whether, if you did not wish to marry me, you might consider helping Beatrice establish the school instead.”
She went completely still.
Julian looked at her carefully.
“I do not want your answer to marriage to determine whether you have income.”
Eliza said nothing.
“I realized before I left that I had placed you in an impossible position.”
“You were living in my house.”
“Working for my family.”
“Dependent on my recommendation.”
“And I began courting you without naming it.”
Her eyes filled.
Julian continued.
“If you said no, you might lose employment.”
“If you said yes, everyone could claim you had done it for security.”
“That was unfair.”
Eliza looked away.
This.
This was what she had needed.
Not rescue.
Not romance shouted across a street.
Structure.
Choice.
Julian handed her the lease.
“The school position is yours if Beatrice still wants you.”
“She will.”
“I know.”
“It pays less than your companion salary.”
“Of course it does.”
“But it includes rooms.”
“Very generous rooms.”
“You have not seen them.”
“I inspected them.”
“You did?”
He smiled.
“You think I spent all of Yorkshire discussing drainage?”
“Yes.”
“Mostly.”
She laughed.
Then immediately looked annoyed that he had made her laugh.
Julian’s expression softened.
“Now.”
He took one step closer.
No touching.
“Miss Eliza Hartwell.”
“Will you marry me?”
There it was.