"I am."
"Why?"
"Because you admitted I was right."
"Do not get used to it."
She laughed.
By the third day, she had met Henry. He was twenty-eight, charming, irresponsible, and entirely delighted by his cousin's predicament.
"You are the Birdwoman."
Eliza stared. "Excuse me?"
"The family has named you."
"I see. Birdwoman... that is terrible."
Julian suggested, "Necklace Girl."
She looked toward Julian. "You did not."
"I was outvoted."
Henry grinned. "I voted for Birdwoman."
Eliza smiled sweetly. "Then I shall remember that."
Henry's grin faded. "You look dangerous."
"I am."
Julian laughed.
The days became easier. They rode together. They walked through the gardens. They visited the village. They argued over books. Eliza discovered Julian had a surprisingly dry sense of humor. Julian discovered Eliza could turn a simple question into an interrogation. He liked it. That was inconvenient.
At dinner one evening, she asked, "Why did you never marry before?"
Julian cut his meat. "Because I was busy."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the answer."
"No, it is an excuse."
He looked up. She waited.
Finally, he said, "My parents had an unhappy marriage."
She softened.
"My mother was miserable."
"And your father?"
"He was proud."
"Proud of what?"
"Being right."
She looked at him. "That sounds exhausting."
"It was what happened. They stayed married."
She understood. "You are afraid."
He looked at her. "Yes."
The honesty caught her off guard. "Of becoming him?"
"Perhaps."
Eliza put down her fork. "You are not your father."
"I know that in my head."