"Where are you going?"
"To retrieve the spoon."
"You cannot be serious."
"I am."
"You are chasing a bird."
"Yes. With me, apparently."
They crossed the garden. The bird landed on a stone fountain. Eliza reached for the spoon. It flew again. She ran. Julian followed. They ended up beside the old greenhouse. The bird disappeared through a broken pane.
Julian looked at Eliza. "No."
"Yes."
"No."
"You are taller."
"That is not an argument."
"It is the only one I have."
He climbed through. She followed. Inside, the air smelled of roses. The bird was gone. The spoon lay on the floor.
Eliza picked it up. "Victory."
Julian smiled. "Temporary."
She turned. He was closer than she expected. Neither moved.
"You have dirt on your cheek," he said.
"Where?"
He reached out. His thumb brushed her skin. Her breath caught. He stopped.
"Eliza."
"Yes."
"I should not."
She looked at him. "Probably not."
He lowered his hand. They walked back in silence. Neither mentioned the moment, but it stayed with both of them.
The third week brought London. Julian had business there; Eliza went with him. At the first ball, everyone wanted to meet her. She hated it.
"You are enjoying this," she whispered.
Julian looked at her. "I am enjoying watching them realize you are not frightened."
"I am terrified."
"You don't look it."
"That is because I am excellent at pretending."
He smiled. "Apparently, we have something in common."
A gentleman approached. "Miss Hart."
"Eliza, of course."
He bowed. "May I have the next dance?"
Julian looked at Eliza. She accepted. He did not react. But when she returned, she found him holding a glass too tightly.
"You broke it."
He looked down. The stem had cracked. "I did not."
"You did."