Chapter Twelve #5
She cradled her cup, letting the heat seep through the porcelain. He did the same. “Are we of an accord?” Her voice was small and meek, which was not how she wanted to sound to him. Not now, not ever.
His head tilted, his hair drying and falling out of its pomaded styling. A hank of black curl fell across his forehead, which made him seem far more approachable. Her Beckett, the personal one only she got to see. Just as Jane’s fiancé was her Rafe . This was Nell’s Beckett.
He reached out a hand, palm up, requesting hers.
She met his eye as she removed her hand from the cup and scooted forward in her chair to place it in his.
His thumb ran over the back of her hand.
“I wish there was some other word for the partnership we should forge. Marriage, but more than what others have. Deeper. Bigger.”
“Better?” she suggested, following the line of his thinking.
He smiled. “Indeed. Better.”
“This is not the wild romance of novels, is it?” It was her turn to smile.
“It is better. Deeper. Quieter. More equitable. But if you should desire me to lease a boat and pretend to be a pirate and rip some perfectly good stays off of your body—”
Nell laughed. “Quite unnecessary. I always found that to be rather stressful reading. What if his sword slips? Or the boat lurches, and he accidentally nicks her as he is cutting her clothes off?” She shivered.
“Noted. No swords.” Beckett lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “But now that we have secured my proposal for the second time, may I call you by your given name?”
“My friends call me Nell.”
“Not Cornelius?” he asked, kissing her knuckles again.
She laughed. “No, not Cornelius, though I am a Cornelia. It is a small matter to change my name from a feminine form to a masculine one.”
His eyes sparkled. “Ah, I get to see the nom de plume’s inspiration firsthand.”
“Riveting, is it not?” she teased.
“Everything about you is, Nell. Since the moment you first upbraided me, I have been able to think of little else but you. You forced me to drop my guards and be introspective. You’ve surprised me, inspired me, and I hope that I can make your life better.”
“You already did, with all that tea. My friends were most appreciative.”
“I’m glad I was able to garner at least some of Miss Smith’s goodwill. There were moments this evening when I thought she might like to claw my eyes out.”
“She is only protective.”
Beckett kissed her hand once more. “Another signifier of a good, honest person, Nell. Good friends who will help and protect you. Now I ought to go, so that no more propriety is disturbed. I’m sure Jacobs and your maid are standing by outside the door, armed with brass candlesticks to bludgeon me if I say anything untoward. ”
Nell nodded, standing with him when he took to his feet. “So, we are getting married, correct?”
Beckett laughed. “God, I hope so, after all that. I feel wrung out like a wet towel, don’t you?”
“Positively exhausted. But I had to check. And I have a few requests then, about our union.”
Beckett looked surprised. “I thought we agreed to a partnership. That means you don’t have to make requests of me. We discuss it and come to an accord.”
“Right then.” Nell took a breath, not sure how to make these sorts of discussions happen, for she had been the mistress of her own life for so long.
“I want Jacobs and Sabine to come with me to your houses. They should always be given a position for however long they wish to have one. With pensions when they grow too old.”
“Sounds very reasonable,” he said. “Any other concerns?”
“Dozens, though I’m too tired to think of them now.”
“I am the same. I shall put things into motion. Should I contact your father for this?”
Nell felt her heart clutch. “No.” The woman she was now had no parents, no siblings.
She had put them all out of her mind when she came to London.
She had to, for her own sanity. And seeing them now would only hurt more and put them all in danger, for being a countess would put her vulnerable to blackmailers.
“We should keep as I have done. No contact whatsoever, for their safety and ours. I am Mrs. Reid. A widow come to London to keep my meager fortune, with no family upon which I can force my company.”
Beckett nodded. “I look forward to introducing you to my circle, particularly to Lord Rincon. You can finally meet in person for a chess match.” He stepped closer to her, cradled her face, as if memorizing her for later. “I had not thought to ever feel like this. I did not think I was capable.”
“Nor did I,” she admitted, turning her face to kiss his palm. “I thought it was stuff of poetry and nattering idiots.”
His chuckle was low and deep, and she felt its resonance in her bones. “They say everyone is a fool in love.”
“Then let us join the population of stupidity.”
He leaned down, hair’s breadth from her lips, a smile playing on his. “Gladly.” Then he pressed himself to her, and she felt as if there was a whirlpool that surrounded them both, taking away all sense of up and down, all sense of time, as they melded their hearts to a similar shape of others.
A clearing of a throat in the hall brought Nell to her senses, and she pulled away, feeling like a chastised child.
“I ought to go,” Beckett said, smiling enough to reveal a dimple.
A dimple! She had not seen that before. So much to learn and discover. She nodded, and for the first time, she felt giddy without the glass of sherry.