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Eliza stared out of the parlor window, clutching the small book she had managed to smuggle into the room like a child might cling to a favorite stuffed toy. In the hours before she had stepped into the room, the stress of her impending meeting had worked her into a nervous frenzy. She had not even been able to sit at her piano and play to calm herself. Instead, the time was spent going over her outfit for the hundredth time in the three days it had been since she was informed of the meeting time.

Her next-oldest sister and one of the maids had fretted and dithered, choosing and discarding one dress for another only to end up settling on the first one they had looked at - with the very same accessories. Though, if nothing else, Eliza had to admit that it was one of her more flattering afternoon gowns, boasting a subtle floral pattern in a shade of mauve that brought some color to her cheeks and emphasized the warmth in her eyes.

As though the matter of clothing were not trying enough, the two women had tried style after style on her hair, but none had seemed to satisfy her sister. This was too bold, that too girlish, the other too matronly. The end result was a casual up-do with a few trailing strands that her sister insisted lent just the right touch of femininity. Eliza was just pleased that she looked about as presentable as she could hope to get. She only hoped that it didn't look like she was trying too hard.

But in truth, and she really did try to be honest with herself, all of her concerns over her looks were just a front. First impressions were very important, of course, and looking pretty was one of the strongest factors a woman was expected to think about when meeting her fiance for the first time. But her worries ran deeper than that. This was the man whom, if everything went according to plan, she would be tied to for the rest of her life. She could not afford to give a bad impression. He could make her life miserable if she did. But oh! She was so terrible at social things. She would be lucky if she didn't embarrass herself so badly that she was laughed out of the parlor.

If she had it in her, Eliza might curse her father for not letting her meet him before the engagement was made, but she could not have expected anything else, really. He did not care overly much about his youngest child and it had apparently been one of Lord Ashworth's terms.

Before her thoughts could take her anywhere else, a footman knocked and opened the door. "Mister Ashworth has arrived, Miss."

Eliza stuffed the little book under her cushion and took a deep breath, bracing herself to meet the young Mister Ashworth. Well, here goes. Too late to run away now. Blessed spirits, let this tea go well.

Eliza rose and, when the door opened to admit the source of he fears, dipped in a smooth curtsey. "Mister Ashworth," she said. The words were quiet, but she was proud of herself - her voice had not wavered at all. Still, she could not bring herself to look up quite yet. What if he was hideous? No. That wasn't the most important thing. What if he was cruel? What if he had weighed her and found her wanting? Everyone else did. She could not bear to see that reflected on his face.

Stop that, she told herself. You are a Winfield. At least have a little pride.

Slowly, hesitantly, she raised her chin to get her first look at the man. He was...not quite what she had expected. At least the family resemblance was not strong. However, he did seem rather angry.

He hates me.

Despite herself, Eliza shrunk back from that anger. She had never done well with yelling or violent emotion. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to flee to the garden and let Heather comfort her. At least her rabbit was not judgmental, and she never got angry. Instead, she gestured to the chair across from hers. "Please. Be seated." Her voice was possibly even quieter than before.

Edgar's offering was rewarded with a tremulous smile. Perhaps he was not cruel, then. His expression did not reach his eyes, so it could hardly have been genuine, but the fact that he was bothering with courtly manners at all was a good sign...wasn't it? At least it meant he thought her worth the effort. Maybe it even meant that the anger was not for her?

Eliza was not certain. However, she could not deny that the words warmed her. So she shook her head, blushing faintly. "Please. Do not trouble yourself."

Resisting the urge to fidget or wring her hands, she glanced at the fresh tea service. A maid had delivered it only moments before the door had opened to admit Edgar. At least it would give her something to do with some of her nervous energy. Better than standing there, at least. She was already starting to feel awkward. "Will you not join me?"

Eliza was...not heartened when he sat without first seating her; but then, she was accustomed to being thus ignored. Rather than letting it bother her, she sat down, smoothing her skirts and settling herself at the table. Whatever warmth toward him she had felt had certainly faded, however. Perhaps it was all a ruse, after all. Edgar could try to pretend, but his heart was not in the act. It was not an encouraging revelation.

