A Game of Hearts

Chapter Thirteen

Morning sunlight streamed through the drawing room windows, creating pools of warmth on the carpet where the Duke’s staff had arranged several small tables. Each held an array of materials - papers in delicate shades, ribbons, lace scraps, and tiny paste gems that caught the light.

“For our final Valentine’s activity,” the Duke announced, clearly enjoying himself, “we shall create tokens of affection. Though Saint Valentine’s Day itself has passed, the sentiment behind it - the expression of growing regard - remains worthy of celebration.”

Emma’s fingers traced the edge of a piece of silver-grey ribbon that matched certain eyes perfectly. She felt Nathaniel’s presence behind her before he spoke.

“Might I join you, Miss Everton? Though I fear my hands are better suited to ship’s ropes than delicate craftwork.”

She turned, finding his expression caught between hope and uncertainty. Yesterday’s reconciliation still felt new, fragile - like spring ice that might crack under too much weight.

“I should be happy to offer guidance, my Lord.” She gestured to the chair beside her. “Though I suspect that you underestimate your capabilities.”

His smile, when it came, held none of his former rigid restraint.

“Your faith in me is... more than I deserve, perhaps. But I find myself quite determined to prove worthy of it.”

The double meaning in his words made her heart flutter. Around them, other couples settled at the small tables, but Emma was aware only of Nathaniel’s careful movements as he drew his chair close enough for them to work together while maintaining proper distance.

“Perhaps,” he said softly, selecting a piece of cream-colored paper, “you might show me where to begin?”

Emma demonstrated the first fold, creating a heart shape from the paper.

“The trick is to be both precise and gentle. Too much force and the paper creases wrongly. Too little and the fold lacks definition.”

Nathaniel’s hands moved with surprising delicacy as he copied her actions. His attention to the task reminded her of how he had described handling ship’s navigational instruments - that same careful balance of strength and precision.

“Like this?”

He held up his attempt.

“Perfect.” She found herself smiling at his obvious satisfaction. “Now for the more challenging part - placing the lace without crushing it.”

“I defer to your expertise.” His voice held warm humour. “Though I confess, watching you work makes it appear deceptively simple.”

She handed him a piece of delicate lace. Their fingers brushed, sending that now-familiar spark through her entire body. When she dared look up, she found his eyes dark with awareness.

“Sometimes,” she said softly, “the most worthwhile things require careful handling.”

His expression softened with understanding.

“And patience?”

“And patience.” She returned her attention to her own work, though her heart raced at the tenderness in his tone. “Though the results can be worth the effort.”

Around them, other couples chatted as they worked. Lady Beatrice’s laugh carried from where she sat with Lord James, who appeared to have tangled himself thoroughly in ribbon. The Duke moved between tables, offering encouragement and the occasional jest.

But Emma was aware only of Nathaniel’s presence beside her, of how his careful movements showed his determination to master this delicate task. Just as he was determined to prove himself worthy of her renewed trust. When she glanced at him again, she found him frowning in concentration as he attempted to tie a tiny bow. His large hands moved with infinite care, treating the fragile ribbon as if it were precious. Something in her chest tightened at the sight.

Oh.

The realisation struck her with the force of summer lightning. This man, who could command a ship through storm and battle, who maintained rigid control in all things, was willing to risk appearing foolish with paper and ribbon, simply to share this activity with her. To prove that he could learn gentleness, could balance strength with delicacy.

And she loved him for it. The thought should have terrified her. Instead, it felt like coming home - like finding the missing piece of a puzzle she hadn’t known needed solving.

“I appear to have created a knot rather than a bow,” Nathaniel’s rueful voice broke into her revelation. “Though in my defence, these ribbons are remarkably uncooperative.”

Emma blinked back the tears that had gathered without her noticing.

“Here,” she managed, reaching to help him. “Sometimes it helps to loop it this way first...”

Their hands brushed again as she demonstrated, and she wondered if he could feel how her fingers trembled. If he could somehow sense the momentous discovery that she had just made.

But no. This newfound knowledge was hers to keep safe, at least for now. They were still rebuilding trust, still finding their way back to each other. A declaration of her heart’s certainty could wait until the ground between them was more secure.

“Your token is coming along quite well,” the Duke observed, pausing beside their table. “Though Lord Limnwood, I believe that particular knot might be better suited to securing a mainsail than adorning a Valentine.”

