Chapter Twenty-Four
Nathaniel turned another page in the book balanced on his lap, though he had scarcely read a single word since he opened it. Across the sitting room, Charlotte and Emilia sat by the fire, discussing details for the fast approaching ball.
Rosemore’s spring festival had always concluded with a country dance held in the village assembly hall—until this year. Nathaniel was still uncertain as to precisely how he had allowed his youngest sister to convince him that a ball ought to be held at Rosemore Hall instead.
Her arguments had seemed valid at the time—the new duchess deserved to be celebrated. Nathaniel could not fathom that anyone would make the journey for a one evening affair, but as the acceptances started arriving, he realized how much he had underestimated people’s curiosity.
In two days, the ballroom that had sat empty for years would be filled beyond what any gathering in London could hope to attract. Neighboring families of high esteem, members of Society, and village families alike would all walk beneath the painted ceilings of Rosemore Hall as honored guests.
His gaze drifted towards Emilia. She had changed so much in the short time they had been at Rosemore. Her and Charlotte spent nearly every waking moment together, their laughter filling the halls of the house infusing life back into the walls.
His heart swelled with pride every time he thought of the way she conversed with the tenants.
She remembered everyone’s name, and it was easy to see how quickly the village had fallen in love with their new duchess.
It was as though she had always been a part of their lives, so much so that Nathaniel could scarcely remember what life had been like without her.
The distance she kept between them ever since her discovery of Fawley’s letter had not vanished completely, but he could not squash the hope that had been blooming ever since they stood in front of Mrs. Finch’s sweet shop.
Nathaniel’s heart still beat an irregular rhythm as he pictured her tear filled eyes as she told him that she saw him for who he truly was.
He had spent years learning how to become the man everyone expected him to be, he had never dared hoped that if anyone looked past all of that, that would still find someone worth loving.
He would not allow himself to believe that Emilia loved him—not until he heard the words from her own lips—but the thought of it no longer seemed as impossible as it once did.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he lowered his gaze back to his book. The words on the page were just as meaningless as before.
“I have a very important question before we finalize the flower selections,” Charlotte suddenly declared.
“The ball is in two days, Charlotte,” Emilia challenged. “I believe it is too late to change anything now.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes, ignoring Emilia’s comment. “What is your favorite color?”
“My favorite color?” Emilia echoed.
“Yes,” Charlotte leaned forward in anticipation. “If you could only see one color for the remainder of your life, what would it be?”
Nathaniel heard a strangled laugh as Emilia attempted to match Charlotte's serious determination.
“Well,” she said thoughtfully. “I have always loved the color pink, though I do not believe it returns the sentiment.”
Charlotte sat back and scrunched her nose. “Well, that is an odd thing to say.”
“With my hair and complexion, it does not particularly suit me. So I gravitate toward darker colors—like emerald or burgundy…”
“But when we first met, you were wearing that lovely peach-colored gown,” Charlotte interrupted.
Emilia nodded. “Yes, and you likened me to a raspberry cream tart.”
Nathaniel bit his lip to contain his laughter. “Perhaps she was referring to your sweetness.” The words slipped out before he could consider the implications.
Both women turned toward him, their eyes equally wide with surprise. His sister regarded him with a sparkle of mischief in her smile. Nathaniel was more than accustomed to that particular expression, but its brightness at this particular moment was unsettling.
“And yours, dear brother?” she asked.
Nathaniel shrugged, pretending to read once again. “I do not have one.”
Charlotte gasped dramatically. “Everyone has a favorite color. Even if you are not aware of it.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “I assure you I do not, and I have managed perfectly well without one.”
“You must choose.”
“Charlotte…” Nathaniel groaned.
“What if your life depended upon it?”
Nathaniel finally looked up from his book. His sister was leaning over the arm of the settee, seemingly in anguish.
“My life?” he asked, uncertain whether he was more entertained or exasperated. “What possible circumstance would ever arise in which my continued existence rested upon selecting a favorite color?”
Charlotte flung her head against the back cushion with a sigh. “Please humor me.”
Nathaniel leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Some days, it feels as though I exist merely to humor you.”
Emilia's warm laughter floated across the room.
There was no denying that this entire display was utterly ridiculous, and Nathaniel could end it by simply choosing a color—any color.
He looked around the room as though inspiration might be found somewhere among the furniture and draperies.
But he could not focus on anything other than the realization that he truly had been living in a dull gray existence, and the spark that Emilia’s laugh ignited in his soul let in enough light for his world to be flooded with beauty again.
Emilia looked up, sensing his gaze, and Nathaniel smiled as their eyes met.
“Red,” he said confidently.
Charlotte's smile melted into a satisfied smirk and Emilia’s lips parted in shock.
“I have grown exceedingly fond of the color red,” he repeated, setting his book aside.
A rosy blush spread slowly across Emilia's cheeks until it reached the tips of her ears. Charlotte quickly rose to her feet, and Emilia's head spun toward her.
“I have just remembered!” Charlotte exclaimed, much too loudly. “There is something I must speak to my maid about.”
Nathaniel narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “What sort of something?”
Charlotte frowned thoughtfully. “Oh, I shall not bore you with the details.”
Before either of them could speak another word, Charlotte swept from the room, pausing briefly in the doorway to wink over her shoulder. “Carry on.”
