No ring.
No kneeling in the street.
No audience invited.
Just a question.
Eliza’s heart hurt.
Because she wanted to say yes.
That was the danger.
Wanting was not the same as being ready.
She looked at the townhouse.
Then at the carriage.
Then at him.
“No.”
Julian’s face changed.
Not dramatically.
Still enough.
Eliza continued quickly:
“Not today.”
He stared.
She held the letters tighter.
“You asked me to stay.”
“I stayed.”
“Then I lost every message that would have told me where I stood.”
“Your mother removed me from the house.”
“Your household obeyed.”
“And now you have returned with marriage, employment, housing, and twelve pages of Beatrice’s budget.”
“Probably fourteen.”
“Julian.”
“Sorry.”
She almost smiled.
Then:
“I need one thing that does not come from your family.”
“What?”
“Time.”
He nodded.
Immediately.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
His expression tightened.
Eliza lifted one eyebrow.
“You just failed.”
He exhaled.
“Right.”
“No deadline.”
“No.”
“No asking Beatrice to persuade me.”
“I would never.”
She stared.
He corrected.
“I will not.”
“Better.”
“No gifts.”
He looked wounded.
“None?”
“Flowers are suspicious.”
“I already ordered flowers.”
She stared.
“For when?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Cancel them.”
He sighed.
“Cruel.”
“Necessary.”
He nodded.
“All right.”
Eliza handed him the lease.
“No.”
He pushed it back.
“The school position remains.”
“I am not deciding today.”
“Fine.”
She looked toward the carriage.
“I am still leaving.”
Julian’s face fell.
“I know.”
“No attempt to stop me.”
“No.”
“No sending a footman behind the carriage.”
“I had not thought of that.”
“Julian.”
“I won’t.”
Eliza nodded.
Then stepped into the carriage.
He stood beside the open door.
She looked at him.
“Read none of my letters.”
“I won’t.”
“I mean the intercepted ones.”
“I know.”
“Send them with Beatrice.”
“Yes.”
“And tell your mother—”
Eliza stopped.
Julian waited.
“No.”
“What?”
“I will tell her myself.”
His eyebrows rose.