Chapter Nineteen
Emilia buried her head deeper into the pillows to hide her eyes from the light streaming through her windows. She pulled the blankets closer, hoping sleep would over take her again, when she suddenly woke with a start.
She did not remember going to bed.
Emilia sat up, and her eyes darted around the empty room.
The fire had long gone cold and the tea tray was still sitting by hearth.
Sophie must have not yet come to attend to her, but the blankets her and the duke had been sitting on were piled neatly at the foot of her bed.
The book she had been reading was lying on the table beside her.
Emilia pressed a hand to her sleep heavy head, trying to remember how the evening had ended. Memories of the warm tea, and Nathaniel’s calming voice flooded her mind. How was it possible she had tidied up and climbed into her bed, and drawn the bed hangings yet have no recollection of it.
Unless….
No. Sophie must have returned while Emilia was sleeping and simply forgot the tray. There could be no other explanation—especially if the only alternative was that the Duke of Kenswick had tucked her into bed like a sleeping child before tidying her chambers and quietly slipping out the door.
Emilia slowly pulled herself out from under the blankets, wincing as her feet hit the cold floor. If her maid had returned, she surely would have fed the fire.
Emilia passed by the bell pull, desiring just a few more moments of silence, choosing instead to ready herself for the morning instead of summoning Sophie.
She slipped on the simplest of her new dresses, a soft green muslin patterned with pink and ivory wildflowers. She pinned her curls into a simple knot at the nap of her neck, but the curls around her face immediately escaped.
Emilia turned from her reflection with a half satisfied sigh before allowing her growling stomach to lead her down the hall towards the front stairs.
Judging by how high the sun had risen in the sky, it was quite late in the morning, and Emilia secretly hoped she would find the breakfast room empty.
Something had profoundly shifted between her and Nathaniel the night before, and was not sure she could hold her composure if she had to face him without having yet untangled her thoughts and emotions.
He had been remarkably vulnerable as he spoke of his childhood and his unexpected rise duke. Every detail he shared as they sat beside the fire had helped Emilia piece together a clearer picture of the man behind the title, and somehow it had made him even more captivating.
But it was not only the revelations of his past that had altered the rhythm of her heart, but it was the way he had looked at her.
Whatever reserve had once concealed his inner thoughts had melted away entirely.
For the first time since their marriage, Emilia felt as though she could see Nathaniel clearly, and what she found in his gaze left her breathless.
She could not quite name what it was, but it was almost as if he was searching for something he desperately wished to find.
More than once, she found herself caught beneath the weight of that look, and each time, the secrets she guarded so carefully desperately fought to be set free.
It had taken every ounce of her strength to keep them hidden.
Nathaniel had already seen far too many of her broken pieces—if he were to see them all, she was quite certain he would never again look at her that way again. Though Emilia did not fully understand what that look meant, she knew that she never wanted it to end.
Emilia neared the breakfast room and froze when she heard Nathaniel’s voice float down the hall.
She could tell by his tone that was addressing one of his staff, but she could not make out what he was saying.
She considered retreating back to her room and requesting a tray, but she knew she could not hide from him forever.
Before she even reached the doorway, she felt her face flush with embarrassment.
The last time she had seen him, she had allowed fears to surface that even she had not fully known she possessed.
Now Nathaniel knew them too, though the steadiness of his reassurance had surprised her almost more than her own confession.
She took a deep breath before crossing the threshold into the breakfast room.
Nathaniel sat at his place at the head of the table, his attention was on Mr. Briggs who stood beside his chair.
He looked up when she entered the room, and Emilia’s heart stuttered at the smile that so easily crossed his lips.
“That will be all, Briggs. Thank you,” Nathaniel dismissed the butler with a nod.
Emilia stepped further into the room and Nathaniel rose to meet her.
“Good morning,” he smiled as he pulled out a chair, gesturing for her to sit. “Did you sleep well?”
Emilia took her seat, gingerly folding her hands in her lap. Her movements were slow and controlled to mask the rapid pounding of her heart.
