Chapter 28
Estelle
The trip to the theater had been wonderful, and everyone stumbled to their beds, fatigued from the late night.
It was only after Nora’s chastising that I had agreed to let her pull the pins from my hair and plait it for me.
I had fallen in bed with the expectation to sleep until midmorning, only to be bitterly disappointed.
After a mere hour of sleep, my stomach woke me.
I was dreadfully hungry. We had eaten an early dinner, and my stomach refused to wait until morning.
Whimpering in self-pity, I threw my legs over the side of the bed.
With half-shuttered eyes, I pattered to the fireplace and fumbled as my tired fingers lit my candle and donned my wrapper.
Treading noiselessly down the stairs, I turned toward the servants’ entrance to the kitchen.
A sudden, sharp yell turned my feet to stone.
Where had that come from? My head jerked in every direction, but I saw nothing.
Was someone being attacked?
My senses were now fully awake.
Another yell and my head turned toward the closed library door. I did not want to investigate on my own. Not in the dead of night. But the image of Mr. Long, bruised and broken in an alley, thawed my frozen feet and pushed me into motion. If someone was hurt, I had to be brave.
My heart beat wildly as I slowly lifted the library door handle and cracked it open. I was met with silence and darkness. I inched the door open farther, fully expecting someone to either jump out at me or grab me from behind.
When nothing happened, I forced myself to proceed.
I stepped into the library, my hand on the candlestick now shaking. Moving the light around the room, I searched for anything out of the norm. After all my lessons with Augusta, I knew it well.
I had not finished my search when a deep moan made me jump. My mouth opened to scream. At that exact moment, the light of my candle met a prostrate figure on the sofa, and my voice silenced on my tongue.
Atlas?
He was thrashing around as if his body was seizing. I rushed forward just as he moaned again. A ghostly sound of pain and fear.
A sound I had heard before.
The night I met my stranger.
I set down my candlestick on the sofa table and placed my hands on his shoulder, hunching down beside him. “Atlas!”
He wasn’t seizing . . . he was dreaming.
This was a nightmare. Some of my fear abated, but I was still desperate to see him calm again.
“Atlas, please. Wake up.” I reached up and smoothed his hair, damp with sweat.
Candlelight flickered across his face, his features tight.
“Shh, it’s all right. You’re all right.”
Under my touch and soothing, Atlas slowly relaxed against the sofa pillow, and his breathing slowed.
“Sleep now,” I whispered.
His eyes pulled open and he blinked. When he turned to meet my eyes, he jerked back.
I drew back too. Had I overstepped? Certainly, we were in the library in the dead of night alone, but had he expected me to ignore his strangled cries?
“Estelle? What are you doing here?”
I couldn’t see his expression well. Was he angry? Embarrassed? Merely surprised?
I swallowed. “Waking you from your nightmare.”
His sigh was heavy. “That was you? I thought . . . I thought . . .”
“Yes?”
He shook his head, pulling himself into a sitting position. He wore his trousers and shirt partially tucked in but no waistcoat or boots. “I hope I did not frighten you.”
“Then you hoped wrong.” I stood and pulled my wrapper tighter. “Why are you sleeping in the library?”
“Reading sometimes helps me fall asleep.”
I suppose that was reason enough. “What were you dreaming about?”
“I, uh . . .”
“When you fell off your horse?” I supplied.
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “You could say that.” He frowned at me. “I did not wake you from all the way upstairs?”
“No, I was on the way to the kitchen.”
His chuckle was strained. “For some bread?”
His words pulled a smile from me. “If I could find some.”
He stood and I followed suit. “If you do not mind some company, I could use some bread too. I won’t be able to sleep again for a while, and the kitchen is safer for us than the library if someone should happen upon us.”
His wisdom got my feet moving. A few minutes later, we were back in the close confines of the larder—reminiscent of our first encounter here together.
“Remember—” we both started at the same time.
I laughed, and he shook his head with a wry grin.
“You must have thought me ridiculous hiding in the cupboard with my foot stuck in a mop bucket,” I said.
“You’re wrong,” he answered. “I thought you ridiculous for having bread hanging out of your mouth.”
I nudged him with my elbow, and we both laughed. The tension from the library was easing, and I was grateful. Whatever he had dreamed about must have been terrible.
Atlas cleared his throat. “You must have thought me mad, holding a knife to your throat.”
I shrugged. “I thought it was a valid response, considering you did not know who was hiding.”
Atlas opened the bread box and pulled out a loaf.
“I admit, you were more than terrifying. Those deep-brown eyes as dark as molasses and that sleek raven hair.” His eyes traced my eyes and hair and every inch of my face, burning my skin with his warm gaze.
