"You are very efficient at them," she added, her tone light, but carrying a quiet edge of truth.
The amusement faded from his expression, leaving something much more observant in its place. He studied her profile as they walked. "And you, Miss Harkort, seem extraordinarily prepared for all farewells. You pack away your expectations just as neatly as Mrs. Ellison packs your trunks."
Eliza kept her gaze directed forward, watching the path ahead. She did not take offense, because he was entirely correct. Over the years, she had survived the transient nature of her life by never allowing herself to ask for more time than she was freely given.
"Visits end," she said simply.
The two words hung in the crisp air between them. It was a statement of fact, devoid of self-pity or melodrama, yet it revealed more about her than an hour of confession ever could. Andrew heard the quiet defense mechanism beneath the words: she did not expect anyone to ask her to stay.
That evening, the Braemar town residence hosted an elegant dinner. When the gentlemen finally rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, the space was filled with the soft clinking of teacups and the low murmur of comfortable conversation.
Andrew entered the room and immediately fell into conversation with a local magistrate and a distant cousin. He nodded, he offered the correct replies, and all the while, he realized with absolute clarity that he was actively searching the room for Eliza.
He found her seated near a heavy velvet curtain by the window, her aunt seated in a chair nearby. This time, there was no accidental meeting, there was no casual stroll through a garden, and there was no dance to serve as a socially required excuse. Andrew excused himself from the magistrate and walked directly across the drawing room to where she sat.
He took a position near the window, looking down at her. "Do you like Bath?" he asked quietly, picking up the thread of their afternoon conversation as if the hours between had not existed.
"I do," Eliza replied, looking up at him. "It is a beautiful city. The society is pleasant, and my aunt is very fond of the waters."
Andrew held her gaze. "Enough to stay?"
Eliza's hands stilled in her lap. "One does not stay everywhere one likes, Lord Andrew."
Andrew carefully guarded the phrase, letting the weight of her practical boundaries settle over him. He knew he was pressing against the very defenses she had admitted to earlier that day.