The hand that picked up the teapot was steady and for that she was proud. She poured first his cup, and then her own as he spoke, though admittedly his question gave her pause. It was a bold thing, direct and showing an interest in her that she was not accustomed to. What else should he ask about? She asked herself. She would want to know about him, too, being tied to him as she was soon to be.

It was a disorienting thing, seeing his mood shift from anger, to humorous courtesy, to a lack of courtesy, and back to an interest in her. Eliza had no idea what to make of him. She could only caution herself not to get her hopes up.

Foreward though it was, his question was innocent enough. Her hand unconsciously strayed toward the book hidden beneath her cushion and her eyes remained downcast. "I enjoy reading," she said, though she suspected that it was an interest considered boring by most. "I also play the pianoforte." Spoken aloud, they seemed rather mundane things, though they meant so much more to her than her simple words could ever convey.

Edgar's enthusiasm - it seemed genuine, though she could hardly warrant it - only made her shrink in on herself again. Such attention! It was embarrassing. How could anyone speak coherently when they were the focus of such attention? How could her sisters thrive in it? The gossip and poisoned words and backstabbing.

Would Edgar go home and tell all of his friends what a silly little girl she was? Surely not. Surely he would not stoop to such lows. If not for her sake, then for his own.

Oh!

There she was, getting tangled in her fears again. Just be yourself, her sisters had said. But who was she, really? Sometimes, Eliza was not even sure of the answer herself.

But he had asked her a question, and it would be impolite not to answer. "...fiction, mostly," she admitted, hating the faint blush that stained her cheeks once more. "Musings on humanity and society." Which was a roundabout way of saying tales of romance and drama and struggle and growth. "Though I have been reading more historical volumes of late. The Guardians, you know." and the Wolves went unsaid.

Although Eliza doubted her life would be directly affected by the rumored war, her curiosity had been piqued by the Wardens of old, and all of the spirits that went with them.

Though not the most encouraging response, at least he did not reject her interest in literature outright. Instead, he seemed to have an interest in philosophy himself, albeit not quite the same variety which she was wont to read. Still, it gave her some hope that he might share her interest of reading.

Taking her cue from Edgar, Eliza began sipping her own tea. In the ensuing silence, she tried her very best not to shrink in on herself. What would she do if she could not even hold a proper conversation with the man whom she was to wed? It would lead to a very long and lonely life, she was certain. There again, who could expect her to grow accustomed to him so quickly?

Her sisters, she was certain, had not had this much difficulty when meeting gentlemen for the first time - not even when the gentlemen in question were quite so important to their futures as Edgar was to hers. So perhaps it was her, after all. Perhaps she was too fainthearted. Though it had the ring of a long-known truth, it was not a pleasing one.

When Edgar spoke again - sooner than she might have expected - his words gave her pause. What could he possibly have to show her? Outside of all places? Whatever it was, it would have a difficult time being less comfortable than their stilted conversation over tea. Though the familiarity of the ritual offered some comfort, it was not precisely an overly pleasant experience.

Deciding that she had little to lose - and being perhaps a bit curious - Eliza stood and nodded. Though, deciding that such a lack of vocalization was probably rude, she added a quiet, "Of course."

It took a moment, but when the buck appeared, Eliza gasped, hands flying to her mouth. "Oh." She said softly. But he was magnificent.

All other thoughts fled as she watched him stride slowly closer. Even her nerves were temporarily forgotten. By the time he was close enough to look her in the eye, her hands had dropped low enough that, when she clasped them, they were resting over her heart. There was just something so...compassionate about him. The sort of kindness that made you want to go crying to him with all of your worries because you just knew he would understand - and sometimes understanding was enough.

It was through sheer force of will that Eliza held back her tears. If her eyes misted the slightest bit, then she blinked it back quickly enough. "Hello," she said, whether he could hear her through the glass or not.

"Is he..." she wondered, turning her attention to Edgar, though her eyes stayed on Dardanos. "He is yours?" She had not known that Edgar was Chosen - though it had, perhaps, factored in favor of the Ashworths when her father was looking for a match.