Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“You got a letter from your sisters?”
Nathaniel didn’t look up from his desk immediately, his quill continuing its scratching across a stack of heavy parchment.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Euphemia answered, her fingers tightening slightly around the edges of the missive in her hand.
“They wrote to say they wish to pay a visit to the estate. Leonora and Seraphina are eager to see how I am settling in, and I wanted to tell you about it first to see if it would be agreeable to invite my family here.”
It had taken her considerably longer than it should have to knock on his study door.
She had stood in the corridor for a full two minutes, letter in hand, telling herself she was simply collecting her thoughts, which was not true.
The truth was that she had not spoken to him properly in nearly two weeks, not since the ball, not since the stairs, not since she had laced her fingers through his hair and felt his breath change beneath her palms...
and she was not entirely sure what she would find on the other side of the door.
Whether things would be different.
Whether he would be different. Whether she would be able to stand in a room with him and behave like a rational woman.
Yet, the sheer excitement of hearing from her sisters had overridden her hesitation. Beneath that excitement, a small part of her was simply relieved to see him again, to hear his voice, and to break the agonizing silence that had stretched between them.
Nathaniel finally paused, resting his quill in its inkwell. He leaned back in his leather chair, his eyes fixing onto hers.
“Euphemia, you are the Duchess of Greymoor.” He said it without particular emphasis, as though he were pointing out something that should have been obvious some time ago.
“You do not require my permission if you wish to invite your family to your own home. You may host whomever you please, whenever you please.”
A smile broke across her face, the anxiety that had weighed on her shoulders instantly evaporating. “Thank you,” she said softly, her eyes shining as she looked at him.
Nathaniel looked up at her, his posture finally giving way as a soft, rare smile touched his face.
“You do not have to thank me,” he said and shook his head.
“Don’t think of it as seeking permission.
If you wish to be thoughtful, you may simply inform me of your plans so that I might note them, and should your sisters require my presence at any point during their stay, you need only say the word, and I will be there. ”
Euphemia felt a warm flush of gratitude at his words. “Thank you, Your Grace. I shall send a letter to them this afternoon telling them they may come right away.”
As she spoke, the initial rush of excitement began to fade, allowing her to truly look at him for the first time since entering the room.
Her smile faltered. In the afternoon light streaming through the window, she noticed how remarkably pale he seemed.
Dark, heavy shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes, and his jaw looked tightly set, as if he were holding himself together by a thread.
He looked entirely worn down, his usual presence muted by sheer exhaustion.
“Have you truly been confined to this study all through the week. Your Grace?” she asked, her voice laced with sudden concern as she took a small step closer to the desk.
“Nathaniel,” he responded, pushing back from his desk.
Euphemia raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”
Nathaniel stared at her for a long moment, his gaze lingering on her face. A faint, tired sigh slipped past his lips, and he dropped his hands to the desk.
“You do not need to call me ‘Your Grace,’ Euphemia,” he murmured. “I have been meaning to mention it to you a while back, but with everything happening, it kept skipping my mind. When we are alone like this... I would prefer it if you called me by my name. The same way I call you.”
Euphemia felt a sudden, familiar flutter in her stomach, the request catching her entirely off guard. She looked down at her shoes for a brief second, smoothing her skirts to hide the sudden rush of heat to her cheeks, before looking back up to meet his eyes.
“All right,” she whispered. She cleared her throat softly, determined to maintain her ground. “Is the business of the estate so demanding that it has required you to be so thoroughly consumed for two full weeks, Nathaniel?”
Nathaniel ran a hand over his face. He gestured vaguely to the mountains of parchment surrounding him.
“There has been a severe discrepancy discovered in the ledgers regarding our northern tenant farms,” he explained.
“A local bailiff has been mismanaging the rents and crop yields for over a year, and the entire system has fallen into a state of chaotic ruin. If it is not rectified immediately, dozens of families will face destitution before the next harvest. I have had to personally audit every account and restructure the entire lease agreement from afar.”
Euphemia nodded slowly. Yet, as she looked at the tight line of his mouth and the dullness in his eyes, she could not simply let it drop.
