Chapter 16 #2
She stopped. Drew a jagged, shaking breath. Her free hand pressed hard against her stomach. “I might not be able to give you an heir, Dominic. And the viscountcy needs one. The title, the estate, the legacy your family has held for generations — it all ends if you choose me.”
“I don’t need an heir.” He spoke fiercely, reaching out to cup her cheek.
Nell turned her face away, jaw clenching. “You are a viscount. Of course you need an heir.”
“I don’t care about the legacy.” He tried to turn her face back toward him, but she pulled away entirely, stepping sideways until her shoulder brushed a stack of cooling tins.
“You will.” She saw the future stretching out before her, clear and terrible. “When the wanting fades. When you look across the breakfast table and see a woman with grey in her hair and a body that has carried children and a name that brings you nothing but whispers. You will care then.”
“It won’t fade.” He followed her, his breath coming in jagged, desperate hitches, his fingers hovering just inches from her sleeve. “What I feel for you — it won’t fade. I have never felt anything like this.”
“It always fades.” She thought of Gabriel — of promises made and love that had curdled into contempt.
She held up both hands, palms out, to keep him at bay.
“You are reckless, Dominic. You followed me into that maze without caring who saw us. You are proposing right now because you saw Edmund leaving and you panicked — not because you have thought any of this through.”
“That is not true.” His jaw set like iron, his hands falling to his sides.
“Is it not?” She held his gaze, arms wrapped tight around her ribs.
“You saw him leaving my shop and you panicked. Just as you panicked at the festival. You act on impulse, on feeling, without considering what comes after. And I cannot build a life on impulse. Dominic, I cannot afford to be reckless.”
“Nell.” He reached for her one more time, her name breaking in the back of his throat.
“My answer is no.” The words fell between them, heavy and final. She stepped back, well out of his reach. “I am sorry. But no.”
He stared at her as though she had spoken a language he did not know, his arms hanging at his sides.
“You are saying no.” The light in his pale eyes went dull, his tone flat.
“I am saying no.” Nell repeated.
“I am offering you everything.” A raw, wounded sound escaped him. He spread his hands wide, gesturing around the humble shop. “My name. My home. My heart.”
“I know.” She held her ground, refusing to let a single tremor show, though the effort cost her everything she had.
“And I am saying no. Because you can walk away from this and lose nothing, Dominic. Your title stays. Your fortune stays. Your reputation stays. But if I say yes and it falls apart — I lose everything. My shop. My standing. My children’s future.
I cannot gamble with their lives because your heart is racing. ”
He went very still.
“So that is it.” He stood emptied of everything but a quiet, echoing pain. His hands fell to his sides. “You would rather have him. The safe choice.”
“I would rather have sense.” She held him there, her vision burning and her throat aching with the effort not to break. “I would rather have a future I can count on.”
“And I cannot give you that.” His mouth went hard.
“No.” The word came out soft. Air forced through a chest that felt as if it might split.
He stayed there for a long moment. He did not move. He took in her face as if he meant to learn it by heart. Then something shut behind his eyes. The warmth went out. The vulnerability vanished behind walls that rose in an instant.
“I see.” The lord returned as the man retreated, his words clipped and frosty. His spine went rigid, his posture regaining its aristocratic stiffness. “I understand perfectly.”
He turned and walked toward the door, his stride stiff and his shoulders set. He didn’t look back. He paused with his hand on the handle, his back to her. “I hope he makes you happy.” The parting shot sounded like ice cracking on a winter pond. “I hope sense keeps you warm at night.”
The door slammed behind him. The bell jangled, harsh and discordant, before settling into a mocking silence.
Nell stood alone in the middle of her shop, surrounded by the scent of yeast and flour and the silence of her own breaking heart. She’d done the right thing, for she knew she had. Her hands were steady as she crossed to the door and flipped the sign back to OPEN, even if her heart was not.
The afternoon passed in a blur of familiar routines. Customers came and went. Nell smiled and served and made change, her hands moving through the motions while her mind drifted somewhere far away.
Daphne returned from her errands at half past three. She set down her basket of thread and ribbon and took one look at Nell’s face. Whatever she saw there made her go quiet, and she set to work without a word.
She didn’t ask until closing, when the shop was empty and the door was locked. They stood alone in the kitchen, putting away the unsold loaves.
“What happened?” Daphne asked, concerned. She stilled her hands on a loaf of bread, waiting.
Nell wiped down the counter with methodical rhythmic strokes. “Lord Westmore came by.”
“And?” Daphne set the bread down, looking at her intently.
Nell kept wiping, her movements mechanical and repetitive. “He proposed.”
Daphne went absolutely still, her hand frozen in midair. “He did what?”
“He proposed marriage.” Nell didn’t look up, her tone remaining flat. “He said he loved me. He offered me everything. Bramwell Park, money, his name for the children.”
Daphne sucked in a sharp breath and stepped closer to the counter. “Nell—”
“I said no.” Nell set down the cloth and finally looked up, meeting Daphne’s shocked gaze.
Silence filled the kitchen, broken only by the crackle of the fire in the hearth.
“You said no.” Daphne repeated the words slowly, testing whether they could possibly be true. Her brow furrowed in confusion. “To a viscount.”
“To a man who doesn’t think before he acts.” Nell folded the cloth, her movements precise and sharp. “To a future that would destroy us both.”
Daphne was quiet for a long moment, arms crossed tight over her chest as she processed the heaviness of it. “And Dr. Hartley?”
“He offered, too.” Nell hung her apron on its hook by the door, keeping her back turned. “His name. Today. No complications.”
“What did you tell him?” Daphne’s voice was soft, treading carefully.
“That I’d think about it.” Nell smoothed her skirts with brisk, clipped movements, as if she could press the turmoil out of the fabric.
Daphne nodded slowly. When Nell finally turned around, she found her friend’s dark stare tracking every shift in her expression. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Nell straightened her spine, her expression settling into a practiced, porcelain blankness. “I made the sensible choice.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Daphne stepped closer, her hand grazing Nell’s arm in a silent plea for honesty.
Nell didn’t answer. She couldn’t—because the truth was a luxury she couldn’t afford, and she was so tired of lying to Daphne, to herself, and to a world that saw only a sensible widow who always did the right thing.