An Arrangement of Sorts

by Rebecca Connolly

  He was so angry with her at the moment that he could hardly stand to look at her, let alone remain silent for this long. But at the same time, he could not not look at her. He had to. It was an involuntary reaction to being around her. And if he were being totally objective, she was not even looking especially lovely today. Her hair was a mess, her dress was dirty, and she looked worn out. But that did not matter. In his eyes, and he was well aware how biased they were, she was the most stunning creature he had ever seen.

  And that was irritating.

  At the sound of approaching wheels, he turned, sighing in relief. The coach had arrived, and they could be on their way. He nodded to the coachman, who returned it, then hopped down to help the former coachman with the trunks.

  Nathan helped Nicole into the coach, then moved aside so she and Moira could kiss cheeks and express their farewells. Then Moira stepped back and Louis, still grumpy, climbed in and sat on the side opposite. In a matter of minutes they were gone, and Nathan and Moira were alone again.

  They looked at each other briefly, then moved as one to the horses. Nathan silently helped Moira up, and then he stood there glaring up at her. For the longest time, she did not look at him.

  “What is it, Nathan?” Moira asked finally. “You have been glowering at me for most of the day now. What have I done?”

  He laughed incredulously. “What have you done?” he cried. “You can speak French!”

  She met his eyes coolly. “I never said that I couldn’t.”

  He could not believe what he was hearing. “I spent,” he began as calmly as he could manage, “an entire afternoon, a very painful one I might add, teaching you French, or so I thought! Why in heaven’s name would you pretend you couldn’t speak it?” His voice had lost its calmness at some point and to his surprise, he now found himself shouting at her.

  Moira narrowed her eyes and tightened her grip on Flora’s reins. “I don’t know, Nathan,” she said in a scathing, sarcastic voice. “Perhaps I just wanted you to teach me.” With a swift kick into Flora’s side, she rode off, leaving Nathan standing in his place and staring after her, his mouth gaping open, eyes wide, anger gone.

  She wanted him to teach her? That did not make any sense to him. Why would she want him to teach her anything, especially something she already knew? He was not anything special, nor was he as gifted in the language. There was no reason she should want him specifically.

  Unless… unless she was starting to have some feelings for him as well.

  He staggered in his place and gripped Mercury’s reins for support as all of the breath left his lungs. That could not even be possible, could it? A beautiful woman like her, who already had a betrothed, would not be interested in plain Nathaniel Hammond. The Earl of Beverton maybe, but not Nathan as he was, stripped of title and fortune and breeding.

  She could not possibly feel anything towards him beyond their circumstantial friendship and near constant vexation.

  And yet… Could he have imagined the warmth in her eyes when they laughed? Hadn’t she been just as still during those moments when their acting became a little too intimate? Didn’t she react to seeing him shirtless the same way he had reacted to her in breeches? She had shared private, personal things with him as he had with her. They were close, there was no denying it.

  Could it have been something more on her part, as it undoubtedly was on his?

  Suddenly, he remembered to breathe, though it was not at all refreshing, and cleared his throat rather awkwardly, forcing the burning hope in his heart to subside. It was possible, but it was not probable. And it would not change a thing. She was engaged. They were searching for her love. Once he was found, she would be gone.

  He mounted Mercury and raced to catch up to her. Whatever time they had left together, he did not want to spend it fighting or angry.

  It felt like ages before he caught her, and she made no effort to look at him. “Moira, I’m sorry,” he said as he slowed.

  She sniffed and wiped at her nose with her sleeve, making him smile in spite of himself. “So am I.”

  “I should not have yelled at you for being fluent in French,” he said, shaking his head. “It sounds ridiculous, now that I say it out loud, doesn’t it?”

  She laughed a little. “Perhaps, but not as ridiculous as me pretending I couldn’t speak French just so you could teach me.”

  He grinned. “You were appallingly bad. I thought there was no way anybody could be that terrible at learning a language.”

