Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Lie still, Euphemia,” a deep, gravelly voice commanded from the shadows.
Euphemia flinched, her gaze snapping toward the edge of the mattress as she fully roused from her heavy slumber. The suffocating haze broke all at once, her chest heaving with a sharp, startled breath while her eyes struggled to focus against the gloom of the bedchamber.
Her memory was a fractured, confusing blur, leaving her pulse hammering in her ears as she tried to comprehend how she had vanished from the drawing room and awakened in the stillness of what looked like her bedchamber.
Nathaniel was seated rigidly in the high-backed armchair positioned right beside her bedside.
He had discarded his formal coat, his white linen shirt unbuttoned at the throat and his hair uncharacteristically disheveled.
He looked entirely unmoving, his large hands resting flat on his knees, but his eyes were locked onto her face with such intensity, it made her pulse jump.
“Nathaniel?” Her voice was nothing but a dry whisper, her throat feeling as though it was lined with sand. She instinctively pushed herself up against the headboard, the linen sheets rustling loudly as she tried to clear her head. “What... why am I in bed? What happened?”
Nathaniel stood up from the armchair, crossing the room to a small table where a crystal carafe sat.
He poured a glass of water, the soft clinking of glass breaking the silence of the room.
Moving back to the bedside, he sat down gently on the edge of the mattress, the bed shifting slightly under his weight as he extended the glass toward her.
“Do you want me to hold it for you?” he asked, his eyes scanning her face.
“No, I can manage,” she murmured, her fingers trembling slightly as she took the glass from his palm.
She raised it to her lips and drank, the cool water instantly soothing the dry burn in her throat.
Once she had drained the glass, she set it down carefully on the small nightstand before looking back up at him.
“You fainted, Euphemia,” he said plainly. He leaned forward slightly. “We were in the drawing room. Your sisters were present, as were the twins, when you lost consciousness completely and collapsed. You have been asleep for hours.”
A hot, stinging wave of embarrassment rushed up her neck, staining her cheeks a bright crimson. She pulled the blanket higher up her chest, suddenly intensely aware of how improper she must look.
“I fainted?” she repeated, her eyes darting to focus on her laced fingers. “I am entirely mortified. Who saw me? Was His Grace still present? The children —”
“Nonsense,” Nathaniel interrupted. “I was not in the drawing room when it occurred. The butler came to my study to inform me, and when I arrived, you were already on the floor, with your sisters gathered around trying to rouse you. According to Leonora, you had been standing by the window with your tea in hand, and the next minute, they heard the teacup crashing against the floor as you collapsed.”
Euphemia closed her eyes, a fresh wave of humiliation washing over her. “The girls... I must have terrified them completely.”
“They are fine, Euphemia,” he assured her, his deep voice softening slightly.
“They are in their bedchamber. They wanted to stay, and they have actually come by several times to see you, but you were sound asleep. Everyone has been waiting for you to wake.” He paused, his expression turning thoroughly grave as he leaned in.
“The physician states you are suffering from sheer exhaustion and merely require absolute rest, but I want to know what is causing this. What is stressing you to the point of a collapse, Euphemia?”
She blinked, caught off guard by his question.
“Are you simply tired?” Nathaniel pressed, his questions coming one after the other.
“Is it the household duties? Or is it the girls? I know they can be a handful, and I have noticed recently that Georgianna is far more agile and active than she has ever been. It must have taken a great deal of effort on your part to coax her into playing and moving about like that. Is that what is straining you? Are they exhausting you?”
Euphemia opened her mouth to speak, but he kept going, analyzing every possibility with an intensity that looked remarkably like genuine worry.
She watched the tight set of his jaw and the slight crease between his brows, her mind spinning into a state of utter confusion.
The man was entirely baffling. One week he was a fortress of absolute ice, treating her like a stranger in her own home, and the next minute he was sitting on her bed, looking completely undone by her illness.
She did not know what to think.
A sharp, reckless impulse flared in her chest. She wanted to look him in the eye and tell him the truth.
that the girls were a joy, that the household was manageable, and that the only thing causing her mind such agonizing stress was him.
