Chapter Thirteen
The following days passed in a haze of carefully maintained normalcy.
Nathaniel forced himself to keep his distance from Miss Collard, to engage with her only when necessity required, to maintain the professional courtesy appropriate to their respective positions.
It was exhausting—this constant vigilance, this unceasing suppression of feelings that refused to be suppressed—but it seemed the safest course.
He could not trust himself around her. Could not trust that he would not reveal too much, say something that would render the situation even more impossible than it already was.
So he retreated. Back to his study, his ledgers, his endless correspondence. Back to the solitude he had cultivated for two years—the walls he had built around his wounded heart.
But the walls were weaker now. Miss Collard had found the cracks, and the light she had let in refused to be extinguished.
He watched her from a distance, unable to stop himself.
Watched her with the children in the garden, her laughter carried on the breeze.
Watched her at meals, animated and engaged, coaxing even Samuel out of his shell.
Watched her move through his household as though she belonged there, bringing warmth to rooms that had been cold for too long.
And he wanted her. Sweet mercy, he wanted her with an intensity that frightened him.
It was Rosie who finally breached his careful defences.
She found him in his study one afternoon, appearing in the doorway without warning, Marianne clutched to her chest as always.
“Uncle Nate?”
Nathaniel looked up from his work, startled by the intrusion. “Rosie. Is something wrong?”
“No.” She padded into the room, her small feet bare on the carpet. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Of course. What is it?”
Rosie climbed into the chair opposite his desk—the same chair where Miss Collard had sat on her first day.
“Do you love Miss Collard?”
The question was so direct, so unexpected, that Nathaniel could not immediately respond. He stared at his youngest niece, his mouth opening and closing without sound.
“Ella says you do,” Rosie continued, entirely untroubled by his silence. “She says that’s why you were mean to Mr Fairfax—because you didn’t want him to take Miss Collard away. Is that true?”
“Rosie—”
“Because I don’t want her to go away either.” Her lower lip trembled. “She’s nice. She smells like flowers and she reads me stories and she doesn’t mind when Marianne comes to lessons. I don’t want her to marry Mr Fairfax and go live at the vicarage.”
Nathaniel’s heart clenched. “Sweetheart, Miss Collard isn’t going to marry Mr Fairfax.”
“How do you know?”
It was a fair question. He did not know—could not know—what Miss Collard might choose.
“I just… I don’t think she’s planning to leave us any time soon,” he said weakly.
“But what if she does?” Rosie pressed. “What if she falls in love with someone and goes away like Mama and Papa did?” Her eyes filled with tears. “Everyone goes away, Uncle Nate. Everyone leaves. And then we’re all alone, and it hurts.”
Nathaniel was out of his chair and around the desk before he consciously decided to move. He knelt before Rosie, taking her small hands in his.
“Listen to me,” he said, his voice fierce. “Miss Collard is not going anywhere. And even if—even if—someday she does move on, that does not mean you will be alone. You have me. You have Ella and Samuel. You have this whole household full of people who love you.”
“But it’s not the same,” Rosie sniffled. “Miss Collard makes everything better. She makes you better. You smile more when she’s around.”
Out of the mouths of babes, Nathaniel thought.
“I know,” he said softly. “I know she does.”
“Then why don’t you marry her?” Rosie asked, with the simple logic of a five-year-old. “If you love her, and she makes you happy, and we all want her to stay, why don’t you just marry her so she can’t leave?”
Nathaniel closed his eyes. How did one explain to a child the complexities of rank and propriety, the thousand unwritten rules that governed their world?
“It’s not that simple, sweetheart.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” He searched for words. “Because there are rules about who may marry whom. And sometimes those rules make it very difficult for people who care about one another to be together.”
Rosie frowned. “That’s stupid.”
“Yes,” Nathaniel agreed, surprising himself. “Yes, it rather is.”
They sat together for a moment, then Rosie said, with devastating earnestness:
“Papa said the rules were stupid, too. Ella told me. She said Papa broke all the rules to marry Mama, because he loved her more than he cared what anyone thought.” She paused. “Maybe you could break the rules too.”
Something shifted inside Nathaniel—a crack widening, the light pressing stronger.
Maybe he could.
Maybe, after all this time, he was ready to be brave.
“Rosie,” he said slowly. “Will you keep a secret for me?”
She nodded solemnly.
“I’m going to think about what you said. About breaking the rules. But I need time to work out how to do it properly. Can you give me that time? And can you not say anything to anyone—especially not to Miss Collard—until I have?”
“I can keep a secret,” Rosie said importantly. “I’m very good at secrets. Marianne taught me.”
Nathaniel smiled despite himself. “I’m quite sure she did.”
He rose, lifting Rosie with him and settling her on his hip. She was getting too big for this—she would be six soon—but she nestled against him as she once had, before the accident, before everything changed.
“I love you, Uncle Nate,” she murmured.
“I love you too, sweetheart. More than you know.”
He carried her toward the door, intending to return her to the nursery. But as he stepped into the corridor, he found Miss Collard standing there, her hand raised as though she had been about to knock.
Their eyes met.
Something passed between them—something electric, something significant—and Nathaniel felt his breath catch.
“Miss Collard,” he managed. “I was just returning Rosie to the nursery.”
“I came looking for her.” Miss Collard’s voice was slightly unsteady. “She disappeared during afternoon rest. I was worried.”
“She found her way to my study. We had… a conversation.”
“About what?”
Nathaniel hesitated. Rosie, still perched on his hip, looked between them with interest.
“About rules,” Rosie supplied cheerfully. “And breaking them. And how Papa broke all the rules because he loved Mama.”
Miss Collard’s eyes widened. Her gaze flew to Nathaniel’s face, searching.
“Children say the most interesting things,” Nathaniel said hoarsely. “Do they not, Miss Collard?”
“They do, my lord,” she replied, barely above a whisper. “They certainly do.”
They stood there, Rosie between them, the air thick with what remained unspoken. Nathaniel wanted to speak—to tell her everything—but this was not the moment. Not with a child present. Not without preparation. Not without knowing whether his feelings stood any chance of being returned.
“I should take her back to the nursery,” Miss Collard said at last.
“Yes. Of course.”
Nathaniel transferred Rosie into Miss Collard’s arms, and for a moment—just a moment—their hands brushed. A slight contact, nothing more, yet it sent a shock through him all the same.
Miss Collard felt it too. He saw it in the way her breath caught, the way her eyes darkened, the way she looked quickly away.
“Goodnight, my lord,” she said.
“Goodnight, Miss Collard.”
She carried Rosie down the corridor, and Nathaniel watched her go, his heart pounding, his thoughts racing.
‘Maybe you could break the rules too’, Rosie had said.
Maybe he could.
Maybe he would.
The question was no longer whether he wished to—that answer had revealed itself long ago, in the library, in the garden, in every moment spent in Miss Collard’s presence.
The question now was how.
And as Nathaniel stood alone in the corridor, watching her disappear around the corner, he began—at last—to plan.