  “And you were right,” she responded with a sigh.

  “But, Moira, your French is excellent. Where did you learn?”

  She looked over at him and shrugged. “Is it too odd to say that I don’t know? For as long as I can remember, I have been able to speak French. I spoke it to my dolls, that way Aunt Miriam would have no idea what I was saying. There must have been a French governess or a maid or something when I was younger, but I cannot recall.”

  That was not so surprising, given the tragedies of her past, but Nathan chose not to comment on that. “Well, wherever you picked it up, it is flawless.”

  She smiled demurely. “Thank you. I am sorry for being so angry with you earlier.”

  “It was a very long morning, wasn’t it?” he asked with a wry grin. Then he sobered. “Moira, I don’t want to fight.”

  “Neither do I,” she murmured, dropping her eyes.

  “Then let’s stop,” he said simply.

  She met his eyes, smiling a bit. “Maybe if you were not so irritating…” she said lightly, with a shrug.

  “Me?” he cried with a laugh. “Forgive me, but have you met yourself? You are hardly a paragon of meekness.”

  “Well, you had already established that I am the most infuriating woman on the planet,” she protested. “Shouldn’t you have adjusted your behavior to accommodate mine?”

  “Hardly! I only gave you the title for the sake of argument. I never thought you would be flattered by it!”

  They bantered for much of the remainder of the day, and by the time they had decided they should stop for the night, even after making considerably less progress than they had hoped for, they were in high spirits.

  Moira had no sooner stepped into the taproom of the inn that night than she was mobbed by the innkeeper’s wife and two daughters, both of whom appeared too young to be present in such a place.

  “Oh, my dear, you must be so weary! Are you staying the night? Do say that you are, we shall look after you considerably well. I shall draw you a hot bath and Molly here will see to it that your dress is washed and pressed for you, while Sally will bring you up a hearty dinner!” She finally took a breath as she waved to the rather crowded taproom full of men.

  Moira looked back at Nathan, who was smiling to himself. “Darling?” she queried with an insistent tilt of her head.

  “Do not fret, Jane,” he said coming over and patting her on the back, then smiling at the other women. “I should like for you to get some proper rest tonight, and these fine women seem to be more than able to help you with that. Not to worry, dear, I will take care of everything.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, but she could not help but to be amused. “If you are sure, Michael. I would hate to inconvenience you.”

  He shook his head and smiled in what would appear a loving manner. “Not at all, my dear. I will be up much later, long after you have gone to bed.”

  She nodded, sighing in resignation. “Very well. Ladies, I would be pleased if you would direct me to an available room and that hot bath you were speaking of.”

  All three women squealed in delight at the prospect of having a real lady in their inn, and herded Moira up the stairs.

  She threw a panicked look at him, but he just smiled and waved her on. She heard his laughter as they left and swore to make him pay for it.

  Up in the room, Moira was dreading what the bath would be like. She was already being fussed over, and they were only at the dinner stage. They had stripped her of
her gown and put her in a fresh one of theirs, which fit surprisingly well, and were now trying to get her to eat something that smelled so terrible that she just knew that if one spoonful touched her lips, she would be ill.

  “No, please, Mrs. Clarke, I cannot,” she begged, holding up a hand.

  “Oh, but you must, child,” the round woman scolded, holding the bowl out to her. “It is just the thing to cure the weary state of your body from a long day of traveling.”

  Moira doubted that very much indeed. “Please, I am sure it is wonderful, but I just…”

  “Oh, do eat up, my lady,” Molly said with a pleading look in her eyes.

  She could not eat it. She would not. But how to make them leave her be about it? Frantically her mind raced and she seized upon the first thing that came into her mind.

  “I am with child,” she blurted out, covering her stomach.

  The women in the room froze, mouths gaping. In the next instant, the bowl clattered to the ground and she was swarmed by them, hugging and squeezing and screams of joy.