Nathaniel’s quiet laugh held no trace of his usual reserve.

“I fear that you’re right, Your Grace. Though Miss Everton’s patience with my attempts is admirable.”

“Admirable indeed.” The Duke’s eyes twinkled as he glanced between them. “How fortunate that this house party has allowed for such... instruction in delicate matters.”

Emma felt her cheeks warm at his knowing tone. Around them, she could sense other guests watching with poorly concealed interest. Their reconciliation was obvious - and obviously noteworthy to society’s observers.

“I have found,” she said carefully, “that some lessons are worth the teaching.”

Nathaniel’s hand stilled on his work.

“And some students,” he replied quietly, “are more grateful for the instruction than they can properly express.”

The Duke’s smile widened.

“Well then, I shall leave you to your... educational pursuits.”

As he moved away, Emma became aware of the whispered conversations around them. Lady Beatrice was beaming in their direction. Even Lord Radmill, who had been so quick to accept scandal, at his daughter’s instigation, now watched them with approval.

“I believe,” Nathaniel said softly, “that we are providing the morning’s entertainment.”

“Does that concern you?”

She couldn’t quite keep the tension from her voice.

“No.” The certainty in his tone made her look up. “Let them watch. Let them see that I am learning to value what truly matters.” His eyes held hers, and Emma felt the world narrow to just this moment, this understanding passing between them. Society’s observation meant nothing compared to this growing trust, this careful rebuilding of something precious. “Though perhaps,” he added with a trace of his old dry humour, “they might also observe that I am utterly hopeless with ribbon.”

“Not hopeless,” Emma assured him, reaching to adjust his latest attempt. “Simply unpractised. Though I confess, I find your determination to master it rather...”

She hesitated, searching for a word that wouldn’t reveal too much of her heart.

“Rather what?”

His voice held a warmth that made her pulse quicken.

“Rather admirable,” she managed, though the word seemed inadequate to describe how deeply his efforts touched her.

“I find,” he said quietly, his attention seemingly fixed on his work, “that I have developed a new appreciation for delicate things. For the care that they require. For their...” His eyes lifted to hers. “Their inherent worth.”

Emma’s breath caught at the intensity in his gaze. Before she could respond, Lady Beatrice appeared beside their table.

“Oh, those are lovely!” She beamed at their creations. “Though Lord Limnwood, I believe that your ribbon has somehow formed a reef knot.”

“Has it indeed?” Lord James joined them, grinning at his brother. “Well, at least we know it won’t come undone.”

“Unlike your own efforts,” Lady Beatrice teased. “I believe that half of your ribbon supply is currently decorating the carpet.”

Their light banter created a shield of normality around Emma and Nathaniel’s more serious interaction. Emma felt a rush of gratitude for their understanding - they were providing cover for this careful rebuilding of trust.

“Perhaps we might all benefit from more practice,” Nathaniel suggested, his lips twitching. “Though I believe a walk in the gardens would be beneficial first. Miss Everton, might I persuade you to join us? With Lady Agatha as chaperone, of course.”

Emma’s heart leapt at this proper way of arranging more private conversation.

“I should like that very much.”

As they rose to seek her aunt’s company, Emma noticed several approving glances from the other guests. Their careful adherence to propriety now, after everything, seemed to be earning society’s approval rather than censure.

How strange that Nathaniel’s former rigid propriety had led to scandal, while this new, more natural attention to proper behaviour was healing it.

The gardens held the first hint of spring, tiny buds breaking through winter-bare branches. Emma walked beside Nathaniel, with Lady Agatha and Lady Beatrice following at a discrete distance. Lord James had claimed Lady Beatrice’s attention, allowing conversation ahead to remain private while maintaining proper appearance.

“Your aunt is most understanding,” Nathaniel observed quietly.

“She sees more than most.” Emma’s fingers tightened on his arm as they navigated a slightly uneven path. “Though I suspect that she has decided that you are worth the effort of watching over.”

“Worth the effort?”

His voice held a question.

“Of allowing us time to... rebuild.” She chose the word carefully. “Many chaperones would be more rigid after yesterday’s events.”

“Ah.” He covered her hand with his, just for a moment. “Then I must endeavour to prove worthy of her trust. As well as yours.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, the gravel crunching beneath their feet. Around them, the garden seemed to hover between seasons - not quite winter anymore, but not yet spring.