“I did,” she replied. “Thank you.”
Nathaniel nodded in acknowledgment before making his way to the sideboard. “I hope you do not mind, but I instructed Sophie to wait for your summons this morning so as not to wake you.”
Emilia’s stomach sank at the confirmation of her fears.
Nathaniel leaned in close and placed a full plate and cup of tea on the table in front of Emilia.
The spicy scent of his soap had a near dizzying effect.
Emilia lowered her eyes to her plate to find he had fixed it exactly as she would have—a modest serving of eggs, a heaping spoonful of stewed apples, two sweet rolls smothered in honey and cherry preserves, and a single slice of ham.
The kidneys and kippers that filled his own plate seemed to have been omitted deliberately.
She had not realized that he had been watching her closely enough to notice her preferences so keenly—though with how intently he was observing her now, she was quite unsure how she had missed it.
“Thank you,” Emilia whispered, not trusting her voice to stay steady. She lifted the cup to her lips, taking a few quick gulps without even bothering to add milk and sugar. The strength of the hot drink worked quickly in settling her swirling stomach—though the effect did not last long.
Nathaniel had settled back into his chair, and she caught his amused grin as he watched her over the rim of his own cup.
“I suppose we did retire rather late,” Emilia said, though she couldn’t help but think that he looked to be the most rested and energized that she had seen him.
“Did you sleep well?” She asked, taking another soothing sip of tea.
“I did,” Nathaniel echoed her response. He lowered his head to the morning paper laid out in front of him, though he seemed reluctant to turn his attention away from her.
“Nathaniel, I am properly mortified.” Emilia set her cup down gently on the table.
Nathaniel looked up with a sheepish grin, “Why is that, my dear?”
A warmth Emilia did not expect crawled up her spine. He had been calling her my dear for weeks now, but the way he said it now was different somehow.
“I would like to explain what happened last evening.”
“Is that simply another way of saying you mean to apologize?” Nathaniel asked, a faint curve to his lips.
Emilia shook her head as she held back her own smile. “I was overwhelmed and emotional, and I said things I did not truly mean.”
“What things?” Nathaniel asked. There was no challenge in his voice, only sincerity. The searching look had returned to his eye and Emilia shifted slightly under the weight of it.
“I do not believe myself incapable of carrying the responsibilities my station requires. I am quite determined to be a good duchess, and a good wife.”
“I know,” the duke nodded. “I have no concerns.”
Emilia’s heat quickened at the confidence of his words. Nathaniel pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.
“What is this?” Emilia asked as she glanced over the written words.
“It is a list of everything you will need to know, and the responsibilities you will be taking over once we return to Rosemore Hall,” Nathaniel replied. “We are leaving in three days.”
Emilia looked up at him in surprise. “We are going to Derbyshire?”
Nathaniel nodded, “Yes.”
“Are you not needed here in London?” Emilia asked.
Though she could recall only a handful of occasions when her uncle had attended the House of Lords—Lord Moorfield resided in London for the social advantages it afforded him, not the obligations attached to his title—Nathaniel seemed to regard his seat in Parliament as a sacred responsibility.
It was difficult to fathom that he would be so willing to abandon the Season before it had scarcely begun.
“I have more than fulfilled my duty,” Nathaniel reassured her. “I can travel back and forth if needed, but I am sure they will manage just fine without me.”
“Is this because of what happened at the Langley ball?” Despite his constant reassurances, Emilia could not shake the nagging thought. Perhaps he simply wished to whisk her away to the countryside before she could embarrass him further.
Nathaniel sighed deeply, “No.” His answer was firm, but his expression remained gentle. “If you truly want to learn how to be duchess, you need to be at Rosemore Hall. You need to learn your home, meet the tenants, and become a part of the village.”
Emilia nodded, letting his words take root in her heart as she willed herself to believe them.
“Every spring, there is a festival in the village that the Duke of Kenswick has always sponsored.” Nathaniel continued. “I am usually not there to participate, but Charlotte looks forward to it every year. I thought perhaps you would enjoy attending as well.”