Chapter 14
Three days had passed.
The ice was a masterwork of delicacy — a pale rose-coloured confection that arrived in a small glass dish, its surface catching the light like polished stone.
Lord Hawkley presented it to Louisa with a slight bow and an expression of such earnest concern that Nora, watching from her own seat, had to press her lips together to suppress a smile.
“It is bergamot,” he explained, sitting down beside Louisa with a care that suggested he was afraid the chair itself might object to his proximity. “I inquired about your preference last Tuesday, if you recall, and you mentioned —”
“I mentioned it once, in passing, three weeks ago.” Louisa’s eyes were bright with a mixture of wonder and amusement. “You remembered?”
Lord Hawkley’s colour rose from his collar to his cheekbones — a slow, even flush that Nora found thoroughly endearing. “I may have made a note of it.”
“A note?” Louisa’s eyebrows rose.
“A mental note,” he amended, quickly. “Not — I did not write it down, that would be —” He stopped himself, clearly aware that he was making things worse, and took sudden refuge in his own dish of ice.
Louisa watched him with an expression that was trying very hard to be composed and was failing, the corners of her mouth curving upward in a smile she could not suppress.
They were seated at a small table near the window, close enough that their elbows nearly touched.
Nora, positioned at the adjacent table with her mother, was unable to look away from them — not from any desire to intrude but because the tenderness on display was so transparent, so entirely without pretense, that Nora found she had to look away.
Neither of them seemed aware of the other customers, or of the clatter of dishes, or of Lady Somerset’s occasional pointed glances in their direction.
Lord Hawkley passed Louisa a spoon. His fingers lingered on the handle for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, and when she took it, their hands brushed — a touch so brief it might not have happened at all, except that Louisa’s colour rose and Hawkley’s flush deepened to a shade that gave him away completely.
“It is excellent,” Louisa said, tasting the ice. “You have chosen very well.”
“I am glad of it.” His voice had settled into a register that was lower and warmer than his usual speech — the voice of a man who had laid down whatever guard he ordinarily carried.
He watched her eat with an attentiveness that was not hunger but something gentler: the patient, specific focus of someone who had decided that this woman’s enjoyment was the most important thing in the room.
Nora looked down at her own dish, untouched, and felt the ache behind her ribs sharpen.
What she was watching was exactly what she wanted — the small, quiet intimacy of two people falling in love without fanfare or drama, building their affection from a hundred tiny exchanges, each one unremarkable in itself but collectively forming something unshakable.
It was the future she had once imagined with Hampshire, before the letter, before the codicil, before the year of silence that had hollowed her chest out and left her walking through London like a woman made of paper.
But you are not made of paper any longer, she reminded herself, straightening in her chair. And there is hope.
She turned her attention back to Louisa, in time to see Lord Hawkley lean slightly closer and say something that made her sister laugh — a true, full laugh that rang through the shop like a bell. Several customers looked up. Hawkley did not notice them. He noticed only Louisa.
“My lady?” The maid at Nora’s elbow was holding out a fresh napkin. “You have not touched your ice.”
Nora took the napkin and smiled. “I find I have been otherwise occupied,” she said. “But I am ready now.”
The sound of Louisa’s laughter drew Nora back from her reverie. There was still so much to be resolved — Rathbone, the codicil, Hampshire’s freedom — but for this small moment, the sweetness of the bergamot ice and the warmth of watching her sister’s happiness was enough.
“Why yes, I should very much like to walk with you.” Louisa nudged Nora lightly whilst keeping her gaze fixed on Lord Hawkley. “It is a very fine afternoon indeed, is it not?”
Nora rose and quickly went to speak with their mother, informing her that Lord Hawkley now wished to walk with Louisa and might they both follow? Lady Somerset was delighted, beaming at Nora as if she herself was responsible.
“I think Lord Hawkley might soon ask to court Louisa,” she murmured into Nora’s ear as they followed after them.
