Chapter 15
The garden at Halworth House had been arranged beautifully.
White canvas pavilions stood along the edges of the lawn, musicians occupied a shaded platform near the fountain, and ladies in pale silks drifted along the gravel paths like moving statues rather than people.
Nathaniel disliked garden parties. They required constant performance, but more than that he found them to be too hot. He stepped from the carriage first, then turned to assist Margaret.
She did not hesitate this time. Her hand rested in his with assurance, her posture upright without stiffness. The pale green of her gown caught the light beautifully, and she met his gaze briefly before turning toward the entrance.
“Are you ready?” he asked quietly.
“Yes.”
There was a conviction in her that he had not sensed before, and he welcomed it.
They entered together, and conversation shifted in subtle ripples as they passed as he had expected.
Margaret felt it too, of that he was certain, but this time, she did not seem to be frightened by it.
Lady Halworth approached almost immediately, her smile wide.
“Your Grace, Miss Fairleigh. We are most pleased that you come today.”
Nathaniel offered the expected greeting. Margaret did the same, and then, without prompting, began speaking of the gardens.
“I simply must tell you that your gardener is superb! It is so perfectly arranged, Lady Halworth.”
Lady Halworth blinked. Nathaniel wondered if it was the first time that day that anyone had actually thought to pay her a compliment in that respect.
“You noticed?”
“It would be difficult not to.”
The hostess brightened at once, delighted by the recognition.
Within moments she was explaining her gardener’s new approach, and Margaret listened intently.
Nathaniel watched Margaret listen. She did not flatter excessively, and she asked questions at the correct intervals.
She allowed Lady Halworth to speak at length without appearing impatient.
She was an excellent listener.
When the conversation turned toward charitable committees, Margaret seemed prepared for it. All that Nathaniel had to do was listen in, and for a duke, that rarely happened. He was always expected to have an opinion, or experience, and it was nice to simply listen for once.
“I have assisted my mother in organizing small subscriptions,” she said. “Though nothing on the scale of your recent work.”
Lady Halworth leaned in.
“Then you must join us next quarter. We are always looking for responsible young ladies to assist us.”
Margaret smiled.
“I would be glad to.”
Lady Halworth moved on, satisfied. Nathaniel turned slightly toward Margaret once they were momentarily alone.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself.”
“I am prepared this time,” she replied.
They continued along the path.
Two young gentlemen bowed as they passed. One addressed Margaret directly.
“You will attend the musicale next week, I hope?”
“I have not yet seen the program,” she replied. “Would you recommend it?”
“It depends on one’s tolerance for Italian tenors.”
“Then I shall consult the weather before deciding. I must admit that they do have a certain charm.”
Nathaniel observed the subtle shift in the crowd’s response. Where there had once been polite curiosity, there was now interest. In fact, it felt more like respect, and he felt a quiet satisfaction at that that he had not anticipated.
“You have altered your approach,” he said as they paused near the fountain. “You no longer seem cautious.”
“That is because I am not.”
“What changed?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Well, clarity, I suppose.”
“About?”
“My position in society.”
“And what is your position?”
She looked at him directly.
“Beside you.”
The simplicity of it caught him off guard.
“And you are comfortable there?” he asked.
“I am capable here. It is enough, and though I did not think so before, I am beginning to see that it is indeed the case. Would you not agree?”
That answer pleased him more than comfort would have. He nodded in agreement, for he truly was happy that she felt that way. He liked the way she looked beside him, too, and he had begun to feel a comfort in her presence that he had been hoping to avoid, but he could not deny that he liked it.
Across the lawn, he noticed several observers watching them closely. Whispers passed between two women beneath a striped parasol. Margaret followed his line of sight.
“Let them look,” she said quietly.
“I always do.”
“I know. I was telling myself more than you.”
He glanced at her. She was not shrinking beneath the attention. She was almost enjoying it, if anything.
A group approached then; acquaintances of his, ones that were politically useful, yet socially restless.
He introduced Margaret, and once again she spoke easily.
She asked intelligent questions, redirected praise toward charitable efforts rather than personal vanity, laughed when appropriate, and not once did she look to him for rescue.
He found himself watching her more than participating once more.
When the musicians began a brighter arrangement near the fountain, one of the guests requested a promenade around the central lawn. Couples began to pair off. Nathaniel extended his arm, and Margaret accepted it without pause.
As they joined the slow circuit, the crowd parted subtly before them. Nathaniel became aware of something else. London was adjusting its assessment, and as Margaret moved beside him with quiet assurance, he recognized that it was becoming most favorable.
But the weather did not mirror how he felt.
The first drop of rain suddenly struck the gravel with so little warning that no one noticed. The second landed squarely on Lady Halworth’s sleeve.
Within moments the sky opened. Gasps turned to startled laughter, parasols snapped open too late, and musicians scrambled to shield their instruments. Clothing darkened in uneven patches as guests scattered toward the pavilions and veranda.
Nathaniel did not hesitate.
“This way,” he said quietly, guiding Margaret off the main path.
He steered her toward the far edge of the lawn where an old oak stood wide and dense, its branches thick enough to blunt the downpour. The ground beneath it remained mostly dry. They reached it just as the rain deepened.
From a distance, they would still be visible. He was aware of that. Even so, he removed his coat without conscious thought and settled it over her shoulders. The fabric covered her gown almost entirely.