“I see,” she said softly, her eyes scanning his drawn features. “But you do not look well. The tenants rely on your strength, yes, but you will be of no use to them if you collapse from exhaustion. Perhaps it is time you finally rest.”
Nathaniel rose to his feet, but the moment he stood completely straight, a sharp cough racked his chest. He winced, dropping a hand to the small of his back.
“It is nothing,” he rasped, trying to smooth over as he saw the immediate alarm flare in her eyes. “My spine is simply protesting. Sitting for hours on end, hunched over these ledgers, is enough to warp any man’s frame.”
Euphemia didn’t listen to his excuses. Shifting past the edge of the desk, she walked right over to him, her worry overriding every rule of propriety. Before he could utter another defensive word, she reached up and firmly pressed the back of her palm against his forehead.
Nathaniel froze mid-sentence, his jaw going completely slack as he stared down at her in absolute shock.
Her brow furrowed as the intense heat of his skin met her hand. She gasped, her eyes widening. “Nathaniel, you have a fever! You are practically burning.”
“I do not have a fever,” he countered automatically, though his voice lacked its usual bite.
“Unless the room itself has suddenly caught fire, you most certainly do,” she argued, keeping her hand pressed right there to prove her point. “You are completely flush.”
Nathaniel reached up, his large fingers wrapping around her wrist. He gently but firmly pulled her hand down away from his forehead, though he didn’t immediately let go of her arm.
“It is fine, Euphemia. I have only ever succumbed to illness twice in my entire life. I am certainly not sick now. I would know.”
“Then how do you explain this ridiculous heat?” she demanded, looking down at where his grip held her wrist, then back up to his eyes.
“I spent the early hours of the morning inspect —” He cut himself off with another dry cough, clearing his throat hastily. “I stayed too long under the sun while inspecting the southern stables. It is merely the heat of the day clinging to me.”
Euphemia let out a sharp, skeptical breath. “The sun set nearly two hours ago, Nathaniel. Unless you have somehow managed to trap the afternoon sun beneath your collar, that is a fever.”
“It is exhaustion, nothing more.”
Euphemia swallowed a frustrated sigh that was about to escape her lips. “Exhaustion does not make a man feel like a freshly baked loaf of bread straight from the hearth,” she shot back, with her eyes shut. “Just lay down for a moment.”
“I am a duke, Euphemia. I do not simply fall ill because of a difficult fortnight of work.”
“Oh, forgive me,” she said. “I was unaware that a peerage title acted as a shield against a common ague. Pray tell, does the fever know it is invading a ducal body, or should I write it a formal letter of eviction?”
A faint, reluctant glimmer of amusement danced in his exhausted eyes, though he stubbornly shook his head. “Your sarcasm is entirely unnecessary. I am perfectly fit to continue.”
“You are utterly impossible,” Euphemia said, letting out a low, defeated chuckle as she crossed her arms over her chest.
Nathaniel dropped his hands to the desk, his back flinching slightly as it protested the movement.
“I am not trying to be impossible,” he countered, a tired but amused smile playing on his lips.
“I am merely trying to assure you that there is nothing wrong, and that it is perfectly fine. As I told you, I would know if I were truly falling ill. I have only ever been sick twice in my entire life.”
Euphemia rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips to match his.
“That is hardly something to be bragging about, Nathaniel. It is impressive, I admit, but it is not a grand achievement that grants you immunity forever. All I am asking is that you just lay down and see how you feel after a nice, proper sleep.”
Nathaniel’s expression softened further. He took a slow step closer to her, his shadow falling over her as the space between them narrowed. “What if I do not want to sleep?”
“Go lie down still,” she replied implicitly, squaring her shoulders against his proximity.
“But what if I simply do not want to?” he teased gently.
Euphemia squinted her eyes at him, tilting her chin up. “Do you take a specific joy in arguing with me?”
“Perhaps,” Nathaniel murmured, his lips curving into a smile. “Do you also take joy in arguing with me?”
“Perhaps,” she admitted softly.
They shared a lingering smile, the banter melting away the remaining awkwardness of the past fortnight. Nathaniel took a shallow breath, his posture relaxing slightly. “Truly, Euphemia, you do not have to worry. If I were entirely unable to continue, you would know.”