“Rather like us,” Emma mused aloud.

“I beg your pardon?”

She flushed, not having meant to speak the thought.

“The garden. It’s caught between seasons, everything changing but nothing quite settled yet. Rather like...”

She hesitated.

“Rather like us,” he finished softly. “Though I find myself rather looking forward to spring.”

The warmth in his voice made her breath catch. Before she could respond, they reached the small ornamental bridge over the stream. They paused there, ostensibly to admire the view while their chaperones caught up.

“I have been thinking,” Nathaniel said carefully, “about writing to your father.”

Emma’s heart jumped at his words, though she kept her voice steady.

“About writing to my father?”

“Yes.” His eyes remained on the water below, though his hand tightened slightly where it covered hers on his arm. “To request permission to call on you in town. Properly. Though perhaps...” He hesitated. “Perhaps you might think it too soon?”

The uncertainty in his voice made her chest tight. This proud man, who had commanded ships and men, was willing to risk rejection for the chance to court her properly.

“I do not think it too soon,” she said softly. “Though Papa can be rather... protective.”

“As he should be.” Nathaniel finally turned to face her. “I would think less of him if he did not examine my intentions thoroughly. Particularly given recent events.”

“Your intentions?”

The word emerged breathier than she’d meant it to.

His expression softened.

“To court you properly. To prove myself worthy of your trust. To show your family that I can be relied upon to cherish their daughter’s happiness above rigid rules or appearances.”

Behind them, Emma heard Lady Agatha’s quiet cough - a gentle reminder that they had been standing rather close for rather long. They resumed walking, but something had shifted between them.

“I believe,” Emma said carefully, “that Papa will appreciate your honesty about recent events. He values truth above appearances.”

“Then he will understand why I must tell him everything. The mistakes that I made, the lessons that I have learned...” He glanced down at her. “The treasure that I hope to prove worthy of.”

Emma’s heart soared even as she maintained perfect composure.

“Such pretty speeches, my Lord. One might almost think you had been practicing them.”

His quiet laugh held real joy.

“Only in my head, a thousand times. Though they never seem quite adequate when actually spoken.”

“I find them perfectly adequate.” She smiled up at him. “Though perhaps actions speak louder than words?”

“Indeed, they do.” His expression grew serious. “Which is why I think that I shall write to your father today. With your permission?”

“Yes.” The word emerged soft but certain. “Though I wonder what the ton will make of it, after everything?”

“Let them make of it what they will.” His voice held new confidence. “True worth shows itself over time. I intend to take all the time necessary to prove mine.”

As they returned to the house, Emma was aware of the subtle shift in how others regarded them. Their proper, chaperoned walk had not gone unnoticed - nor had the new certainty in Nathaniel’s bearing.

Lady Beatrice squeezed her arm as they removed their pelisses.

“You look remarkably well, dear friend. The air has brought such colour to your cheeks.”

“The air?” Emma’s lips curved. “Not the company?”

“Both, perhaps.” Her friend’s eyes sparkled. “Though I noticed Lord Limnwood went directly to the library with quite a determined expression. Would that have anything to do with your happy look?”

“He means to write to Papa.” Emma kept her voice low, though her joy was difficult to contain. “To request permission to call on me in town.”

“How perfectly proper.” Lady Beatrice’s smile widened. “And how perfectly romantic, in its way. To think that Lord Limnwood, who once seemed all rigid rules, now shows such beautiful attention to proper forms out of real feeling rather than mere duty.”

“It is rather wonderful, isn’t it?”

Emma watched as Nathaniel emerged from the library, clearly having already dispatched his letter. Their eyes met across the hall, and that familiar spark passed between them. The Duke’s voice carried from the drawing room.

“Shall we have some music before dinner? I believe that Miss Everton’s skill at the pianoforte has been much praised.”

As Emma moved to take her place at the instrument, she felt Nathaniel’s presence nearby - close enough to turn her pages, far enough to maintain propriety. The whole room seemed to hold its breath, watching this tableau of perfect behaviour born of genuine feeling.

She began to play, her fingers finding the keys without conscious thought. The piece was one she had played a hundred times, yet never had it felt so meaningful - like her heart speaking through the music the words that her lips could not yet say.

And Nathaniel, standing beside her with such careful attention, seemed to hear every word that her heart was speaking.