Page 24 of A Question of Worth

"I believe it came from her gratitude that she had been given a great blessing even in the light of her own father's difficult circumstances," Lady Woodside said, a softness in her voice as she spoke of things long past. "Someone cared for her when herown father did not. Without that support and consideration, she would have had no happiness to speak of."

Nathaniel blinked away his surprise at this, having never known much of his great-aunt's past. "I know very little of her father," he admitted, hoping that his tone was light and not filled with the urgency that was now racing through his mind. "Was he very inconsiderate?"

"Oh, greatly!" Lady Woodside's eyes flared, and she shook her head, a rattling breath escaping from her. "The man was a drunkard, by all accounts, and a wastrel with it. My own father spoke very poorly of him. I believe that he quite ruined himself. The shame of it has never left the family line, although Susanna was kept back from it a good deal, since she was soon married to Lord Warrington. From what I have been told, the worst of her father's sins was only revealed to society once she was safely married."

Heat billowed in Nathaniel's chest as he held Lady Woodside's gaze, seeing the similarities between Miss Fairleigh and his own great-aunt laid out directly for him to behold. Was this the connection, then — or at least, the beginnings of it? He rubbed one hand over his forehead and cleared his throat, trying to settle his thoughts into some sort of straight formation so he could think things through one step at a time. "I — I did not know any of this."

"You could speak with the family themselves, but I doubt they would want to talk of their past shame. It is too great." Her head tilted, her eyes quickly searching Nathaniel's face. "You might also wish to speak to the present Lord Atherby."

"Lord Atherby?"

The lady smiled. "Yes. His great-grandfather was the one who arranged the marriage between Susanna and Lord Warrington, you understand. I am certain that the present Lord Atherby will know of it, for it saved Susanna from ruinand would, I am sure, have been spoken of in the family for generations."

Nathaniel nodded slowly. "It was indeed a most considerate, gentlemanly act. One that the family could be proud of." His eyes returned to Lady Woodside, seeing how her soft smile lingered, a smile that spoke of days long past and so many happy memories made. "I must thank you for your candor, Lady Woodside. It has been very helpful."

"I am glad to have been of use," she said, as Nathaniel rose to his feet. "Might I ask if there is any particular reason you wished to speak to me on this matter?"

Not wanting to be entirely truthful, Nathaniel lifted his shoulders. "I suppose that, given all that has happened, I want to understand Lady Warrington's generosity and her thinking behind what she has done. This helps me to see her a little more clearly."

"Then I am all the more delighted," came the reply. "Thank you, Ashcombe. I wish you well."

The carriage swayed as it turned from Lady Woodside's street into the broader thoroughfare. Nathaniel sat with his back against the squabs, his hat on the seat beside him, his hands in his lap. He was not looking at the passing houses. He was looking at nothing.

The connection was not mysterious anymore. It was almost obvious, and its obviousness made him ashamed that it had taken him this long to see it. Lady Warrington had looked at Miss Fairleigh and had seen herself — the same uncertain girl with the same failing father, the same closing doors. And she had done for Eliza what Lord Atherby's great-grandfather had done for her: she had reached across the distance and offered a way out.

He thought of Miss Fairleigh at the solicitor's office — her white face, her rounded eyes, her hands gripping her reticule.Then at the bookshop — her small folded list of names, her precise correction about proximity. Then at the park — her chin lifting as she told him she knew her father's reputation was deserved. Each time, she had been the one under scrutiny. Each time, he had been among those doing the scrutinizing — or standing close enough to those doing it that the distinction was, perhaps, not as meaningful as he had told himself.

His right thumb found his left palm and pressed. He held the pressure for a moment, then released it. The habit did not comfort him as it once had.

The carriage jolted slightly as the wheels found a rut, and he steadied himself against the seat.Lord Atherby.He turned the name over in his mind, trying to set a face to it, and found he could not. He did not think they had ever met — not once, that he could recall — and it was a curious thing, that so much should now rest with a man who was a stranger to him.

He sat back, his mind already forming the question he would put to Lord Atherby when the moment came. There was one more piece to find, and he knew now where to look for it. Whatever it cost him, he would see Miss Fairleigh's name cleared — and he would tell her so at the first opportunity.

11

"Are you quite ready?"

"No." Eliza gripped her hands tightly together as the carriage approached Almack's. "Aunt, I am not at all sure that this is wise. Continuing to press into society when it is clear that they have already made up their minds about who I am and what it is I have done — or my family has done — will, I fear, only bring me more difficulty and shame."

Lady Newark shook her head. "You have done nothing to deserve any shame," she said stoutly. "We will not allow society to push you away. Recall that after what Lord Ashcombe did in standing up for you, many will not reject you."

Eliza said nothing in response, having no choice but to climb down from the carriage on slightly wobbly legs. Yes, she had to admit that Lord Ashcombe's actions had been wonderful indeed and she had been filled with gratitude towards him for it. In fact, she had barely been able to stop thinking of him these last few days.

"Lady Margaret sat with you for the entirety of the picnic, did she not?" her aunt reminded her, taking Eliza's arm and walking with her towards Almack's. "And her mother was mostconcerned for you, given all that she and I shared. It may appear, Eliza, that there are many against you, but that is simply not true. Do not let the loud voices overcome your senses. Look for the quieter ones, the ones that whisper their support towards you, even if they are afraid to offer it aloud."

Eliza wilted inwardly. Her aunt was correct in all that she said; Eliza knew that, but there was also the quiet realization that even though there might be some who did not think as poorly of her as others, those voices would not make themselves known, not in a situation such as this. Almack's was a place where one had to be of a certain standing to even have a ticket, and quite how her aunt had managed to procure one, Eliza did not know.

"Lord Ashcombe will be here this evening, I am sure of it," her aunt continued warmly, as they stepped inside. "I am sure that must bring you some delight."

For the second time, Eliza did not answer. Her feelings for Lord Ashcombe at present were much too confusing even to be acknowledged, especially when there was so much else for her to consider. Dropping her gaze, she did not look into another face as she took hesitant steps through the heavy, velvet draped doors of Almack's. She could not bring herself to raise her eyes and look across the room, certain she would see judgement in every face. The murmur of conversation and the soft rustle of satin and silk told her the room was full of other guests, making her fingers tighten around the clasp of her reticule.

"Raise your eyes, my dear," she heard her aunt whisper. "Whether you feel it or not, show them that you are not ashamed."

It took every bit of inner strength that Eliza had to do as her aunt suggested. Drawing in a long breath, she lifted her chin and dragged her gaze upwards, taking in the polished floor in the center of the room that was now waiting for dancers to set theirfeet upon it. Her skin felt clammy, a tightness wrapping around her ribs as her aunt led her through the room. She was sure the faint mutterings near her were of recognition of her presence, noting how a few pairs of eyes drifted towards her and then snapped back again sharply. No one took a step forward towards her, no one sent a smile of greeting in her direction.

Lady Newark touched her arm and steered her gently toward the refreshment table. "A drink, mayhap? Come, Eliza. Do not fear their whispers."

Eliza could barely hear her aunt over the rushing of blood in her ears. Picking up a glass of ratafia, she turned her back to the crowd for just a moment, wishing that she could find a place where the shadows might wrap around her to hide her away.