  “Darling girl! Is this your first?”

  At her nod, Mrs. Clarke screamed again. “Oh, dear child, I was so dreadfully sick with my first. Sally, take this away and bring her something else that will not make her ill!”

  “Yes, Mama,” the girl said as she rushed out with the food she had just brought in.

  “Your husband must be so pleased!” Molly squealed, taking a hand.

  “Or does he even know yet!” Mrs. Clarke said with a gasp. “You look so thin, you cannot be very far along.”

  “He…” Moira began.

  “He doesn’t know, does he?” Molly interrupted with yet another squeal.

  “Well…”

  “Oh, you must tell him, indeed you must,” Mrs. Clarke insisted, pulling Moira from the chair.

  Moira’s heart stopped in her chest. “Now?” she managed to squeak out.

  “Yes, yes, now,” Molly insisted as she dragged Moira to the door. “Mama is quite right, there is no time like the present.”

  She could not even manage to say another word as the two women spoke over each other about how delighted he would be and how delighted they were, and things only got worse when Sally rejoined them and offered her own opinions and prostrations on the subject. A horrible feeling of dread welled up inside of Moira as she saw the number of people in the taproom. Not only would she be unable to pretend she had told Nathan, but now she would not even be able to tell him in privacy. They were going to make a grand spectacle of this and Nathan had no idea it was even coming.

  Please let him act happy, she wished with all of her might. She could only imagine the horror that the Clarke women would express were his reaction anything less than jubilant. She shuddered at the thought.

  Nathan looked up in surprise as the boisterous Mrs. Clarke and her daughters dragged Moira into the center of the busy taproom.

  “Quiet, please! Everybody, quiet! I beg your pardon for interrupting your evening, gentlemen,” Mrs. Clarke said with a wave of her hand.

  Nathan eyed Moira carefully, noting that, although she appeared calm on the outside, her eyes were panicked, her fingers were clenching each other, and her teeth were clamped on her lips so hard they were white.

  “Our dear Jane here has something she needs to tell her husband, and we want you all to be witnesses!” Mrs. Clarke continued joyfully.

  Nathan read the apology that flashed across Moira’s eyes, and tried to ask what for with his own, but before he could, all of the men behind him shoved him forward so that he was only a few feet from Moira. “Uh…” he stammered, rubbing a hand on his trousers, “what is it, Jane?”

  The entire room went deathly silent, as if what was about to be said were of grave importance.

  “D-darling,” Moira said in a trembling voice that sounded so unlike hers it worried him.

  “Well, go on and tell him, dear!” Mrs. Clarke urged, grinning.

  Moira took a deep breath and steeled herself. “I am with child.”

  The collective gasp that went up from the room would have been comical had Nathan not felt as though something large and heavy had been swung into his chest. The first thought that entered his mind was a blatant denial, knowing it was impossible. The following thought reminded him of their act, and he knew he somehow had to respond quickly.

  “Are you certain?” he asked quietly, his voice hoarse as he stalled for time, the anticipation surrounding them almost tangible.

  For a moment, she looked ready to deny it, but at his almost imperceptible nod, she nodded once, and then again.

  He knew what he had to do. What any sensible husband would do with such news.

  But he was no husband.

  And yet…

  He took a deep breath, and stepped towards her until there were only a few inches in between them. He put both of his hands on her shoulders, and drew her in for a kiss.

  The moment his lips touched hers, he was lost. Though the room had erupted with cheers, he did not hear them. Her lips were yielding and molded to his far too easily. He could not breathe, could not feel anything but the sensation of his mouth on hers. Somehow, one of his hands made its way from her shoulder to her cheek, and he touched it gently, caressing it with his fingertips. He let go of his hesitation and gave himself up to it, unable and unwilling to resist her.

