Chapter 11 #2
The same sensation seemed to have surrounded her heart, a quiet despair that grew day by day as her own foolishness became increasingly apparent.
She took a step back, suddenly noticing her own faint reflection, the shadowy picture of a girl in a blue dress, a fraud wearing borrowed clothes, living a borrowed life.
The image was frail, insubstantial, just like her hold on Nat and this place, these people.
She missed Nat. Not being in his company every hour of the day was an ache in her heart, a sickening sense of lack that seemed to gnaw at her bones, growing daily.
How had she let this happen? How had this foolish adventure succeeded and yet failed so dreadfully?
For it had been supposed to give her a holiday, to make her safe.
Yet no matter how pleasant her new position as governess might be, she would never be content again, and that was entirely her own fault for allowing her feelings to spiral out of control.
Her already low spirits tumbled into an abyss of self-pity, which made her despise herself for her own folly.
“Might I have the pleasure, Miss Bancroft?”
Meg turned in surprise, astonished to discover Nat standing behind her.
She had seen so little of him the past week, though she had understood his desire to avoid her.
He was trying to be kind, to protect her heart, for he must know she had formed a tendre for him.
How embarrassed he must be, and how deeply he must regret bringing her here. He would be so glad to be rid of her.
Knowing it was for the best, she had avoided him too, trying to make it easier for him, even though she had cherished every glimpse she caught of him, every word they spoke. Yet here he was, so unexpectedly she could only stare at him like a fool.
He executed a formal bow, just as if they were at a ball, and held out his hand. “May I?”
Too shocked to deny him, Meg put her hand in his, the sudden jolt of connection startling as his fingers grasped hers. He led her into the centre of the empty ballroom, and Meg’s colour rose as he placed his hand at her waist.
She almost opened her mouth to tell him that Aubrey had put his hand higher, on her back, but thought better of it. Tentatively, she raised her right hand and settled it on his shoulder.
“Della, if you would?” Nat called, as Della sat back down at the piano.
“I’m not very good,” Meg told him, embarrassed to have to admit it.
“That’s only because you needed the right partner,” he said, gazing down at her. “I was a fool to let Aubrey teach you, but I’m here now, and I’m not going away again.”
Meg’s heart picked up speed as she got lost in vibrant blue.
There was a look in his eyes that she dared not believe in, so full of warmth and tenderness it made a sweet ache bloom in her chest. The feeling was so beautiful, yet so filled with regret and longing, that she feared she might cry, but then the music began, and Nat swept her into the dance.
She did not have time to think, only to feel, to follow where he led.
Around and around he swept her, so fast the room was nothing but a blur, so wonderful that she forgot everything.
Time and place ceased to exist, there was nothing but Nat, his arms holding her tighter with every turn, far closer than he ought.
Meg did not care, she could not take her eyes from him, trusting him to guide her, to take her where she ought to go, because she knew that was wherever he was.
Her skirts and petticoats rustled and swished, frothing about his legs as they moved, and it felt like it was meant to be, the two of them swaying together as naturally as reeds stirred by a breeze.
It was everything she had ever dreamed of as a girl, imagining dancing with a handsome man, someone she could love, if only he let her.
The dance went on forever, a flawless moment in time that seemed endless, yet when the music finally drew to a close it was too soon, far too soon, and Meg was bereft that she might never experience such perfection again.
Reality returned with Della and Aubrey clapping madly.
“Oh, well done!” Della exclaimed. “You looked simply beautiful together.”
“I hate to admit it, but that was faultless,” Aubrey said ruefully.
“It was your teaching that got me here,” Meg said at once, feeling terribly guilty for having spent the morning stomping on his toes.
“True,” he agreed, laughing.
“Shall we try it again?” Nat asked, his voice soft.
He had not relinquished his hold on her.
He was so close she could smell him, fresh air and leather and musk, and a faint trace of horse.
She wanted desperately to move closer, to bury her face against his chest and breathe him in, to feel his warmth and strength surrounding her.
Never in her life had such an urge, one so passionate and visceral, assaulted her. It shook her to the core.
