Chapter 26
The invitation to the Havisham ball had arrived two days before Nathaniel made his decision.
Nathaniel had intended to decline it. Balls held little appeal for him under ordinary circumstances, and even less now that his marriage had provided society with endless speculation.
Yet as he sat in his study that afternoon, the card still resting unopened beside the correspondence he had already answered, a different thought had taken hold.
Margaret had not attended anything since the wedding. He had kept his distance, just as he promised. She had kept her composure in turn. Their lives had settled into an orderly rhythm.
Too orderly.
Which was why, when she entered the parlor room that evening for tea, he surprised them both.
“Will you attend a ball with me tomorrow night?”
Margaret paused halfway through lifting the teapot. He was pleased that she had not yet begun to pour it, lest their tablecloth be stained.
“A ball?”
“Yes.”
She studied him carefully.
“That is not entirely wise given what happened at the last one.”
“No. No, it may not be.”
“Then why go?”
Nathaniel met her gaze evenly.
“Because we should be seen. I am not ashamed of what happened, Margaret, and I am certainly not ashamed to be your husband.”
That explanation satisfied her, and he delighted in the way she could not say anything further. Margaret hesitated only briefly.
“Very well,” she said.
The ballroom was already alive when they arrived.
Music spilled from the orchestra balcony, strings rising above the low hum of conversation.
Chandeliers burned bright overhead, scattering light across polished floors and silks in every shade.
Margaret wore deep green, his favorite, and he wore the same shade to match her.
Their entrance did not go unnoticed.
Heads turned almost immediately. Conversations softened. Fans lifted. The Duke and Duchess of Ravensmere had not yet appeared together in public since the wedding. Nathaniel felt the attention but did not acknowledge it. Instead, he offered Margaret his arm, and she accepted it.
“Shall we endure it together?” he murmured.
Her lips curved faintly.
“You make it sound like a battlefield.”
“I find the strategies similar.”
She almost laughed. The sound surprised him enough that he glanced down at her.
“You see?” she said. “You are capable of humor.”
“Do not spread such a rumor. They might all think I am interesting.”
They moved into the room together. Something felt different almost immediately.
Usually, Nathaniel would have greeted a handful of acquaintances before retreating toward the periphery of the room, leaving Margaret free to engage as she wished.
That was what he had planned to do, for he had seen her speaking with the townsfolk and knew she had a knack for it.
But he did not step away. Instead, he remained beside her. He introduced her to several people himself, spoke to her between conversations, and leaned slightly closer when the music rose too loudly for ordinary speech. The change was subtle, but Margaret noticed.
“So attentive,” a lady commented quietly as she passed.
“You certainly are,” Margaret agreed as they continued.
“I am behaving as a husband should. Shall I stop?”
“Not yet.”
The orchestra shifted into the opening measures of a waltz. Nathaniel felt the familiar tightening in the room, that moment when dancers began searching for partners. He looked at Margaret.
“Will we dance?”
She studied him for a brief moment longer before placing her hand in his.
The moment their fingers touched, something in his chest shifted again.
They stepped onto the floor. Nathaniel placed one hand at her waist, the other guiding her hand upward.
It was hardly different from how they had been found, but he tried not to focus on the irony of that.
Margaret’s gaze lifted to his as the music swelled. Their steps aligned so naturally that the room around them seemed to fade away. Nathaniel had expected it to pass well enough. He had not expected such ease.
“You are smiling,” she noted.
He had not realized it. Their turn brought them briefly closer to the center of the floor. Candlelight caught in Margaret’s hair as she spun beneath his guiding arm, returning smoothly to his hold. His hand at her waist tightened slightly, and not by accident.
“You realize,” Nathaniel said quietly, “that society is watching.”
“I suspected as much.”
“And yet you appear unconcerned.”
“I assumed that was your role.”
His laugh escaped before he could stop it, and Margaret looked momentarily pleased with herself.
