Chapter 5 #3
“This is citrus sinensis, the sweet orange. There are many kinds, including navel oranges and blood oranges,” he said, gesturing to the various trees around them.
“Then we have, on this side, Seville oranges, citrus aurantium, though there are many subdivisions, like citrus bergamia, and, of course, you’ll know they are only good for marmalade.
Then this beautiful thing is citrus limon.
The lemon tree arrived in Italy in the tenth century, I believe. ”
She blinked, gazing at him. “You know a lot about citrus.”
Nat laughed. “No, I just remember what the head gardener taught me when I was a lad, probably hoping to get me to go away and stop stealing the oranges.”
Meg studied him for a moment and then turned away, smiling now, which was a relief.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked, thankful to discover the sun had finally given way to twilight and his impulse for self-destruction also appeared to have passed.
She sighed and gave a weary nod. “Yes. I suppose so. I don’t feel like casting up my accounts, at any rate.”
“Well, that’s definitely an improvement,” he said, with rather overdone jollity.
Meg cast him an odd glance but squared her shoulders.
“I apologise for my hysteria, it just all seemed rather overwhelming and… oh, and I liked the dowager duchess very much, and I feel utterly wretched about lying to her. It seems such a dastardly trick to play when she is offering me her hospitality.”
Nat smiled, delighted that she liked the old lady and refusing to consider the bit about it being a dastardly trick, for he felt that too keenly as it was.
He’d known instinctively that Meg would like the dowager.
Many people could not handle her acerbic wit and rather outrageous manners and would take offence or become tongue-tied; that Meg had not done so gave him hope they would both survive the coming weeks.
“She’s a wicked old termagant and I adore her,” he said simply.
Meg smiled. “I could tell. She adores you too, I think.”
Nat nodded. “We speak the same language, strange as it seems. She thinks I was born in the wrong century, for my manners aren’t quite nice and I get impatient with polite chitchat.
In her view, men were men when she was a girl, despite dressing up with more lace and powder and high heels than the ladies. ”
Meg contemplated him, looking him slowly up and down in a way that made Nat feel somewhat hot about the cravat, before tilting her head to one side.
“Yes, I can see it. A powdered wig, patches, a suit of lilac silk with silver lacings, lace cuffs and diamond-studded heels. Oh, how splendid you would have looked,” she said, pressing her hand to her heart with mock admiration.
“Very droll,” Nat replied, and then made an extravagant leg, bowing theatrically. “Your servant, ma’am.”
She laughed, and the sound echoed around the orangery, as sweet as the perfume that surrounded them, making him glad for having done so.
“You won’t run away, then?” he asked softly, daring to walk closer to her and hold out his hand.
“I won’t run away,” she agreed, allowing him to help her up. “Though I’ve not met his grace yet. So I make no promises about changing my mind.”
“Oh, Hawkney,” Nat said dismissively, placing her arm on his sleeve and walking her back towards the door. “You’ll have no trouble with him.”
“How so?”
“Because you are clever. He admires intelligence and good manners. I have neither, which explains why we drive each other mad.”
He felt her gaze sharpen upon him and glanced down at her.
“Why do you do that?”
Nat frowned, not understanding. “Do what?”
“Pretend you aren’t clever.”
Nat frowned but did not look back at her. “I don’t, but I’m not, anyhow. There’s no use pretending I am, is there?”
“But you just told me all that information about the citrus trees! And the way you spoke about travelling before, about all the wonderful things to be seen. I felt your enthusiasm, and you spoke so eloquently. I do not believe you when you say such things about yourself.”
She sounded rather annoyed, which he in turn found perplexing and aggravating.
“I did not tell you all that information. I gave you a handful of Latin names and a few facts. Pray do not insult my intelligence, such as it is, by pretending you were impressed. I cannot read for hours like you do and retain the information, I can’t speak a dozen languages.
I suppose I can manage a bit of French tolerably well, but I was expelled or sent down from more schools than I care to remember as a boy, so my faults are well known to me, and everyone else.
You outpace me by many miles, my dear, so don’t try to soothe my poor masculine pride with false flattery.
