Chapter 13
Nathaniel saw her before she saw him, and she was radiant.
Miss Fairleigh stood near the iron railing that bordered the square garden, gloved hands clasped, posture composed in such a way that he knew it was deliberate. The morning light caught in her hair where it escaped its pins. She looked as though she had been waiting.
He felt something shift low in his chest, and he approached without haste.
“Good morning, Miss Fairleigh.”
She turned at once. There was no surprise in her expression.
“Your Grace.”
“You sent word.”
“I did.”
He stopped at an appropriate distance from her.
The square was busy enough to discourage speculation yet private enough to allow conversation.
It was a respectable setting, but one where they would once again be seen together.
He wondered if that was why she had chosen it when asking him to see her.
“I trust all is well,” he said.
“That depends.”
He inclined his head slightly.
“On what?”
“On whether you believe that an ambush is an acceptable courtship strategy.”
His mouth curved. He was not certain of what she meant, but he had a reasonable idea, and if he were correct, it was most entertaining. He had half expected her to request such a conversation with him.
“I had not realized I had attempted one.”
“Yes, well, you have.”
“I should like to hear how.”
She drew a breath, steady but not angry.
“A modiste is arriving at our house this afternoon.”
“Yes, I do believe so.”
“For all of us.”
“Yes.”
She watched him carefully. He liked the way that she studied him without fear, clearly without concern that he might ask her why she was doing so.
“You arranged it, yes?”
“I did.”
“For new gowns.”
“That is what a modiste tends to make, yes. You have many questions for me today, Miss Fairleigh.”
“And you are not giving me enough answers.”
“On the contrary, I rather believe I am answering you each time. Is there something wrong?”
“It is too much, Your Grace.”
“But I believe that was the understanding we had.”
“The understanding,” she repeated, and though her tone was mild, he could hear the tension beneath it.
He folded his hands behind his back.
“For our arrangement. We agreed that I would take care of your family. I promised that I would, and I did not intend on breaking it.”
He waited for her to soften, but she did not. She continued to glare accusingly as if he had stolen something rather than gifted it.
“You disapprove of it, I see.”
“I did not say that.”
“You would not have come here if you approved.”
A flicker of reluctant acknowledgment passed through her eyes.
“It is too much, as I said,” she said. “And too soon.”
“It is cloth and thread.”
“It is expensive.”
“It is an investment.”
“In what?”
“In your family’s future. It hardly makes a difference to me, but it clearly means a lot to you.”
“We have managed without assistance.”
“You should not have had to.”
The words left him before he softened them. For a moment, she simply looked at him.
“That is kind,” she said quietly. “But kindness does not change the fact that it is too soon for such gifts.”
“I do not see the use in waiting when it can be done today.”
“That is precisely what unsettles me.”
He considered her more carefully. There was no pride in her tone, no wounded vanity, only caution.
Of course, he had not thought twice about paying the coffers and having the Fairleighs being given entirely new wardrobes, but it meant more to her.
It was a luxury that, in her eyes, she could be punished for eventually.
He did not plan on giving her any gifts with strings attached, but she did not have to believe that without reason.
“You believe I am overreaching, is that it?”
“I believe this arrangement has scarcely begun.”
“It began the moment you agreed.”
“That does not grant you responsibility for my entire household.”
“It grants me responsibility for what I promised.”
She hesitated at that.
“I said I would ensure your family’s security,” he continued. “I did not speak idly.”
“I never thought you did.”
“Then why question it?”
“Because I have spent years ensuring we asked for nothing.”
He studied her face more closely now. There it was. She had made a habit of making her own way.
“You are not asking,” he said.
“It feels very much like it.”
“Well, you are not. I would not give to someone that I did not think was genuine.”
“You say it with such ease.”
“Because it is simple.”
“It is not simple to me.”
A breeze stirred the leaves overhead. Somewhere across the square a carriage door slammed. Nathaniel lowered his voice.
“Margaret.”
She met his eyes again, and they were wide. There was a certain intimacy in using her given name, and perhaps he should have asked permission first, but he wanted to prove his point that he saw her as more than whatever she thought she was.
“I would not place you in a position of obligation,” he assured her.
“You already have.”
The words were soft, not accusing. He felt the weight of them.
