Page 29 of A Question of Worth

Lady Newark sat down in the seat opposite Eliza, her eyes searching hers. "Eliza, that would be something of a defeat, would it not? Lady Warrington wanted you to have that money; she wanted you to be given an inheritance that your father could not touch. Would it not be right to do as she asked, to pursue an answer so you can have what she has set aside for you?"

A heavy weight settled in Eliza's chest. "I do not think I have the strength for it."

Her aunt leaned forward in her chair. "But there is nothing more you need do, aside from have a further conversation with Lord Ashcombe. Recall, in his last letter, he stated that he was sure he now knew the reason for his great-aunt's interest in you, and that he intended to speak to the present Lord Atherby — whoever that is — to confirm it. Would that not be worth pursuing, Eliza? You say that you will end up a governess or unhappily married, but what if there is a third path that you might take?" She leaned forward. "A path that would offer you true happiness, even without the inheritance."

She looked away, fully aware of what it was her aunt was suggesting. "I cannot, Aunt."

"You do not deny that you care for Lord Ashcombe, then?"

"I cannot deny it," Eliza answered, a heaviness weighing on her words that made her lips feel bruised. "I told Lord Ashcombe that I had come to care for him but that my heart will no longer allow him to stay near to me. He must be free of all shame and threat of ruination, Aunt. He deserves that."

Lady Newark said nothing for some time, her surprise evident in the widening of her eyes and in the way she blinked furiously. Eliza said nothing, her shoulders dropped low, that sadness settling on her with an increasing strength, just as it had done the day she had stepped back from Lord Ashcombe. She had heard him say just how much he wanted to endure for her sake, had heard him swear to her that he cared for her also, justas she cared for him, but it had not been enough to convince her to turn from her intention to separate them both.

Lady Newark was quiet for a long time. When she spoke, it was not with the briskness of an aunt managing a situation. It was with the careful measurement of a woman who had watched something from its beginning and was not certain of its ending.

"I have watched many young ladies make the right decision for the wrong reasons, Eliza." Her voice was low and steady, almost without inflection. "The difficulty is that they often cannot tell the difference until it is too late. A sacrifice that looks like selflessness can sometimes be a way of avoiding the harder thing — which is to stay, and to be seen, and to allow someone else to choose whether or not the risk is worth bearing." She paused. "You have decided on Lord Ashcombe's behalf what he can and cannot endure. I am not sure you have that right."

Eliza opened her mouth to answer but found she had nothing to say that would not sound like the very thing her aunt had just described. The silence sat between them, uncomfortable and unresolved.

She wanted to argue. She could name the argument — Lord Ashcombe deserved better than the whispers she brought with her, deserved a future unshadowed by association with a ruined family. She knew the argument as well as she knew her own name. She had rehearsed it in the dark of her room, in the bath, in the long hours when sleep would not come. But her aunt's words had found a crack in it, and the crack was this: she had been so certain of what he could not endure that she had not once asked him. She had decided for him. She had taken the choice out of his hands and called it kindness.

Eliza set her book down. She had not been reading it for some time. She pressed the cover flat with her palm and did not look at her aunt.

Hearing all that his brother had thrown at her had been a pain in itself, but to know that Lord Ashcombe had his own relations angry with him for his nearness to her was more than she could bear. It had been the right thing for her to do, she told herself, just as she had done so many times in these last few days. No matter how much pain she endured because of his absence in her life, it had been the right choice.

"He wants to see you, Eliza."

She looked up at her aunt, pulled out of her thoughts. "Lord Ashcombe?"

"He has sent us an invitation to his ball."

With a tightness burning in her throat, Eliza shook her head again. "I cannot attend. Every other gentleman and lady will turn their attention upon me, and I do not think I can bear that."

"Except," Lady Newark said, with a flicker of enthusiasm in her voice which caught Eliza's attention, "it is to be a masquerade ball."

Eliza pressed her lips tightly together to prevent the immediate refusal that jumped to her lips. If it was to be a masquerade ball, then that meant every guest would be masked, hiding their faces to as great or as little a degree as they wished. Could she not attend? Might she not go along as just one of the other guests and simply enjoy herself for one evening?

The possibility opened in front of her like a door left ajar — not to Nathaniel, or not only to Nathaniel, but to the idea of being herself, masked, unknown, for one night. To walk into a room where no one whispered her name. To stand beside the punch table without feeling every pair of eyes measuring her worth. To be simply a woman in a beautiful dress, with the music playing and the candles lit and no weight on her at all.

Her hands were in her lap. She noticed their stillness — not gripping her skirt, not pressing together, not clenched around the edge of the book. They lay open, loosely curled, as ifsomething in her had already made the decision before her mind had caught up.

It would mean I would be able to see him again.

Ashamed at just how quickly her resolve faded, Eliza looked away.

"You do not want to attend?"

Licking her lips, Eliza let out a small noise of frustration. "I do not know what to do, Aunt."

"You would be able to be just as any other guest there," Lady Newark said, echoing the very words that had been in Eliza's mind only a few moments ago. "No one would know that you were present, aside from Lord Ashcombe himself." She leaned forward in her chair. "It is clear that he wants you there, Eliza. Is that not significant?"

Eliza's eyes grew hot with tears but she blinked them back quickly, refusing to let them form. She felt as if she had cried rivers of tears these last few days and was not about to add a few more drops to them. "I have already told him that we must separate."

"But what if he does not want to do such a thing?"

She could not give her an answer.

"You fear that it will lead to yet more pain, to yet more sorrow and struggle, do you not?" Lady Newark's expression softened. "You fear that you will not be able to hold yourself together, yes?"