It seemed to take real effort to pull his attention back to the bread.
He quickly sliced two pieces and stowed the remaining loaf away again as he said, “I suppose terrifying isn’t the word.
Mesmerizing might be better.” He shifted to the side to face me, his hip resting on the counter as if waiting for my response.
I was not used to having a man flirt with me, let alone one as handsome as Atlas. I had no witty, ready response. “Was I mesmerizing enough to convince you to try jam on your bread tonight?”
He shook his head. “How could you be so perfect and not like bread and cheese together?”
Perfect? That word always reminded me of my mother and her constant urging to be better. My efforts had only seemed to widen the chasm instead of narrow it. I reached to straighten my gloves but remembered I was not wearing them. “I’m not perfect,” I said.
His eyes caught the awkward movement of my hands, and a small frown hovered over his mouth. “You are right. Not until you can learn to love the right foods together. How about a deal? Tonight, I eat bread and jam and you eat bread and cheese, and we keep an open mind about the combination.”
I knew what he was doing with his teasing—distracting me from my wayward thoughts—but I was eager to be distracted. “Deal.”
Atlas cut a wedge of cheese and slathered jam across one slice and set up our faire. “I would bring this all to the table, but I worry we will wake the servants.” He eyed the counter. “I have another idea.” He cleared the counter of any crumbs and came and stood directly in front of me. “May I?”
“May you what?”
His answer came in the form of putting his hands on my waist and lifting me up in the air. I gasped, only to be set down a half a second later on the counter. Then Atlas proceeded to sit down beside me, with only two squares of bread between us and a bit of cheese.
He grinned. “What do you think?”
I shook my head. “I think you should give me the bread and jam and eat your own cheese.”
He wagged his finger. Then he picked up the bread with the jam on it and took a large bite. “Mmmm.”
Two could play at that game. I lifted the cheese wedge and sunk my teeth into it, making my own sounds of pleasure.
He playfully gasped, making me laugh and choke on the cheese. He reached over and patted my back. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” I plopped a piece of bread in my mouth to prove my words true.
For a moment, we ate in companionable silence. That is until a subject burned on my tongue.
“I think your cottage hospital investment is brilliant.”
Atlas lowered the last bite of bread from his mouth. “You do?”
“Of course. The hospitals in this country are overflowing . . . especially since the potato blight and the flood of immigrants.” I had meant to show him how impressed I was, and I regretted bringing the Irish into it.
“Indeed, no one can keep up with the incoming patients. Every person deserves medical care.”
Every person. He had included the Irish. My heart bloomed like an eager bud under his words.
“Here in the country,” he continued, “we must wait hours for a single man to ride long routes to reach us.”
I thought of Mr. Long and his intended place at the deadhouse. “It could be the difference between life and death,” I breathed. “The fact of the matter is, we need far more hospitals than we have.”
His whole gaze softened. “You are right. You are absolutely right. Even if it means a great deal of money and sacrifice from my family to continue.”
I set my hand on his arm. “You will save lives. You cannot put a price on what that is worth. Though, the most admirable part is not the money given but the courage to act.”
He stared at the bread crust in his hand. “No one has ever had reason to call me courageous. Not to disappoint you, but Lord Camden is not a very impressive man.” His gaze met mine, full of self-loathing and pain.
I had no knowledge of what had caused him to feel such sorrow and remorse.
I could only judge the part of the man I knew.
And that part was quite noteworthy. He cared for his family—and since I had only known neglect these past years, I valued that quality highly.
And had he not turned away from temptation when he removed himself from his friends and their wasteful living?
Not only this, but he was actively seeking to aid his community.
Through all of this, he had been kind to a woman passing by, in need of employment.
And he called me perfect.
If he only knew. I was unimpressive. A disappointment to my family.
A coward. I had been for a long time—trying to please everyone, running away when I was scared, and keeping secrets from the people I cared about.
Seeing Atlas hurting pushed away any thoughts of myself and made me brave.
Reaching up, I set my hand on his cheek.
He startled. But bless him, he did not pull back in revulsion.
My bravery wavered in the moment, but the warmth of his skin slowly eased the millions of fears telling me to pull away.
With the pad of my thumb, I stroked the soft skin of his upper cheek, down to the barely perceptible scruff from his dinner shave.
“I think . . . I think, Lord Camden, that you are the very best man I know.”
I did pull back then, but Atlas stopped me. He covered my hand with his own and leaned toward me. There was no food or barrier to cross, and he effortlessly closed the remaining space.
My eyes fell to his mouth. He was going to kiss me. And I wanted nothing more.