“Then allow me to clarify,” he said. “You owe me nothing beyond what we agreed.”
“And what precisely did we agree upon?”
“That I would court you openly, that I would see your family provided for, and that your sisters would not suffer for circumstances beyond their control.”
“And in return?”
“You would allow me your company.”
A faint warmth touched her expression.
“That is all?”
“For now.”
She looked away briefly, toward the path where children chased one another in wide circles.
“You make it sound harmless.”
“It is.”
“You cannot know that.”
“I can.”
“How?”
“Because I have no interest in harming you.”
She searched his face, as though measuring the sincerity there.
“And if the courtship ends?” she asked.
“It will not end abruptly.”
“That is not what I asked.”
He did not evade her.
“If it were to end, your sisters would still have their gowns.”
She blinked.
“I do not rescind promises,” he added.
Her composure faltered slightly at that. He saw it; the shift in her breathing, the faint tightening of her fingers.
“You would continue?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because their futures should not hinge on mine.”
Silence settled between them, heavier than before. She looked at him differently now, just as he had wanted.
“You speak as though you have known uncertainty,” she said.
“I have known responsibility.”
“That is not the same.”
“It often feels similar.”
She almost smiled. He stepped a fraction closer, enough that their conversation no longer risked carrying.
“If you believe this too much too soon,” he said more gently, “then very well. Consider it an advance on what I already intend.”
“That is hardly comforting.”
“It was not meant to alarm you.”
“It does not,” she said quickly, then corrected herself. “Well, it does in a way. It unsettles me, I suppose.”
“Because you prefer control.”
“Yes.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“Why?”
“Because you are not the only one involved. A courtship involves two people, and I intend to assist you.”
“In a manner of your choosing.”
“In a manner that secures the outcome that benefits us both the most.”
She regarded him in silence. She was captivating, and he wondered briefly how she was not yet married. Of course, he quickly came to the conclusion that she had simply never been pleased enough by a gentleman.
“Do you regret it?” he asked suddenly.
“Regret what?”
“Agreeing to all of this.”
Her answer came without pause.
“No.”
He felt something ease inside him at that. She studied him a moment longer.
“I do not regret it,” she continued. “I simply do not wish to feel as though I have traded independence for silk.”
“You have not.”
“It feels as though I have.”
“Then let me prove otherwise.”
“How?”
“By reminding you that you are arguing with me in public. You have enough independence to use your words.”
A reluctant laugh escaped her.
“That is not what I meant,” she said.
“It is a start.”
She shook her head slightly.
“You are always so certain.”
“When it comes to this, yes.”
“Why?”
He held her gaze.
“Because I do not make gestures without intention.”
Her expression softened in a way he had not seen before. It was as though she was beginning to see him for the man that he was, and though he could not let her see too much, he found that he did not hate it. A bell chimed faintly from a nearby church tower, breaking the moment.
“I must return,” she said. “The modiste will already be measuring Poppy’s sleeves.”
Margaret smiled properly then. He felt the effect of it with unsettling clarity. She hesitated before turning.
“I am grateful for all of this,” she clarified. “But you are not to surprise me like that again.”
“No. I will not surprise you again.”
She studied him, as though deciding whether to believe that. Frankly speaking, Nathaniel did not know whether or not he was telling the truth. Then she nodded once.
“Margaret,” he said as she turned to leave.
“Yes?”
“I should like you to visit Ravensmere House, have dinner with me.”
She stilled.
“For what purpose?”
“The purpose of our own enjoyment.”
“And is that all?”
“It is.”
She watched him carefully. She was quiet for a long moment.
“You may bring your mother,” he added. “Or one of your friends. I have no intention of placing you in an awkward position.”
“How thoughtful.”
“So?”
She turned slightly toward the garden at the center of the square, thinking. He did not interrupt her. He had learned quickly that she disliked being hurried.
“At what hour?” she asked at last.
“Tomorrow at six.”
“So soon?”
“Yes. I believe it will be wise to prepare you for residence there, should that be where this leads.”
The words settled between them.
“You speak as though it is decided.”
“It is not decided,” he said evenly. “It is anticipated.”
“By whom?”
“By everyone.”
“That is precisely what unsettles me.”
“You may refuse,” he said.
She looked at him sharply.
“You know that I may not.”
“On the contrary. If it is what you wish–”