“That,” she said, “was genuine.”
“You caused it.”
“Perhaps I should more often.”
Their steps carried them through another turn, closer than before. Her hand rested lightly in his, but he felt the warmth of her fingers through the glove. For a moment the music seemed to slow.
The waltz ended sooner than he would have liked.
Applause rippled softly through the room as the dancers slowed and separated.
Nathaniel did not release her immediately.
Then, remembering himself, he guided her toward the edge of the floor.
His fingers brushed hers as he did, perhaps by accident and perhaps not.
For the rest of the evening, he remained beside her. He spoke more than usual, laughed more than usual. Once or twice, he leaned close enough that his voice brushed her ear when the music grew loud again.
And slowly, inevitably, the fascination in the room deepened, because the ton had expected distance between the Duke of Ravensmere and his new wife. What they saw instead was something far more interesting.
A man who rarely lingered now seemed reluctant to leave her side. A man known for his composure now watched his wife as though the rest of the room had grown much less important, which he had to agree that it had.
By the end of the evening, the whispers had already begun. The Duke of Ravensmere, it seemed, was utterly undone by his Duchess.
The ride home was quiet. Margaret sat beside him in the carriage, the glow from the lanterns outside sliding across her face as the wheels rolled through the darkened drive. The evening had left something lingering between them, something warm and unsettled all at once.
The carriage stopped in front of Ravensmere House. A servant opened the door, and Nathaniel stepped down first and offered Margaret his hand as she followed. Inside, the great hall was quiet. Lamps burned low, throwing soft light across the marble floor.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the shift returned. Nathaniel felt it before he even spoken, the familiar discipline sliding back into place. He released her hand.
“That was successful,” he said evenly.
Margaret looked at him.
“Yes,” she said after a moment.
“You must be tired.”
“I am not–”
“I will not keep you longer.”
He inclined his head slightly. He turned to leave that instant.
“Goodnight, Margaret.”
“I cannot do this anymore.”
Nathaniel stilled, and then he turned back slowly. Margaret had not moved from where she stood beneath the entrance lantern. Her gloves were still in her hands, forgotten. Something in her composure had finally cracked.
“Do what?” he asked.
“This,” she said quietly.
He waited.
“The way you appear beside me when others are watching,” she continued, her voice tight, “and then disappear the moment we are alone.”
Nathaniel’s expression hardened slightly.
“That is not what I–”
“It is exactly what you do.”
Her words were not sharp. They were worse than that.
They were tired.
“You stood beside me tonight,” she said. “You laughed with me. You danced with me as though none of this distance existed. And now, you walk away as though it meant nothing.”
“That is not fair.”
“Is it not?”
“I have given you exactly what I promised,” he said. “Freedom. Respect. Space.”
“You have given me silence.”
“That was the agreement.”
Margaret took a step closer.
“You allow the world to believe you care for me,” she said. “You allow them to see something real between us.”
Nathaniel’s voice cooled.
“I do not give a damn what the world believes.”
“Then prove it.”
The words landed quietly. Her eyes searched his, and the challenge hung between them. For a moment Nathaniel simply stared at her.
Then, he crossed the distance between them in two strides. Margaret barely had time to inhale before his hand closed gently but firmly at the back of her neck and he pulled her toward him.
The kiss was nothing like the careful man he had tried to be.
It was fierce, immediate. Weeks of restraint broke loose all at once, and Margaret froze for a fraction of a second in shock.
Then she kissed him back. Nathaniel felt the last of his composure dissolve as her fingers caught the front of his coat.
He had imagined this moment more times than he would ever admit, yet the reality of it struck deeper than any restraint he had tried to maintain.
The kiss deepened, urgent with everything neither of them had allowed themselves to say. When he finally broke away, both of them were breathing harder. Nathaniel rested his forehead briefly against hers, his voice rough when he spoke.
“That,” he said quietly, “is exactly why I keep my distance.”