“Your Grace–”
“It will survive.”
His hands adjusted the collar near her throat. They lingered a fraction longer than required. She did not step back.
The rain came down steadily now, blurring the edges of the garden. Guests hurried past them toward shelter, laughter rising and fading in waves. Margaret tilted her face slightly toward the rain beyond the branches.
“They will talk about this,” she said.
“They talk regardless.”
A carriage rolled hastily along the drive. Somewhere near the pavilion, a lady shrieked as her hem soaked through. Margaret’s fingers tightened slightly around the edges of his coat.
“I have never enjoyed being looked at,” she said quietly.
The admission was unexpected.
“You are looked at often,” he replied.
“Yes,” she nodded, her gaze remaining on the rain. “It always felt like an assessment, and one that I always seemed to fail at. Today was the first time it did not feel like that.”
He studied her profile.
“What did it feel like?”
“Justice, I suppose. I have always tried, and it has never been appreciated. At last, it feels as though I am truly being seen for who I am, rather than the shadow of my sisters.”
The rain softened slightly, though it had not yet stopped. He found himself speaking before calculation intervened.
“Personally, I have never enjoyed looking at anyone,” he said.
Her head turned toward him slowly.
“Until now.”
The words were quiet, but they were undeniable. She did not laugh. Instead, she searched his face carefully, as though testing the sincerity there. He held her gaze.
“I find,” he continued, “that looking at you makes me feel as though I am doing a good thing.”
“Why?”
“Because you do not attempt to please me. There are no pretenses with you, and I appreciate that more than you could know.”
The rain thinned further, falling now in scattered drops rather than sheets.
She looked down briefly at the coat around her shoulders, then back at him.
Another gust of wind shook the leaves overhead, sending a fine spray outward.
She stepped closer instinctively, seeking the driest part of the space.
He was aware, acutely, of her proximity. Nearby, guests began to reemerge cautiously, laughter resuming with less urgency. Margaret glanced toward them.
“The spectacle is ending, it would seem.”
“Yes, it would seem to be the case.”
But she did not move away. Her fingers loosened slightly at the collar of his coat. The rain reduced to a mist, and he reached forward, adjusting the coat once more before removing it from her shoulders. This time, his hands did not linger. They stepped back into the open lawn together.
Conversation resumed around them, but as they rejoined the gathering, Nathaniel was aware of something altered.
The rain had scattered the crowd, and it had also stripped away pretense, and as Margaret walked beside him once more, he knew with a clarity that surprised him that he was no longer simply spending his time with her out of duty.
He wanted to be beside her.
Voices drifted closer through the thinning rain. A young couple hurried past the oak, laughing too loudly for the size of the garden. The gentleman cast a glance in their direction, and Nathaniel saw it, but he did not step away.
Instead, he lifted his hand and touched Margaret’s chin lightly, guiding her face toward his as though adjusting her line of sight. The movement was unhurried, and her breath caught, barely audible beneath the fading rain. He leaned closer, so much so that their foreheads nearly touched.
“What are you doing?” she murmured.
“What I please,” he replied quietly.
Her lips curved faintly.
“You are relentless. There will be scandal.”
“They are all otherwise occupied, believe me.”
The couple passed, their conversation lowering as they moved beyond the tree.
Nathaniel did not immediately withdraw his hand.
He was aware of everything now; the damp air, the faint warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips, the narrowing space between them.
Her eyes searched his, and her hand rose as though to steady herself against the trunk of the oak, but instead it rested lightly against his sleeve.
He felt the contact more sharply than he expected.
The garden beyond them had quieted. Guests were returning to their positions, prepared to act as though nothing had happened at all. Still, neither moved.
“If you continue,” she said under her breath, “they will assume more than courtship.”
“Would that trouble you?”
She hesitated.
“No,” she said. “But the trouble that it would cause certainly would.”
“Then we should not linger too long.”
“And yet,” she replied, not moving, “you have not stepped back.”
“Nor have you.”
A drop of water fell from the leaves above, tracing a cool path along her temple. Without thinking, he brushed it away. His thumb paused near her cheek. The rain had stopped entirely now, and the world waited.
He became aware that if he leaned even slightly forward, there would be no ambiguity left to the moment, no plausible pretense. She knew it too, and he knew it by the way her breathing had slowed rather than quickened.
“We should return,” she said quietly.
“Yes.”
Nathaniel let his hand fall first. The absence of contact felt abrupt. Margaret straightened, smoothing the front of her gown as though nothing unusual had occurred. Composure returned to her features with impressive speed. He admired that. They stepped out from beneath the oak together.
Conversations reignited around them. A footman hurried past with fresh linens, and the scent of damp grass rose into the clearing air. As they rejoined the path, Margaret glanced at him once.
“That was unnecessary,” she said.
“Yes.”
She held his gaze for a fraction longer than politeness required.
“Dangerously so,” she added.
He allowed himself the faintest smile.
“I am aware. Did you dislike it?”
She did not answer, which in itself was a response, and the one he wanted to receive at that.
They resumed their measured pace through the garden, once again visible, once again composed, and as the sun began to break through the clouds, Nathaniel found himself reluctant to surrender the privacy the rain had given them.
Normalcy had returned, but he was not entirely certain he wished it had.