Page 67 of Honor Requires

Elizabeth could not hear the words. But she felt—unexpectedly—that she wished to. How very odd, she thought.

The gentleman then stepped forward, his attention directed toward the lady who had been startled. He bowed, not deeply, but with sufficient respect, and spoke in a tone that, though still quiet, carried more clearly.

“Madam, you have my apologies. The fault is entirely mine.”

The lady, still recovering, assured him she was unhurt, though her agitation lingered. Her companion accepted the apology with more composure, and within moments, the matter seemed settled.

There was nothing more to observe. Elizabeth ought, at that point, to have turned away. She did not.

The gentleman had straightened, his gaze shifting briefly—casually—across the path. It passed over her. For the briefest instant, their gazes met. Elizabeth felt something in her chest tighten. It was not fear, nor even surprise. It was recognition. Or something perilously like it.

No, she thought at once, the instinctive denial rising before the impression had fully formed. That is impossible.

She did not look away.

His eyes were a striking blue—clear, cool, and steady. There was nothing overtly familiar in his gaze, and the effect of it was curiously unsettling; it appeared that he saw more than he ought, and lingered where it should not.

He inclined his head, just barely. A gesture of acknowledgment, nothing more.

Elizabeth returned it, her composure intact, though her pulse had quickened in a manner she did not entirely understand.

The moment passed. He turned away. Within seconds, he had reentered the carriage, and it moved on, its earlier misjudgment forgotten in the smoothness of its departure.

Elizabeth stood very still. What was that? She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to resume her walk. It was nothing. A gentleman. A passing glance. An impression heightened, no doubt, by the novelty of the morning and the lingering influence of recent conversations.

She found herself replaying the moment. The way he had moved. The sound of his voice. The steadiness of his gaze.

There is something…

She stopped herself. “No,” she said. It was foolish. More than foolish. It was dangerous to allow memory to intrude where it did not belong.

You imagine what you wish to see. She had done so before. She would not do so again.

With deliberate effort, she turned her thoughts to more practical matters and continued her walk, though the ease she had enjoyed earlier did not fully return.

When she reached home, she found Jane in the drawing room, her expression bright with anticipation.

“You have been out longer than I expected,” Jane said, setting aside her work.

“The air was agreeable,” Elizabeth replied, removing her gloves. “And I allowed myself to wander.”

Jane smiled. “I am glad of it. You look the better for it.”

Elizabeth returned the smile, though her thoughts remained elsewhere.

“I have news.” Jane set aside her embroidery entirely. “Bramley has returned.”

Elizabeth’s attention sharpened at once. “Has he indeed?”

“He has—and he has made the acquaintance of our new neighbor.”

Elizabeth took her seat with care. “Then I am to be enlightened at last.”

Jane laughed. “You must ask him yourself. He is most eager to relate the particulars.”

As if summoned by the remark, the door opened, and Bramley entered, his manner animated in a way Elizabeth had come to recognize as a sign of genuine interest.

“Ah—Lizzy,” he said, with easy familiarity. “You are returned at just the right moment.”