Eliza was seated near the window, the morning light catching the rich, dark fabric of her day dress as she carefully turned the pages of a borrowed volume of poetry.
"My brother sends his regards," Andrew murmured, breaking the quiet companionship of the room.
Eliza looked up, a natural, welcoming warmth entering her eyes at the sound of his voice. "I hope the Duke is well."
"He is perfectly well, and currently attempting to organize the family's summer movements," Andrew replied, his tone laced with faint amusement. He watched her for a long moment, the ease between them making the next question feel entirely natural. "When do you and your aunt intend to leave Bath, Eliza?"
Eliza closed her book, letting it rest in her lap. She noticed the letter in his hand, and she noticed the deliberate way he was looking at her.
"You are asking before making your own plans," she observed softly.
A slow, self-aware smile touched the corners of Andrew's mouth. "I am experimenting."
Eliza laughed, the sound bright and musical in the quiet room. It was a remarkable thing to witness: a man who had spent his entire adult life fiercely guarding his independence slowly, consciously begin to make room for someone else within it. His transformation was not that of a free man becoming trapped; it was the quiet evolution of a man who planned alone becoming a man who considered another person in his future.
That same evolution was quietly taking root within Eliza herself.
Two days later, she was sitting with her aunt in the small, private parlor. Mrs. Ellison was methodically working her needle through a square of linen, her spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose.
"I received a letter from your cousin in Derbyshire this morning," Margaret remarked casually, not looking up from her embroidery hoop. "She has invited us to spend a month at their estate when the season here concludes. I imagined the country air would do us both some good. Shall I write and accept?"
For the past five years, Eliza's answer to such questions had always been the same automatic response: Whatever suits you best, Aunt. Any place will do. She had survived by never laying claim to a destination, by always remaining the agreeable, temporary guest.