Clearing his throat, Nathaniel put the letter aside and resolved not to pick it up again. “I do not know what you mean.”
“I believe that you do.”
“Speak candidly,” Nathaniel said, impatiently.
Clark took a sip of his drink and tapped his fingers against the edge of the glass. “I wonder,” he began. “Is the Duchess of Lowe quite beautiful?”
Nathaniel stiffened a little, but affected a look of disinterest. “I suppose, objectively, one might say she is not an ugly woman.”
“I suspect she is quite stunning.”
“On what grounds?”
Clark smirked over the rim of his glass, but did not say anything. Nathaniel knew what he was implying. “Oh, do take your games elsewhere.”
“I am not playing any games, dear friend. Only observing.”
“Then observe someone else.”
Clark shook his head. “And miss this? I think not.”
With a hefty exhale, Nathaniel shook his head. “I think I will retire.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Clark said. “You must have all your energy when you dine with the Duchess.”
It was entirely uncharacteristic, but his cheeks began to redden. Lending fuel to Clark’s fire. He balled up the envelope the letter had come in and threw it at the man.
Clark caught it in his fist and unraveled it. “Such delicate handwriting,” Clark teased. “Yes, I imagine she is irresistible.”
Nathaniel felt the pressure in his body increase. “Goodnight,” he said, tightly.
As he turned to retire, Clark said, “Goodnight, dear friend. I do hope you dream of pleasant things.”
Nathaniel bit back a retort.
He wished he could be dreamless. But once more, he dreamt of the Duchess.
Chapter 7
Lady Margaret Abigail Baxter, Duchess of Lowe
“Why do you look so forlorn, my dear?” William asked.
Margaret read the letter again. They were seated in the drawing room, taking tea.
William had had little luck with Ezra the day before, so had returned two days later in the hopes that he might be in a more accommodating mood. Still, Ezra had not wanted visitors.
“Margaret?”
Margaret looked up at him, then back down at the letter.
“Is it bad news?”
“Yes, quite bad,” she said, without thinking.
He frowned and came to sit beside her. “What does it say?”
“Lord Nathaniel Sterling will be joining me for dinner this evening.”
William smiled. “And this is such terrible news?”
She paused and thought about it for a moment. “Well… I suppose it is not so terrible?”
“Indeed, it is good news. You can put your curiosity to bed and ask him about Ezra. Perhaps he will want to thank the gentleman.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, you are right. It may be good for Ezra.”
“He is to come tonight?”
She nodded.
“Then I will take my leave and come again tomorrow, if it pleases you?”
“Please do.”
William touched her hand, for the merest instance. Margaret looked down at his fingers. He was an extremely steady man, but she could see some hesitation in his touch.
It was unusual for him to touch her at all. The action had seemed thoughtless, then suddenly uncertain.
William cleared his throat and stood. “Would you bid Ezra farewell for me?”
“I will,” she heard herself say, though her mind was elsewhere. She was thinking of what she would wear that evening, how sleepless she must look, what she would have the servants prepare for him.
She understood the importance of this evening; after all, if it had not been for this gentleman, her son might well be dead.
Just the thought gave her heart a sudden rapid fire beat.
Yes, she owed this man a great deal. And she wanted him to feel her gratitude as fiercely as she’d felt his kindness.
She bid William farewell and imagined what it would be like to see Nathaniel Sterling again.
Margaret scarcely knew what he looked like.
***
Lord Nathaniel Sterling, Earl of Comptonshire
“My Lord.”
He heard her voice as he saw the bottom of her gown. She was descending the stairs. He dropped into a bow and said, “Your Grace.”
She moved in silence, as though she floated above the ground instead of walking upon it. He did not rise from his bow until the hem of her dress appeared within his vision once more. Nathaniel rose.
The last he’d seen her, she had been speckled with dirt, disheveled from riding, with fear still lingering in her countenance.
She was a different woman now, trimmed in lace and elegance. Her gown seemed to move as feathers do in the wind, as though it weighed nothing at all.
She held herself as women who know themselves do, keeping her chin high, her eyes steady and her hands cupped before her. But she did not look haughty. Only assured.
“You look well, Your Grace.” Had he spoken those words? He was surprised by his capacity to speak at all. But that was certainly his voice, albeit a little raspier than usual.
“As do you, my Lord,” she said it after a moment’s pause, as though she was unsure. Or surprised.
He smiled. “Better, I hope, than the last time you saw me.”
The Duchess smiled, though there was a clear hesitation in her. She wasn’t sure of him just yet.