I’m no scholar, but I’m not a fool either,” he remarked, belatedly realising he sounded rather angrier than he’d intended.
He dared to look back at her again, chagrined to discover she looked rather hurt by his words.
“I apologise,” she said quietly, sounding so crestfallen he hated having reacted with such heat. “I did not mean to imply an insult, though I seem to keep doing so. Quite the reverse.”
Nat waved her words away, unsettled for reasons he could not understand.
What on earth was he getting so het up about?
“Forget it. I’m just being prickly as usual.
I told you it was likely more my fault than Hawkney’s and now you have proof.
Ah, here is the yellow room. You’ll love it, for it has a fine view of the sea, though it’s too dark to make it out now.
In the morning, you will be able to sit up in bed, sipping hot chocolate and gazing at the splendid view. ”
To his amusement, she turned a little pink at his description of her sitting in bed, which he found entirely too charming for his peace of mind. The ladies he habitually spent time with had forgotten how to blush a long time ago.
He knocked on the door, and Betty appeared. She gave a little squeal upon seeing Meg. “Oh, miss, if this ain’t the prettiest room you ever saw in all your days! Well, I don’t know what could be better.”
Meg sent him a last glance. “I suppose I will see you at dinner?” she said uncertainly.
“Of course.” Nat spoke warmly, hoping to reassure her he was not really the bad-tempered devil he had just shown himself to be. “I’ll knock for you once the gong is sounded and we’ll go down together.”
She looked relieved by this idea and nodded. “Until dinner, then.”
“Until dinner,” he agreed, and waited until she had closed the door.
He stood there for a moment, running a hand through his hair and wondering what had got into him.
As a rule, he was exceptionally even-tempered.
It must just be the strain upon his nerves at being back here after so many years and having to pass Meg off as his intended bride.
He did not doubt Hawkney would kick up, despite what he’d said to Meg.
Though if his grace upset her, there would be words of the kind the duke would not forget in a hurry.
Yet such an alliance would more than likely offend the family honour and all that old guff that Hawkney appeared to set such store by.
Though Nat’s own father had hardly been a paragon of propriety and good sense.
Naturally, everyone said how much Nat resembled him.
Come to that, the old duke had been the devil made flesh, which likely explained why Hawkney had gone the other way. Happily, he’d died when his heir was quite young, or things might have been different indeed.
Pushing thoughts of the past away, Nat carried on to his mother’s room and knocked.
“Bonjour, Celeste,” he said, greeting his mama’s French lady’s maid. “Is she in the mood to greet her son?”
“Ah, oui, Monsieur Ashford,” she said, dipping a curtsey. “She is most eager to see you. Please come in. My poor lady, she ’as the headache today, but she is very brave.”
Privately, Nat thought it more than likely his mother had given his grandmama a headache with her endless chatter and Grandmama had snapped when she’d had more than she could take.
Mama would have retreated to her room, pleading a headache when, in truth, she was sulking.
She had never been equal to withstand her mother’s rather wicked tongue and was certainly not quick enough to spar with her.
“Nathaniel is that you?” his mother asked, though it was patently him, but he agreed all the same.
“It is, Mama. How do you do?”
“Oh, tolerably. One must not complain, but I am happier for seeing you,” she said, lifting her cheek for a kiss.
Nat obliged, admiring the pretty picture she made, reclined upon a chaise longue.
For a woman of her years, she was still a remarkably handsome creature with an excellent figure and lustrous dark blonde hair with barely a strand of grey to be seen.
“You are looking in prime twig, I must say, Mama. A very fetching gown, that. Is it French?”
“Bien sur,” she said, giving him a pleased smile. “But you always have such an eye for beautiful things. Did you bring me a present?” she asked, as eager as a child.
Nat laughed. “It’s not Christmas yet”
She laughed merrily, her spirits lifting as they always did when she could speak of things she enjoyed. “Well, no, but you always bring me gifts anyway. You spoil your mama, I know, but I do so love presents. Did you bring me something?”
“Of course, I did, you dreadful creature, but I came straight to you from Grandmama, so you must wait until I’ve seen my things unpacked.”