Chapter Eighteen
Nathaniel’s eyes stayed fixed on his feet. He had paced the length of the hallway so many times that he wanted to ensure the carpet was not becoming worn. He and Emilia had returned from the Langley Ball hours ago, and his wife had retired to her room immediately.
She had spoken a little in the carriage ride back to Grosvenor Square, but she had been thoroughly spent by the events of the evening.
He knew he should allow her time to rest and recover, but he could not imagine going the entire night without knowing if she was truly alright, or if she was curled up in her bed crying alone as she was when he had found her in the hallway.
He had briefly considered returning to Langley House to find the three women in question—if they intended to challenge his character, they might at least have the courage to do so to his face, rather than taking advantage of his wife in his absence.
But then he had thought of Emilia being alone, and if she were to emerge from her room needing him, he wanted to be near—right outside her door, to be in fact.
He had considered simply staying in his room, but he was worried she was not yet comfortable enough to use the adjoining door that connected his chambers to hers.
So he had been pacing the hall aimlessly, watching the firelight flicker from under her door, wondering if he should knock or simply let her be.
He hoped that she would come to him if she needed a steadying hand, but he knew that was most likely not true. He had kept her at a distance for weeks—always polite and kind, but never enough to invite her to seek him out for comfort.
His eyes closed as he thought of how closely he had held her that night—her body trembling as he steadied her against him, her breath quickening despite his efforts to soothe her with the gentle brush of his hand along her back, and the broken look in her eyes before she had asked him to take her home.
Home.
The knowledge that she now considered Kenswick House her home had filled Nathaniel with a warmth that burned even during the drive in the frigid carriage. But it also awakened a deeper desire to show her the place he truly called home, away from the ever-watchful eyes of London society.
Nathaniel ran both hands through his hair. If Emilia did emerge from her room to find him standing in the hall, she would think him entirely mad—and he was beginning to think that maybe he was. He knew he would not be able to settle his mind to sleep until he saw her one last time.
Before he could think better of it, he lifted his hand and knocked on Emilia’s door. The door opened, and light flooded from her room and into the hallway.
Emilia’s hair had been removed from its pins, and the long, shining curls cascaded down her back.
She held a blanket securely around her shoulders, covering the long white nightdress that gently brushed the floor over her stockings.
Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw him, still fully dressed in his evening wear.
“Nathaniel, what are you doing here?”
“I simply wanted to ensure you were well before I retired,” Nathaniel said, hoping he was portraying enough calm and confidence to make the lie convincing—he had simply wanted to see her. If that realization unsettled him, he could not imagine what it might do to her.
“Were you expecting someone else?” He asked with a grin, attempting to lighten the air that had suddenly grown too thick to breathe comfortably.
“Yes, actually,” she smiled shyly. “I rang for Sophie a few moments ago. I was hoping to ask for some tea.”
“Are you having trouble sleeping?”
Emilia nodded, “I am quite tired, I just can not seem to settle my mind long enough to fall asleep.”
Nathaniel could not bring himself to move from the spot where he stood. He should bid her a goodnight and allow her to retire and wait for her tea, but he could not bear the thought of parting from her.
“Would you like to come in?” Emilia’s voice was barely more than a whisper. Nathaniel would have been quite certain he imagined it had not been for the expectant way she was looking at him now.
“For tea,” Emilia added quickly, a slight blush to her cheeks. “I can ask Sophie to bring a tray for two.”
Nathaniel nodded and stepped through the threshold into her chambers.
He had been in these rooms a few times before, but not since Emilia had made them her own.
The room was lit with a soft, golden hue from the fire blazing in the hearth, and the familiar scent of roses that always seemed to follow Emilia filled his senses.
The room was not overly extravagant by any means, fitting for the home of a duke, but it seemed simple compared to the lady who occupied it.
A large four-poster bed made of dark wood stood against one wall; the curtains that surrounded it were pulled back, and the soft, clean bedding had been turned down.
Her neat and tidy writing desk sat in the corner, and a pair of oversized chairs were placed near the fire with a small table between them.
“Are the chairs not to your liking?” Nathaniel asked, gesturing to a small pile of pillows and blankets on the floor in front of the fireplace.