Nor could he blame her, given the awful impression he’d made on her last time they had seen one another. “I thought the mud rather suited you.” Her smile became a little less reserved as she spoke.
“Indeed? Then I imagine you must be rather disappointed to see me dressed as I am.”
She almost laughed. He could see it in the twitch at the left corner of her mouth. “Certainly not. I am glad of the novelty.”
A novelty indeed. He hadn’t been able to find an outfit suited to the occasion. Each and every suit had seemed suddenly worn out to him, though he kept his wardrobe refreshed.
So he had bought something new. Something with a splash of color, which he typically avoided because he did not like to draw attention to himself, in the form of a light blue cravat that complimented the color of his eyes.
Together, they were led into the drawing room, where a servant offered him a drink.
There was a moment of silence between them and he was, for a moment, half-relieved. Clark had been right to tease him because Nathaniel did not think he had ever met a woman so beautiful as the Duchess.
And that was a dangerous position to be in. He did not need any distractions at this delicate time. Perhaps if her character was flavorless, if their conversation was fruitless, it would be easier to banish her from his dreams. He almost hoped this evening went terribly.
But then her eyes lifted from beneath the dark fall of her lashes and she spoke. “I must thank you again, my Lord, for bringing Ezra home.”
“How does he fare?”
“Well enough,” she said, though it was clear to him that she was not being entirely honest. “Only a minor break.”
Nathaniel nodded. “I wondered if I might see him.”
This seemed to surprise her, then make her uncomfortable. Her hands unfolded and refolded in her lap.
“The idea troubles you?”
“No, no,” she said, briskly. “It is only that I do not want to offend you, my Lord.”
“I cannot imagine how you might offend me.”
She looked towards the drawing room door, as though she half expected the boy to walk through at that very moment. Or perhaps she only hoped it. “My son,” she began. “Has not been himself since we left Lowe. He has not been taking well to visitors.”
Nathaniel recalled a period of his childhood during which he hadn’t wanted to see anyone either. He had been about the same age as Ezra, feeling sore and lonely because he rarely saw his father.
/> And, when his father was around, he focused his attention solely on his older brother. Nathaniel felt a sting of sympathy. “He is still grieving.”
The Duchess glanced up at him from beneath the fall of her lashes. For a moment, she looked very small, as he had never seen her before.
If he had to describe the Duchess, upon first impressions, he would say that she was quite formidable. She was not the kind of woman who sat idly by weeping while others hunted for her lost son. She rode out with them, leading the hunt.
But now, she looked younger. Touched by a tender feeling.
“Yes,” she said. “He is only young.”
“And we cannot expect him to bear the loss so well as we might,” he said, as though continuing her sentiment.
Her small smile was rife with gratitude, but her countenance was doubtful. He wondered what she must be thinking. That she did not fare well with her grief either?
It was too easy to forget that she had recently lost her husband. A man who was, almost certainly, the great and only love of her lifetime.
Nathaniel realized that he had been watching her too closely and stole his eyes from her face so that he could take a sip of his drink. “I will take no offence,” he assured her. “I only have something I would like to give him, if it would not distress him to be seen?”
Seeing that he would not be put off, she inclined her head and called for her head of house.
“Miss White, would you call Ezra for us, please?”
“Certainly, Your Grace.”
As she began to turn away, Nathaniel added, “Would you tell him that it is the gentleman from the ditch who calls? And that I have something for him?”
She looked to the Duchess, who nodded, before turning to call on Ezra.
Nathaniel and the Duchess suffered a tense silence. He felt her discomfort as intensely as he felt her nearness, though he could not understand the reason for it.
Was she concerned that the boy would become more distressed? That he would embarrass her? Or offend him?
Some time passed. Too long. And the Duchess was growing restless. At length, she opened her mouth to speak, but before she could muster a sound the door swung.
Miss White held it open while Ezra hobbled through on a pair of crutches he had clearly been making very little use of.
He was unsteady, but attempting to move quickly. His little arms looked as if they might break from the weight of himself.
Miss White attempted to steady him, but he shook his head wildly, going pink in the cheeks. She withdrew her hand, with a furrow between her brows.
He didn’t speak. Only looked from Nathaniel to his mother. His face looked sallow. His eyes sunken and ringed in purple.
He had never seen a young boy appear so sad. It was a strange sight. He reminded him of wounded soldiers… defeated and full of shame.
“Forgive me, my Lord, for keeping you waiting.”
Nathaniel smiled, without pity. He stood and bowed. “Certainly not, my Lord. It was quite worth the wait to see you.”
The boy had very tired, doubtful eyes. Had he been a bit older, Nathaniel might have expected him to slur some sour thing in response.
