Chapter Twelve #2
Nathaniel did not pry, but simply watched her, every word she had just shared turning around in his mind. The more he learned about this woman he had married and the house she had come from, the more puzzled he was.
Emilia shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she sat under his gaze. “Are you sure it is all right that I am eating these?” She asked, breaking the silence. “I do not wish to overstep my place.”
“Emilia,” he said softly—her shoulders raised again. “You are the mistress of this house, and a duchess. You may do whatever you like.”
“Oh,” she said softly, before a shy smile spread across her face. “Well, in that case…” She let her words trail off as she drizzled an extra spoonful of honey on the piece of bread in her hand and popped it in her mouth.
Nathaniel laughed again, but he couldn’t quite shake the heaviness that had settled into his chest. He had hoped he was only imagining it, or that as time passed, she would become more comfortable. But he had noted every time her shoulders tensed while they sat here in the kitchen.
“If I ask you a question, will you give me an honest answer?” He said carefully, as though testing unknown waters before completely pushing off from the shore.
Emilia’s nose crinkled slightly. “I suppose it depends on the question.”
“Do I make you uncomfortable?”
Emilia’s eyes widened in shock. There was no going back now—Nathaniel was in deep, uncharted waters.
“No,” she said, uncertainly. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”
Nathaniel shook his head, but avoided answering the question out loud.
It was not her that made him uncomfortable, in fact he found himself more and more relaxed in her presence.
It was the feelings she elicited that had his insides churning like the restless tide—feelings he thought he had buried for good.
Ones that lead to nothing but disappointment and heartbreak.
“Is there a reason you believe me to be uncomfortable?” Emilia’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.
“Not unless I say your name,” he answered. “Every time I address you, your shoulders tense, and you pull away.”
Her eyes dropped to the floor again, and her posture softened. She didn’t seem uncomfortable now, but almost sorrowful.
“I am so sorry, Nathaniel.”
Nathaniel swallowed the urge to correct her for apologizing again. “I know you were wary at first about addressing me by my given name, but you seem to use it so freely now. Is there a reason you would prefer I not call you by yours?”
“No!” She answered quickly. “It is not that, truly. I was not even aware I was responding in such a way. I am simply not used to hearing it.”
“You are not used to hearing your name?”
“I have never had any close friends, no one dear enough to address me with such informality. My parents died before I could remember them, so the only people who call me Emilia are my aunt and uncle, and never with any sort of warmth or fondness. Every time I hear it spoken, I find myself bracing for what will come next.”
Nathaniel nodded slowly. It was not entirely surprising, Lord and Lady Moorfield did not exactly strike him as the warm and feeling type, but to have one’s own name associated with such unpleasant feelings—especially a name as beautiful and delicate as the woman who possessed it—pricked at his heart.
“I am sorry, Nathaniel,” she whispered again. “It is something I must get used to, and I promise I will.”
Nathaniel inhaled deeply, lowering his gaze to hers. “There is nothing you need to apologize for. We will grow more at ease with each other in time. Someday you may find that hearing me say your name brings you comfort.” A feeling of warmth rushed through him, but he quickly pushed it aside.
“Until then, I will simply call you something else,” he said, his tone lighter than it had been before.
Emilia laughed, “Like what?”
He leaned back again, studying her carefully. “I assume that Your Grace is out of the question?”
“Entirely.”
Nathaniel hummed in agreement, nodding slowly as he suppressed a smile. “Do you have a middle name?”
“Anne,” she replied. “But it was my mother’s name, so I prefer not to be called by it.”
“Mrs. Eaton?”
Her eyes widened, and she slowly shook her head, “I am likely not to realize whom you are referring to.”
Nathaniel chuckled. “It seems we have quite the dilemma then, my dear.”
Nathaniel’s heart thrummed in his chest before plummeting to the floor below. The words had slipped out so naturally, he had scarcely realized he said them; not until he noticed the slight hitch of her breath and blush rising in her cheeks.
It was an innocent enough address, especially for a man to his wife. But it was something about the way it felt on his tongue. It made him realize how dear this woman really was, and how strong a desire he had to protect her from the world she had come from, and the one he had pulled her into.
Emilia cleared her throat, “I suppose that could work.” She slowly raised her eyes to meet his again.
“I suppose it could,” Nathaniel managed, his voice thicker than he wished it was. It was harder to portray the image that one was unaffected when their voice sounded like it was scraping along a gravel path.
He pushed himself from his seat, quickly turning to look out the window.
The sun was inching higher in the sky, and soon the streets would be bathed in light and full of bustling activity and prying eyes.
It was too late to attempt a row now, but he needed to get outside, even if it was simply a quick walk through the garden. He walked towards the kitchen door.
“Wait,” Emilia called after him. “Are you going somewhere?”
Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder. The morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen window right onto Emilia, illuminating every green fleck in her usually golden eyes and highlighting the pink flush of her lips.
Suddenly desperate for a deep breath of cool air, Nathaniel turned back to the door.
“I will see you at breakfast, my dear,” he said, clearing his throat.
Against all his efforts and better judgment, he was in very real danger of losing his heart to this woman.