It was his maddening back-and-forth, his sudden distance, and the erratic temperature of their marriage that had truly worn her down to nothing.
But as she looked at his face, the words died in her throat. He looked profoundly heavy, almost sad, and she had no desire to add bitterness to the room.
“No, Nathaniel,” she murmured softly, forcing a small, reassuring smile to her lips as she looked away from his eyes.
“It is none of those things. You must remember, I have only been here a few months. It has not been very long since our marriage, and I am likely just adapting to the responsibilities and the change of pace. I assure you, it won’t happen again. ”
Nathaniel shifted, moving further onto the mattress until he was sitting closer to her, his large frame casting a long, protective shadow over her lap.
“I am not worried that it will happen again, Euphemia,” he said.
“I am worried because I do not know what to make of it. You hurt yourself. Since you have arrived here, you have been wounded, you have been injured, you have twisted your ankle. Not only do you hurt yourself, but Georgianna has accidentally hurt you as well. I do not want your memories of this place, of our new home, to be entirely defined by pain and exhaustion.” He leaned in a fraction more, his gaze searching hers.
“I am simply trying to understand what is stressing you. What do you need? What do you want from me that will make you all right?”
“Nothing, Nathaniel,” she murmured, her heart thumping against her ribs. “You truly do not have to worry over —”
“Do you require new gowns from London?” he continued, entirely unpersuaded.
“A more comfortable carriage? Shall I commission a new pianoforte for the morning room, or perhaps procure rare botanicals for the conservatory if the gardens displease you? Is there a particular luxury you lack? Tell me, is that what you want?”
Without thinking, driven by a sudden wave of tenderness, Euphemia reached out and placed her hand over his.
His skin was warm, and he froze the exact moment her palm met his knuckles.
She looked at him softly, her thumb brushing over his hand.
“I know. I am sorry I worried you. I promise you I do not want any of those things. I have a lot already, Nathaniel. I have more than I ever thought I would ever have in my life, and I am fine. Truly. I was simply a little overwhelmed.” She offered him another reassuring smile, trying to ground them both.
“I will be healthy. I will take this bed rest seriously.”
Nathaniel looked down at her hand resting on his, remaining silent for a long moment. When he finally looked up, his jaw was tight. “You scared me, Euphemia, and I do not like to be scared.”
“I am sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t apologize. Whatever you need, you must say it,” he insisted gently, his fingers turning slightly under hers. “If you are weary of this house, perhaps you would like to go home to the countryside for a short period? A visit to Lady Byron might make you feel better.”
“No, there is no need for that,” she said quickly.
She immediately pulled her hand back, her posture stiffening under the sheets.
“The countryside is quite damp this time of year, is it not? I believe the girls would miss me terribly if I were to leave for even a week. Tell me, did the physician say when I might be permitted to take my meals downstairs again? I should hate to be confined to this room for the entire weekend.”
Nathaniel watched her closely, his eyes tracking the sudden shift in her demeanor, but she kept her gaze fixed on the bedpost, determined to avoid the topic of Lady Byron and the unspoken secrets of her childhood that she was not yet ready to reveal to her husband.
Nathaniel watched her for a silent moment, his eyes lingering on the sudden tension in her shoulders before he finally conceded to her redirection.
“I am certain I am all right,” she murmured, leaning back against the pillows as she tried to project a calm she did not entirely feel.
She took a slow breath, holding his gaze.
“But I do have a question for you, Nathaniel. One that might make me feel a little better, if you would answer it honestly.”
His brow furrowed slightly, his posture. “What is it?”
“We have not truly spoken of our pasts,” she began softly, her fingers lightly pleating the sheet.
“Our marriage was swift, and our wedding was swifter still. But we are here now, and I feel we are in a position where we should learn more about one another. About where we come from.” She paused, gathering her courage before stepping into the dangerous territory.
“I want to ask you about the late Duchess. Your... previous wife. I cannot find a single portrait of her in the entire house. I attempted to question the housekeeper, but she did not seem to have any answer for me either. Even the girls have no memory of their mother.”