“Oh!” Emilia rushed to gather them up. “I am sorry, I was not expecting company.”
Nathaniel knelt on the ground beside Emilia and reached out to still her hands. “There is no need to apologize,” he said.
Emilia’s eyes slowly lifted to his, so full of uncertainty. Nathaniel’s chest tightened, struck by how instinctively she attempted to make herself smaller in moments like this—as though her preferences should always come second to those around her.
“Do you prefer it?” he asked sincerely.
“Prefer what?”
“Sitting here.”
Emilia’s cheeks flushed as she tried to reach for the blankets again. “It is a silly old habit.”
“That is not what I asked,” Nathaniel replied, holding firm.
Emilia sighed in defeat. “Yes, I suppose I do,” she admitted.
Nathaniel’s smile was steady, despite the wild fluttering inside his chest. With that small revelation, he felt a small crack form in the carefully constructed wall that had been standing between them.
Before he could respond, the door to her room creaked open as her lady’s maid entered. She stepped back with a start when she noticed the two of them kneeling on the floor.
“Your Grace!” Sophie explained, her eyes flickering back and forth between Nathaniel and Emilia. “…and Your Grace.”
Emilia’s face flushed crimson, but she lifted her chin high as she stood and addressed the maid with a calm authority.
“Sophie, His Grace and I would like a tea tray, if you please.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Nathaniel could only see the maid out of the corner of his eye, his attention fully on his wife, but it was impossible to miss the smile in her tone as she observed the scene in front of her.
“Would you like something to eat as well?”
Emilia shook her head, “No, just the tea. I know it is late. I am sorry if I woke you.”
“Oh, it is no trouble at all, Your Grace.” Sophie’s voice was warm and genuine as she bobbed a curtsy and withdrew from the room.
Nathaniel heard the door close, but his eyes were still on Emilia.
Even when addressing the servants, she apologized.
He doubted she even realized she was doing it.
The staff adored her—Sophie would likely have crossed London in the middle of the night if Emilia had asked it of her.
He was quite certain no one in his household had ever made her feel like an inconvenience, yet it was clear that Emilia believed that her wants were burdens best kept to herself.
Nathaniel looked at the blankets in his hands for a moment before spreading them back out onto the ground. Emilia’s brow furrowed in confusion as she watched him lower himself onto the floor and stretch his legs out towards the fire.
“What are you doing?” She asked with a flicker of suspicion in her eye.
“Making myself comfortable,” Nathaniel said, gesturing to the open space beside him. “Now come tell me why you enjoy sitting on the floor.”
If Nathaniel was still determined to deceive himself, he would have excused his curiosity for mere concern—an attempt to ease the tension he could still see in Emilia’s shoulders. But it was late, he was tired, and he no longer possessed the strength or the desire to maintain the lie.
The truth was, he was fascinated by her. Every unexpected glimpse he was awarded into the mind of the woman he married, only left him wanting more.
Emilia slowly lowered herself onto the floor beside him, and Nathaniel tried not to focus on the deliberate space she left between them. For weeks he had been the one erecting the barriers, and now the few inches of blanket that separated them felt like a chasm that was impossible to cross.
“It is not a very enthralling story,” Emilia whispered, tucking her legs into her side and adjusting the skirt of her nightdress around her feet.
“I am quite certain everything about you is enthralling.” The words slipped out before Nathaniel could consider the implications. It wasn’t that he didn’t mean them, but the way Emilia’s eyes widened in shock told him that she was not ready to hear them.
She cleared her throat, composing herself quickly. “If you insist,” she replied. Emilia reached under the chair beside her and pulled out a book.
Nathaniel knew there was a copy of The Mysteries of Udolpho somewhere on his library shelves, but the way Emilia’s fingers moved over the worn cover and pages told him this particular one had been in her possession for years.
“When I was young,” Emilia began, her eyes fixed on the book in her lap, “I would stay up until all hours of the night reading. My uncle would become angry that I was wasting oil, so he had the lamps removed from my room. So I would take the pillows and blankets from my bed and place them by the fire so I could be closer to the light and warmth to read.”