Margaret did not step away.
“Then perhaps,” she whispered, “distance was never the answer.”
Nathaniel closed his eyes for a moment, knowing with sudden clarity that whatever control he had tried to preserve between them was already gone.
For a long moment neither of them moved.
Margaret still stood within the circle of his arms. Nathaniel forced himself to step back, not far, just enough that he could see her clearly again.
Her cheeks were flushed, her breath still uneven, but her gaze did not drop.
If anything, it steadied further, as though the moment had confirmed something she had already suspected.
“You see it, yes?” she said quietly.
Nathaniel ran a hand across the back of his neck, an old gesture of frustration.
“Yes,” he admitted.
“And yet you pretend it does not exist.”
“I pretend nothing.”
“You retreat.”
“Because I know where this leads.”
Margaret folded her arms lightly, not in defense but in thought.
“Where?”
“Complication.”
“That is a vague enemy.”
“It is a dangerous one.”
Silence lingered for a moment in the quiet hall. Nathaniel exhaled slowly. He wanted nothing more than to give in, but he could not bring himself to.
“I spent years ensuring that nothing could harm Eliza,” he said at last. “Every decision I made was calculated. It had to be.”
“And you succeeded.”
“Barely, and I have my careful nature to thank for that. When our scandal began, I had two choices. Allow it to destroy you… or marry you.”
“I know.”
“And marriage meant responsibility..”
“But not feeling. I know. It is not as though I entered into this marriage expecting anything else.”
Nathaniel looked at her. One look at her made it perfectly clear that even if she had not expected it before, she now did. He wished she did not, for the rejection would have been easier even if it hurt more.
“Feelings complicate responsibility.”
Margaret shook her head gently.
“No,” she said. “It complicates control. You believe if you allow yourself to care, you will lose sight of what is important and fail someone, and so you choose distance. Am I right in saying that, Nathaniel?”
“Yes.”
Margaret’s voice softened.
“That is a lonely way to live.”
Nathaniel gave a faint, humorless smile, for it indeed was.
“I am accustomed to it.”
“But you do not have to be.”
“You speak as though this is simple.”
“It is. It is a simpler way to be than trying to be a hundred different men at once, in any case. It is far more honest, too.”
Her words lingered. For a while they stood there in the quiet of the hall, not saying a word. Then Margaret glanced toward the staircase.
“It is very late, I suppose.”
“Yes.”
They climbed the stairs together without speaking further. In the corridor outside her chamber, however, Nathaniel stopped. This had been their pattern since the wedding. He let her get closer, only for him to pull away. He did not want to do that anymore. He could not do it to her anymore.
“I know how you think of me,” he said shortly.
“Then you should know that I want you to be kinder to yourself.”
With a sigh, he briskly wiped his hands against the fabric of his trousers to dry them.
“I told you about my father,” he continued. “He was a reckless man, one that almost ruined us. I know that I do things that you might not understand, but I– I cannot become him, Margaret.”
“So you will keep me at arm’s length, just in case you cannot control yourself at all?”
“Look at what I just did! Look at what I did at that ball, when we were caught and then we… I need to control myself.”
“You need to control both of us, you mean.”
He looked at her then, truly looked at her, and the guilt was thick in his throat. It was not a crime to kiss his wife, nor to dare feeling something beyond a polite respect for her, but he could not.
“I do not want to control you,” he said quietly. “I suppose I am punishing myself.”
“For something that you did not even do,” she nodded.
Margaret reached for her handle, but she paused. Nathaniel saw the hesitation before she spoke. She turned back toward him, the lantern light catching softly in her eyes.
“If by chance you no longer wish to care what the world believes,” she said quietly, “then perhaps you could begin by changing this.”
Nathaniel waited. Margaret drew a small breath.
“Would you like to join me tonight?” she asked
The question hung between them in the quiet corridor. Nathaniel did not know how to respond, and so he did not.
He simply followed her inside.