But he was too young. His bitterness had yet to come to full fruition. That was good. There was still a chance that it could be stopped in its tracks.
“My dear-” His mother began, but could not finish. Her hands had lifted as she spoke, and she’d stood. She looked concerned that Ezra might fall and surely wanted to hold him steady. But this boy had far too much pride to be held by his mother with company present.
Ezra looked to her, then lifted a shaky hand to indicate that she mustn’t come any closer. He knew as well as Nathaniel what her intentions were. “I am fine,” he said, with tight lips.
He tried to say it kindly, patiently, as an adult might. But Nathaniel could hear the edge of anger.
Nathaniel lowered his eyes to his tunic. He slipped his hand into the left pocket and clasped hold of a chain. It was golden and it sparkled in the light. He pulled until a pocket watch came free. It had been polished of every crumb of dirt. “I believe that this is yours,” Nathaniel said. “I meant to give it to you upon delivering you to your mother that night, but it slipped my mind.”
He had intended to return it to the boy by post, but upon receiving an invitation from his mother he had decided to hand it to the boy in person. And was glad of it, when he saw Ezra’s face bloom.
He tried to take a sudden step towards Nathaniel, but tumbled before he managed it. Nathaniel caught him about his shoulders and held him upright.
Ezra dropped his crutches, seemingly thoughtless, and relied entirely on Nathaniel’s hold. The Pocket Watch was nestled in the palm of Nathaniel’s hand, cupped against Ezra’s shoulder.
The boy pulled at a loose bit of chain, until the watch slid free. It dropped into his tiny hand.
All was quiet as the boy ran his fingertips over the embossed shell.
“This is my father’s,” Ezra said, with a shine in his eyes. “I took it from his study when we left Lowe, because-” His voice cracked. “Because I wanted it. But then I thought that, perhaps, it ought to stay in his study. With his books. And all that he loved.”
Nathaniel, still holding the boy upright, stole a glance at the Duchess over the top of his head. Her face was like steel, but he saw that her lower lip was trembling slightly.
“That is a grand idea,” Nathaniel said. “But I think that if the watch is to stay with all that the Duke loved, then it ought to stay with you and your mother. Do you not think?”
The boy continued to stare down at the watch. He then closed his fingers around it and nodded.
Nathaniel nodded too. “Will you take a seat, my Lord?”
Ezra seemed to become aware of himself quite suddenly. He looked down at his crutches, then up at Nathaniel’s hulking body.
He nodded, with slightly pink cheeks, but he did not look terribly ashamed. He smiled a little. “Would you put me down there, my Lord?” He gestured towards a seat.
“If I may sit beside you, certainly.”
He smiled wider and Nathaniel took that as permission to carry him. He lifted him, as he had the day he’d found him in the ditch, and carefully seated him.
As Ezra folded his hands in his lap like a true gentleman, Nathaniel thought how strange it was to see such a young boy – only six years old – behave in such a queerly adult manner. “Thank you, Sir.”
The Duchess had been a silent presence, but not an invisible one. He had felt her watching him so closely that the skin on the back of his neck prickled. “Yes, thank you,” she concurred, in a voice that was less measured.
Across the room, their eyes met.
She honored him with a shy smile. And for just a moment, he couldn’t breathe.
Chapter 8
Lady Margaret Abigail Baxter, Duchess of Lowe
The gentleman sitting in her drawing room was nothing like the man she had been expecting that evening. Free of the mud, he was a man with a face sculpted from the finest stone.
His jawline had impeccable corners and curves, while his mouth had a certain slackness about it that lent a softness to his face. He did not have a stern countenance, but he did not have an open one either. He was an odd combination of reserved and warm.
She suspected that there was much more to him than he displayed. Margaret thought this as she listened to him speak to her son.
He asked him if he liked to ride, to hunt, to shoot. And mustered more enthusiasm from Ezra, than she’d seen in months.
Had she been entirely ignored by the Earl, she might not have minded. Watching him make her son smile made her heart feel so light and relieved of its former worry, that she could have been invisible to him for all she cared.
But he didn’t treat her that way. Every few moments, the Earl would look at her. Ask her a question. Confirm something Ezra had said.
Each and every time, she was speechless for a moment. She was t
oo absorbed in watching them to find the words to answer.
So she would smile and nod, whenever she could, and answer when the question demanded it of her.
“Truly? I do not believe it. Your Grace, is it true?”
“It is true! Tell him, mother,” Ezra exclaimed, with a bright smile. She had seen this look in her son’s eyes before. When he was trying to impress his father.
An Earl for the Broken-Hearted Duchess Page 5