The door closed behind her. Emilia's eyes remained fixed upon it, her lips still parted as though she meant to speak but could not quite summon the words. The firelight danced in her golden eyes, and the flush still warmed her cheeks. Never had he seen anything as breathtakingly beautiful as her.
“I disagree,” Nathaniel said softly.
“What?”
He rose and crossed the room to where she sat. “You said that pink does not suit you.”
Her pulse visibly fluttered at the base of her throat. Nathaniel lowered himself to one knee until his eyes were perfectly in line with hers. He lifted his hand slowly, allowing her every opportunity to pull away from him before lightly brushing his fingers across the deepening blush on her cheeks.
“But I think it suits you perfectly.”
Emilia's breath caught, and she sat perfectly still. Nathaniel's hand followed his gaze as it moved to linger on the copper curls framing her face.
“Though, I confess, I remain rather partial to red.”
Emilia did not say a single word. Nathaniel's heart beat wildly, wanting nothing more than to hold her in his arms, but terrified of asking for more than she wished to give.
He reluctantly let his hand fall away, dropping his gaze to the floor as he began to stand. Emilia caught his wrist gently, stopping. She turned his hand until his palm faced upward, then lifted it back to her face until it cradled her cheek.
The warmth from her flushed skin spread through him, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. She turned her head, placing a soft kiss against the inside of his wrist.
Nathaniel closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of her beneath his touch and her lips upon his skin. He tried to temper the hope burning fiercely in his chest, but it pressed painfully against his ribs, longing to be set free.
“Nathaniel…”
Her voice was so soft, and yet Nathaniel was certain he had never heard his name sound so lovely. He opened his eyes to find hers shining with tears that reflected the tenderness in her gaze.
“There is something I must tell you,” Emilia whispered.
Nathaniel's heart leaped in anticipation. He offered her an encouraging smile. “My dear, you can tell me anything.”
The sound of shattering glass broke the stillness. Frantic pounding echoed through the halls outside the drawing room, as though someone were attempting to break down the door.
Nathaniel was half way across the room before he even realized he had moved. Emilia was close behind him, but he held out his arm to keep her back.
“Stay here!”
The door to the drawing room flew open, and a frantic Briggs barreled inside. “There is a gentleman at the front door, Your Grace.”
Another crash reverberated through the house. “Due to the hour, we have not permitted him entrance, but he seems quite determined to force his own way.
Nathaniel’s jaw tightened. The heat that had consumed him just moments ago went cold. “Is he alone?” he asked.
The skittish butler nodded his head. “As far as we can determine, Your Grace.”
“And where is Lady Charlotte?”
“In her chambers, Your Grace.”
Nathaniel took a deep breath and turned back towards Emilia. Her eyes were wide with fear. He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “Until I return, you are not to leave this room. Do you understand?”
“Nathaniel, please…”
He silenced her fears with a gentle squeeze of her hand. “If there is any danger, I shall not let it reach you.”
He released her hand before he lost the strength to do so and instead drew her into his arms to hold her until the danger passed. “I will be back shortly, my dear.”
Nathaniel turned to follow Briggs from the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. Whoever awaited him in the entrance hall had come to Rosemore in anger, but they would soon discover that anger was a poor match for the Duke of Kenswick when the safety of those he loved were threatened.
Half a dozen footmen stood shoulder to shoulder before the great doors in the main hall. A few were armed with fireplace pokers and candlesticks, but each one held an inspiring amount of determination.
A large, jagged stone lay abandoned on the floor. One panel of the narrow windows flanking the front entrance had been shattered—glittering shards of glass stretched across the white marble tiles.
Another furious blow rattled the doors.
“KENSWICK!”
Nathaniel stepped forward. “Open the door.”
The footmen all exchanged horrified glances. “Your Grace, perhaps it would be wiser to summon the magistrate.”
“If he wished to rob us, he would not first announce his presence to the entire county.” Nathaniel replied.
Another thunderous blow came in response.
Nathaniel’s fists clenched at his side. “If he wishes to speak, then we shall allow him to speak.”
The man burst through the doors before the footman had them fully open. Nathaniel barely had a heartbeat to brace himself before the stranger seized him by the front of his coat and slammed him backward against the wall. The impact rattled the portraits hanging above them.
Nathaniel lifted a hand to wave off the servants that were already rushing towards them. His hands were free, and he knew he could break the man’s hold the moment he chose to.
“I swear, if you have harmed her…” The man’s voice was hoarse with fury, but Nathaniel could barely focus on what he was saying. There was something unsettlingly familiar about him, though he was absolutely certain he had never seen him before.
He was close to Nathaniel’s age, fair-haired and broad-shouldered beneath his well worn coat.
“If you have hurt her,” the man growled, tightening his grip, “I shall kill you.”
With one swift movement, Nathaniel seized the man’s coat, turning their positions until he had him pinned firmly against the wall.
“Who have I hurt?” Nathaniel demanded.
The man’s chest heaved. “My sister!”
Nathaniel’s grip loosened slightly, as his gaze swept over the stranger’s face again.
A scattering of freckles lay across the bridge of his nose, and his eyes…
Nathaniel knew those eyes.
“Who are you?” Nathaniel breathed the question, though he feared he already knew the answer.
The stranger returned his glare without hesitation.
“Lieutenant Alexander Talbot, at your service, Your Grace.”