  After what felt like an eternity, and yet was entirely too short, he pulled back, staring at her as he struggled to breathe or to think. Her eyes were wide and luminous, and she looked just as tossed about as he felt. For a moment, all they could do was stare at each other. Then Moira smiled.

  At that smile, he knew.

  He was in love with her.

  He always had been.

  Then he heard the roar of the crowd around them, and was jolted back into reality.

  “Smile,” Moira hissed through her teeth, her smile turning fixed. “You are supposed to be happy.”

  He shook himself and grinned broadly at the gathering, most of whom clapped him on the back and shouted their congratulations.

  “I’ll be taking the missus back up to bed now, sir, if you don’t mind,” Mrs. Clarke said as she took Moira’s shoulders.

  He nodded, unable to say anything. He met Moira’s eyes once more, and at her own nod, he released the breath he forgot he was holding.

  His newfound friends brought him more celebratory drinks, and for quite some time, they carried on in that manner.

  It was not until much later, long after Mr. Clarke had gone to bed, and once the taproom was empty and he was alone, that Nathan was able to think clearly as he sat before the fire, staring absently into it.

  He loved her. He loved Moira. Why deny it any longer? It was far too late for that. Fighting it would be futile. That kiss had told him everything he needed to know. He knew he would never forget that moment, mind racing, breath pounding, heart soaring.

  And he would never, as long as he lived, forget the feel of her lips on his.

  His thoughts returned to her smile… That soft, secretive, almost wondering smile she had smiled as they caught their breath. Had that been for him? Or had it been nothing more than an act, a show she had put on for their utterly rapt audience?

  He didn’t know, and he couldn’t ask. But he would keep that smile locked away in his mind when all of this was over. It would haunt him forever.

  The reminder of what he had lost.

  Chapter Twelve

  They made their escape from the “helpful” intentions of the Clarkes as early as they possibly could the next morning. The night had been extraordinarily painful for Moira, first with having to announce her supposed pregnancy to a room full of strangers and pretending that Nathan was the father, and then having to sustain herself purely on a lukewarm soup, and then enduring the attentions of the women during the bath they insisted on helping her with. At least they had been as good as their word concerning her dress, which was now as clean as it had ever been.

 
The only part of the night she did not regret with her whole soul was the kiss that she and Nathan had shared in that busy, crowded taproom.

  It was probably the one thing that she should regret. But she didn’t.

  The moment she had seen Nathan this morning, anxiety had surged and consumed her. He had not said a word to her, and his eyes were dim and troubled, with lines that seemed permanently etched into his brow. Sensing that he did not wish for conversation, she had maintained silence for as long as she could. But now they were alone and had been riding for quite some time, she could not take this awkward tension any longer.

  “I am so sorry that I told them I was pregnant, Nathan,” she burst out, her words flying rapidly. “I have no idea what came over me. They were trying to feed me this awful looking something or other that had such a putrid stench that I knew if I had to eat it, I would be violently ill. So the only way I could think to avoid that would be to claim that I was with child, because no one would feed something so foul to a woman with an especially sensitive stomach, and once I said that, they insisted that I come and tell you right then, and I couldn’t get out of it. I know it must have been dreadful for you, and I…”

  “I apologize for kissing you.”

  Moira stopped her babbling instantly and froze. “W-what was that?” she asked, feigning deafness. Surely he had not actually said what she had thought she had heard him say.

  He cleared his throat, and spoke louder. “I said I apologize for kissing you.”

  Moira’s heart seemed to stop and her eyes began to burn. He regretted it. That was why he looked so tired, and why he was not himself. He wished he had not kissed her. He was so miserable about it that he had not been able to sleep. For some reason she dared not identify, that stung sharply.

  “Oh,” she murmured. It was all the reply she could manage, and she wished that it had not sounded so small.

  “It wasn’t proper,” Nathan went on, as if he had not noticed how still she had gone. “It was a rash decision and an assault on your virtue. It should not have happened and I am sorry for it.”