Chapter 11 #2
His analytical expression softened infinitesimally. “I know,” he said. “Let me take care of you.”
Her eyes welled with tears. She bit her lip to keep them from falling. Turning to stare out the window, she managed a small nod. Yes. Take care of me. Because I don’t know where I’m at or what I’m to do. And I’m so desperately frightened of facing it all on my own.
· · · · ·
Miles didn’t know what his house might look like to Nell’s eyes.
Probably nothing very special. It was, like so many others in the square, four stories of red brick and pristine white stone, with tall glazed windows and black ornamental railings.
A once fashionable residence in centuries past. Now it was simply home.
A safe place to lodge his cats, and to rest his head between his endless hours in Fleet Street.
Mrs. Bright met them at the door in the waning twilight, her short white hair gleaming like a halo in the glow from the gasolier that hung in the hall.
She took one look at Nell’s pale face and immediately enfolded her under her ample wing.
“Oh, bless me. Is this Mrs. Quincey? Why, you must be exhausted, ma’am. Here, let me take your things.”
Miles followed them inside. He dispensed with his hat and coat as his housekeeper divested Nell of her bonnet and gloves. “How is Shadow faring?” he asked. “Not too distressed, I trust.”
“The new cat is still in the guest room, Mr. Quincey,” Mrs. Bright replied.
She paused to address a footman. “Take those bags up to the mistress’s chamber, Albert.
And tell Gladys to bring up the cans of hot water.
” She glanced back at Miles as she ushered Nell through the marble-tiled hall.
“I’ve given her fresh food and a clean tray of sand.
She showed no interest in either of them. Went straight under the bed, she did.”
“Unsurprising.” Miles walked after them into the dining room.
A cold collation had been laid out on the polished mahogany table—meats, cheeses, fruits, and a loaf of bread, illuminated by two branches of half-melted beeswax candles.
Another branch of candles flickered valiantly on the ornate mahogany sideboard that dominated the wall opposite.
Unlike the entry hall, the dining room had no gasolier, only an old crystal chandelier that was more trouble than it was worth to light.
Mrs. Bright pressed Nell into a chair. “Horus isn’t helping matters. He’s been peeping under the door all day.”
“That can’t be avoided,” Miles said. He couldn’t isolate Shadow forever. She’d have to get used to the other cats eventually. Knowing Horus, that day would be sooner rather than later.
“Horus is the master’s great black cat,” Mrs. Bright explained to Nell as she filled a glass for her from a carafe of red wine.
“He runs the house. Then there’s Smoke, Absalom, and Virgil.
And now little Shadow, too. That’s five altogether, though you won’t see a whisker of any of them until they want you to.
They’re that good at hiding.” She hesitated before returning the carafe to the table, an unsettling thought crossing her plump face. “You do like cats?”
“I do,” Nell said. “I’m fond of animals.”
Miles pulled up a chair next to her. This wasn’t the time for sitting a table-length away.
Judging from the shadows under Nell’s eyes and the uncharacteristic lack of starch in her spine, she was fading quickly.
The reality of her new position had seemed to strike her sometime after they’d departed the Red Lion.
It had only been a matter of moments before she’d begun to bow under the weight of it.
“There’s fond and there’s fond,” Mrs. Bright said with a trace of censure.
She heaped a plate for Nell. “But I don’t complain.
They’re friendly beasts most of the time, and not too much trouble.
Though it does put a charge through the ranks whenever Mr. Quincey adds another to the mix.
Even the best of them start acting foolish.
” She reached to put another slice of roast beef on Nell’s plate.
“Oh no,” Nell protested. “I thank you, Mrs. Bright, but I couldn’t eat a fraction of that much.”
“I’ll help you,” Miles said quietly.
Mrs. Bright placed the plate in front of Nell. “You don’t want a serving of your own, sir?”
“Perhaps later,” he said. He gave her a look.
Mrs. Bright at once understood. “I shall leave you while I see to the mistress’s bath,” she said. “I’ll be back to fetch her when all is in readiness.” Bobbing a curtsy, the housekeeper withdrew.
Nell took a half-hearted sip of her wine. “I’m afraid I haven’t much of an appetite.”
Neither did Miles. He took some bread and meat from her plate anyway, pouring himself a measure of wine and forcing himself to eat and drink as casually as if he and Nell had been dining together in this intimate manner for years.
As he’d intended, seeing him eating prompted her to gradually do the same.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye, assuring himself that she was taking sufficient sustenance.
“What now?” she asked after she’d finished a small portion of her meal.
It was the same thing she’d asked him when they’d sat together beneath the tree in the shadow of Miss Corvus’s Academy.
Setting aside his napkin, Miles stood. “A good night’s sleep,” he said. He offered her his hand. “In the morning, we’ll visit the Courant to right things with my staff. And then…I’ll take you to see Mrs. Royce.”
Nell’s weary gaze flickered with unidentifiable emotion as she set her hand in his. A flare of hope, perhaps. Or possibly relief. “I’d almost forgotten she was returning tomorrow.”
Miles hadn’t. He had the distinct suspicion that, on learning of Nell’s misfortune, Mrs. Royce would attempt to take Nell away from him. The prospect left a surprisingly bitter taste in his mouth, as though the wine he’d just drunk had been laced with poison.
Nell rose from her chair, her hand still in his. “I can’t think what she’ll say when she learns I’ve got married. And to you, of all gentlemen.”
“I don’t know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment,” he murmured.
“The former, probably,” Nell said. “You may take heart in knowing that Mr. Royce will be equally horrified on learning you’ve married me.”
Miles didn’t care what Gabriel thought. He didn’t care what anyone thought. Not anymore. The deed was done.
Mrs. Bright materialized in the doorway. “Mrs. Quincey? If you’re finished, ma’am, I shall be happy to show you to your room.”
Nell relinquished Miles’s hand. “Well, I suppose I should retire.”
“You better had,” Miles said gravely.
Their eyes met and held.
And it seemed to him that something passed between them. Something starkly intimate. Perilously close to tenderness. His chest constricted with the ache of it.
He thought she might say something more, or perhaps do something more.
But Nell didn’t say anything. Didn’t do anything. She simply turned abruptly and, bidding him a civil good night, accompanied the housekeeper out of the room.