Chapter Fourteen #2
“Miss Collard,” he said, stepping into the room. “What has happened?”
She looked up, and for a moment, he saw everything she was trying to conceal: the exhaustion, the pain, the sheer effort required to remain upright and composed.
“The thunder,” she said, her voice strained but steady. “It frightened Rosie. She was asleep when the storm began, and she woke to the noise, and—”
Another crash of thunder drowned out her words. Rosie screamed again, burying her face against Miss Collard’s shoulder, clutching desperately at the fabric of her dress.
“Rosie.” Nathaniel crossed to the bed and crouched so he was level with his niece. “Rosie, sweetheart, it is all right. It is only a storm. It cannot hurt you.”
“It can!” Rosie sobbed. “It can hurt! The storm hurt Mama and Papa! They went out in the storm, and they never came back!”
The words struck him like a physical blow.
Of course. Of course Rosie was afraid of storms.
Edward and Eleanor had died on a night of wind and rain—poor visibility, slick roads, the carriage skidding into a ravine.
Rosie had been only three years old, but she had been awake when the news arrived.
She had seen the servants’ stricken faces, heard the sobbing, and somehow—terribly—linked the storm outside with the loss that had shattered her world.
And Nathaniel had not known.
Two years he had been her guardian, and he had not known that she was terrified of storms. Had not thought to ask, to pay attention, to be present enough in her life to notice the signs.
“Rosie.” His voice faltered. “Rosie, listen to me. What happened to your mama and papa was an accident. A dreadful accident. But it was not the storm’s doing. Storms are only weather—rain and wind and noise. They cannot harm you while you are safe inside this house.”
“But what if you go out?” Rosie lifted her tear-streaked face to him. “What if you go out like they did? What if you don’t come back?”
“I am not going anywhere.” He took her small hand in his. “I promise you, Rosie. I am staying here tonight. I will not leave this house. And when you wake tomorrow morning, the storm will be gone—and I will still be here.”
Her lip trembled. “You promise?”
“I promise.”
She looked at him for a long moment, her blue eyes—so like her mother’s—searching his face for any sign of deception. Then, with a small, broken sound, she released Miss Collard and flung herself into Nathaniel’s arms.
He gathered her close at once, feeling her heart race against his chest. She was so small. So fragile. So dependent on the adults in her life to keep her safe.
And he had failed her.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair, uncertain whether he was speaking to Rosie or to himself. “I’m so sorry.”
Thunder cracked again. Rosie flinched, but did not scream. She pressed closer instead, clutching his coat.
“It’s all right,” he said softly, rocking her. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Over Rosie’s head, his gaze met Miss Collard’s.
She was watching them with an expression he could not quite decipher—tender, sorrowful, deeply moved. Yet beneath it lay strain. Pain. A resolve pushed past endurance.
“Miss Collard,” he said quietly. “You ought to rest. I can manage here.”
“I am quite well, my lord.”
“You are not.” His tone was gentle but firm. “You are pale, and you have been in pain all day. Do not think I have not noticed.”
Something flickered in her eyes—surprise, perhaps, or discomfort at being so plainly seen. “My lord, I assure you—”
“I spoke with Mrs McConnor earlier.” His cheeks warmed, but he continued. “She explained that you were… indisposed. I understand it is a recurring difficulty. And I understand your wish to fulfil your duties. But surely, under the circumstances, you might permit yourself a few hours of rest.”
Her expression passed through embarrassment, irritation, and something like reluctant gratitude before settling into resignation.
“Mrs McConnor,” she said dryly, “has a generous understanding of confidentiality.”
“She was concerned for you. As am I.”
“There is nothing to concern yourself about, my lord. It is merely—” She paused, her jaw tightening as another wave of discomfort passed. “Merely a natural condition. Unpleasant, yes, but hardly dangerous.”
“I did not say it was dangerous,” Nathaniel replied softly.
“I said you should rest.” He gentled his voice further.
“You have worked through obvious discomfort all day. You came to comfort Rosie despite being unwell yourself. That is more than anyone could reasonably expect. Please—allow yourself to be cared for, just this once.”
She looked at him for a long moment, and he saw the conflict playing out behind her eyes. The ingrained habit of self-sufficiency warring with her body’s obvious need for rest.
“Rosie needs—” she began.
“Rosie needs to feel safe, and I am perfectly capable of providing that. I am her uncle. It is, in fact, my responsibility.” He paused, allowing a hint of wry humour to soften his tone.
“I have been reliably informed that I am capable of far more than I once believed. I think sitting with a frightened child through a storm lies well within my abilities.”
Something shifted in Miss Collard’s expression—a loosening, a subtle release of tension. “And who informed you of that?”
“You did, as a matter of fact. On several occasions.”
The ghost of a smile crossed her face, quickly restrained. “I should learn to be less free with my observations.”
“On the contrary. Your observations are among your most valuable qualities.” Nathaniel adjusted Rosie in his arms, the child’s breathing beginning to even as exhaustion overtook fear. “Now—will you please go and rest? I promise I shall send for you if anything arises that I cannot manage.”
Miss Collard hesitated a moment longer. Then, slowly, she nodded.
“Very well, my lord. I shall be in my room if you need me.”
“I shall remember that.”
She rose from the bed, and Nathaniel saw her wince at the movement—a fleeting flash of pain she immediately sought to suppress. Without thinking, he reached out and caught her arm.
“Are you certain you can walk? Should I send for Mrs McConnor to assist you?”
“I am quite capable of reaching my own room, my lord.” Yet her voice was strained, and she did not immediately draw away from his touch.
“At least allow me—”
“My lord.” Her tone was gentle but firm. “I have been managing this particular difficulty for many years. I assure you, I know how to get myself to bed.”
Heat rose unbidden to Nathaniel’s face as the implications—of her words and his own—caught up with him. “I did not mean to suggest—that is, I was not implying—”
“I know you were not.” Something that might have been amusement flickered in her tired eyes. “I am merely observing that your concern, though touching, is not strictly necessary. I can manage myself.”
“I know you can,” Nathaniel said, “It’s simply that you are… you are so… important. To the children. To this household. To—” He stopped himself in time. “It would be a great inconvenience if you were to exhaust yourself entirely through sheer refusal to rest.”
“An inconvenience,” Miss Collard echoed. Her lips twitched. “How very flattering.”
“I have never been celebrated for my eloquence.”
“No,” she agreed. “You have not.”
They stood thus for a moment—Nathaniel holding Rosie, now drowsing heavily against his shoulder; Miss Collard leaning slightly into the steadying contact of his hand—and something passed between them. Unspoken, but weighty all the same.
Another roll of thunder broke the stillness, and Rosie stirred with a small, unhappy sound.
“Go,” Nathaniel said quietly. “Rest. I have matters well in hand.”
Miss Collard nodded and stepped back, letting his hand fall away. “Goodnight, my lord.”
“Goodnight, Miss Collard.”
She moved toward the door, her steps careful, measured. At the threshold, she paused and turned back.
“My lord?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For understanding. For not…” She searched for the phrase. “For not making this more awkward than it need have been.”
“I suspect I made it considerably more awkward than strictly necessary,” Nathaniel said ruefully. “But you are welcome nonetheless.”
She almost smiled—he saw it, the brief curve of her lips before restraint reclaimed it—and then she was gone, the door closing softly behind her.
Nathaniel remained in the centre of Rosie’s room, holding his sleeping niece, and tried to persuade himself that the warmth spreading through his chest was no more than the satisfaction of having done what was right.
He did not succeed.