But staring at the name of the port written in the clerk's neat ledger, Andrew finally understood the other half of what freedom meant. If his life truly belonged to him, then he also possessed the freedom not to leave.
No one had convinced him. His brother had not lectured him. Eliza had not sent a single word asking him to change his course. The choice rested entirely in his own hands.
The clerk stepped forward, offering the freshly inked document. "Your passage to Dover, my lord."
Andrew looked at the paper, and then he looked up. "No."
He reached across the counter, took the quill from the clerk's hand, and drew a single, dark line through the word Dover. Underneath it, with deliberate, unhesitating strokes, he wrote a different destination: Bath.
Andrew did not ride frantically into Bath, nor did he present himself unannounced at their door in a dramatic display of impulse. He was a gentleman, and he conducted himself as one. He secured respectable lodgings at the York House Hotel, saw to his horses, and only then sent his card to the townhouse leased by Mrs. Ellison, formally requesting a morning visit.
He was received in a bright, elegant drawing room on the first floor. Mrs. Ellison entered alone. She took her seat on the sofa with a serene rustle of silk, observing him with the sharp, intelligent gaze of a woman who missed absolutely nothing.
"You have traveled a great distance, Lord Andrew," Margaret observed mildly.
"I have, ma'am," Andrew replied, remaining standing. He did not attempt to dress his intentions in unnecessary social pleasantries. "I have come to ask your niece for permission to court her."
Margaret considered him for a long moment, a faint gleam of amusement appearing in her eyes. "Let me be certain I understand you, my lord. You have abandoned your passage, disappointed your shipping agent, and crossed half the country simply to ask my permission to ask my niece a question?"
Andrew's mouth twitched into a self-deprecating smile. "When you say it that way, Mrs. Ellison, it sounds considerably less sensible."
Margaret gave a soft, approving nod. "Good." She stood, smoothed her skirts, and walked to the doors. "I shall send her to you."