Meg didn’t dare look at him. She wanted to agree at once, to dance with him again and again, but she feared it would never live up to what she had just experienced, and she wanted nothing to take away from that.
It was a memory she wanted to bundle up and keep in a hidden corner of her heart, one she might take out now and then when she was brave enough to remember these weeks, and a life she might have lived if things had been different.
“Meg?”
She shook her head. “No. Best quit while we’re ahead, I think. If you’ll excuse me, I-I must—”
Meg could not think of a single thing she must do but she fled anyway, rushing from the ballroom before she made a fool of herself and cried.
Nat watched in confusion as Meg ran away.
Aubrey looked equally confused but Della threw up her hands, glaring at him.
“Well, don’t just stand there, you great lummox. Go after her!”
Nat nodded and ran from the ballroom, glimpsing a flutter of blue fabric disappearing around a corner. He hurried after her but did not call out as he realised where she was going. Instead, he let her go but followed at a distance.
The orangery was warm and humid and smelled as sweet as always as he closed the door quietly behind him.
Nat stood still for a moment, listening, and then his heart swelled with remorse as he heard weeping.
He moved swiftly towards the sound, finding Meg in one of the wrought-iron chairs, her head in her hands.
She didn’t hear him coming, too lost in her own unhappiness, and it was not until he knelt before her and spoke her name that she looked up.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, hurriedly wiping her tear-streaked face and attempting to collect herself. “I d-didn’t hear you. I th-thought—”
Nat found his handkerchief and gently wiped her cheeks before handing it to her.
She mumbled her thanks and wiped her eyes before giving her nose a hard blow. “You must ignore me,” she said thickly. “I’m being very silly indeed, I don’t know what on earth—”
She shook her head, desperately avoiding his gaze.
Nat gazed at her. She wasn’t one of those girls who looked pretty when she cried.
Her eyes were red, her nose too, the skin on her face and neck splotchy with emotion, and yet it seemed as if his heart swelled, emotions pushing and expanding it within the confines of his chest. There was too much to feel, sensations he had never known before.
So he reached for her, cupping her face between his hands, smiling as he heard her breath catch.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he told her, so there could be no mistake of his intentions.
Her eyes shot to his, wide with astonishment. “B-But why?” she demanded, looking torn between confusion and annoyance.
“Because I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone so much in all my life. So, unless you’ve any objection?” he added, sensing that she might be about to speak again, and pressed his lips to hers before she could do so.
The tension singing through her body seemed to leave her all at once, yet tension flooded him as an avalanche of desire towed him under.
She became pliant, giving, as his hands slid from her face to her body, pulling her closer, his muscles locking as the need to drag her from the chair where he could not get close enough became nigh on irresistible.
“Meg,” he whispered, kissing a path from her mouth to her ear. He nipped gently at the soft lobe, relishing her little gasp of surprise as he nuzzled into the tender spot beneath, and then carried on, kissing down her neck and back up again.
“Nat,” she said, sounding so utterly dazed that he could not help but smile. “Nat, this… this is madness. What are you—?”
“I’m doing what I have longed to do, practically since we met.”
She pushed at him, her hands braced at his shoulders, putting a little distance between them. Obediently, Nat sat back, giving her the space she demanded, though every instinct told him to take her in his arms again.
He saw the uncertainty in her eyes as she gazed at him.
“I’ve not lost my mind,” he told her with a smile. “You must realise I’ve been avoiding you all week?”
She nodded, not looking at him. “I know. You were being kind, trying to help me overcome my… my foolishness.”
“Your foolishness?” he repeated, frowning.
“A little bruised, not broken. That’s what you said, wasn’t it?” she asked, smiling sadly at him. “Well, and so it must be. I’ll live.”
“Meg, what are you saying?” Nat asked, the hope surging to life that his grandmother had been right and his feelings were not entirely one-sided. “Are… Are you besotted with me?”
She burst out laughing at that, but just as quickly began to cry again, burying her face in his handkerchief. “I’m s-sorry. I know it’s foolish. I didn’t mean to, and you m-must not worry that I will hold you to this silly engagement, for I would ne-never d-do such a—”
“What if I want you to?” he blurted out, uncertain if he felt elated or like he might cast up his accounts at any moment.