“That will leave only you alone then to find a match!” Her eyes flickered as Nora frowned. “You do not have a gentleman in mind? There are so many who show you interest, but you do not seem to have any interest in any of them.”
Nora licked her lips, uncertain as to what to say. “I have my own considerations,” she admitted, carefully. “If anything was to come from that, I would inform you at once, of course.”
“Good, good.” Lady Somerset, now distracted by Lord Hawkley offering his arm to Louisa, let out a sigh of contentment and quickened her steps so as not to allow the couple too far out of her sight.
Nora fell back a step or two, her thoughts quickly returning to Lord Hampshire.
Her mother was clearly aware that Nora had not made any remarks or taken any notice of any gentlemen as yet, but how was she meant to tell her about her love for Lord Hampshire when he was still engaged to Frederica?
She looked down at the ground as she walked, her brow furrowing and her heart dull with the weight of her present circumstances.
As much as she had reassured Lord Hampshire the previous afternoon, her own concerns had lingered still.
What if they could not find the truth? What if Frederica continued to evade their questions and they could find nothing about Mr. Rathbone?
Their happy future was still naught but a hope, no clear substance to it as yet.
“Lady Nora?”
Her head lifted, her breath catching as Frederica herself, still in half mourning attire, came from where she had been standing by her carriage towards her. “Miss Longleat,” she said, stammering in surprise. “I – I did not think… that is to say, I had not imagined that – ”
“I wanted to apologize for the way I ended the conversation yesterday.” Frederica appeared to be a good deal more composed than Nora had seen her previously, her gaze steady and her eyes clear.
“I ran from the room, having practically shouted aloud at Lord Hampshire, which, I know, was very rude indeed.”
“You were in a great state of shock. I can imagine that your upset was very great indeed.” Nora was not quite certain why the lady had come to speak to her, wondering if she had been in the heart of London for a particular reason or had come in the hope of spying Nora specifically. “How do you fare today?”
“I am well.” Frederica smiled, but it was pinched, sending no light into her eyes.
“It is still all quite distressing, as you can imagine, but I was truly touched by your consideration of my father’s intentions.
I thought that he must have lied to me, that it was all a pretense for some strange, confusing reason of his own – a reason he will never be able to share with me – but instead now, I believe that it was as you said.
He proposed to write the codicil, but his ill health prevented him from doing so.
Therefore, he spoke as if it were already there, already written and added to his will, for that had been his firm intention. ”
Nora smiled back at her. “I am glad that brings you comfort.”
“I – ” Frederica looked down at her hands. “I did not know that you and Lord Hampshire were to be engaged. I am sorry for the pain that my father unintentionally caused you.”
The sorrow in her words tugged at Nora’s heart. “It was not your doing, Frederica. You need not apologize for another’s actions.”
“All the same, I feel myself responsible.”
“You are not.” Nora grasped her hand and then released it, turning her head to see her mother, sister, and Lord Hawkley all standing together talking with some other acquaintances.
They would not miss her presence for a few minutes longer.
“There must have been some reason for your father to write that codicil, however. Might I be so bold as to ask you if you were aware of that?”
Frederica stiffened instantly, her shoulders going back and her chin lifting a fraction. “You seek to end my engagement to Lord Hampshire, I can understand that, but you must see that his duty is to honour the arrangement with my father.”
“I see that duty but I also see the chance of making a love match, which is worth far more than any expectation of responsibility,” Nora said, gently.
“If one has never been in love, has never allowed oneself to think of such a thing, then it is hard to imagine how wonderful a situation that is to be in.”
Frederica looked away, her cheeks white save for a tiny flush of pink in the centre of them. “I have never allowed myself such thoughts and will never permit myself to do so either.”
“But why ever not?” Nora asked softly. “To have one’s heart filled with such a sense of love for another, knowing that you are loved in return, is the most delightful, astonishing, overwhelming state that I have ever been in!”
With a heaviness in her sigh, Frederica returned her gaze to Nora. “That is what is between yourself and Lord Hampshire, I recognize that. I do not seek to injure you in this.”