Chapter 7 #3
The question felt ridiculous the moment it left her mouth. She didn’t actually want to know about his ledgers or his estate correspondence, she was merely trying to build a wall of words between them.
Nathaniel didn’t look up. His fingers remained steady as he carefully dabbed the cool linen against the thin cut on her wrist. “It was as it always is,” he replied, his tone perfectly flat, devoid of any invitation to continue.
The brief, chilly response was a gentle but effective reminder of exactly who they were to one another.
They were not friends. They were not confidants.
They were, in fact, two stubborn people who far more frequently preferred to bicker and trade wits.
It was a subtle, grounding slap of reality, and Euphemia decided right then not to push him any further into polite conversation.
She simply let him work in peace, waiting for the moment he would finish and leave her to sleep.
Yet, as she watched his long fingers press a clean strip of linen against her skin, the urge to fix the fractured dynamic of his household pulled at her again.
“I would like it if I could get closer to Georgianna,” she murmured.
“She and Cordelia seem to get along so nicely, and I truly admire that. I thought... perhaps if I could find a way to be a part of Georgianna’s life, my presence here wouldn’t feel like such a disruption to her.
I don’t want to be the source of her nightmares. ”
Nathaniel’s movements slowed. For a brief second, the hard edge of his posture seemed to soften.
“All right,” he said. It was the only response he offered, his voice a murmur as he looked back down, carefully wrapping the linen around her wrist to finish securing the bandage.
Taking his acquiescence as a sign, Euphemia leaned forward slightly, her heart hammering against her ribs. “I was thinking... perhaps we could have a picnic. Out in the gardens. I think it would be a wonderful idea for us.”
Nathaniel stopped entirely. He ceased tending to her wrist and slowly turned his head, his eyes locking onto hers with a look of profound skepticism.
“You think a picnic is a valid remedy for Georgianna’s distress?
You truly believe a luncheon out in the open air is what is best for a child who just threw a porcelain doll at you? ”
Euphemia did not flinch under his sharp gaze.
She met it, her expression softening as she spoke from the heart.
“I have a little sister, her name is Leonora. She is quiet, incredibly reserved, and honestly far too smart for her own years. But Georgianna reminds me so much of her, especially of how Leonora used to be when she was a little girl. She was so completely closed off, keeping the entire world at arm’s length. ”
She paused as a small, tender smile tugging at the corner of her lips at the memory.
“But the one thing my sister always loved, the one thing that could always bring her out of her shell, was a picnic. She loved being out in nature, away from the confinement of the house. I truly believe that the fresh air and a change of scenery might do the same for Georgianna. We won’t know unless we try. ”
Nathaniel stared at her for a long, unreadable moment. Then, he smoothed down the edge of the cloth over her pulse point and lowered his eyes.
“I am done,” he said softly, letting go of her hand and gathering the scraps of linen back into the apothecary’s box.
He stood up from the mattress, preparing to leave the room.
Sensing the sudden loss of his warmth, Euphemia stood up as well, stepping into his path.
He began to move past her toward the door, and without fully thinking through the consequences, her hand reached out and grabbed his arm, her fingers wrapping around the soft fabric of his shirtsleeve.
“What of my question?” she asked, looking up at him. “You didn’t answer me. Shall we have the picnic?”
Nathaniel stopped. His eyes drifted slowly down to her hand resting against his arm, his gaze lingering on the contrast of her fingers against his sleeve, before he looked back up to meet her eyes.
“Fine,” he murmured. “I will think on it.”
Relieved, Euphemia let her hand slip away from his arm. Nathaniel gave her a single, curt nod. “Good night, Euphemia.”
“Good night,” she whispered.
He turned and walked out, closing the bedchamber door quietly behind him.
Euphemia stood alone for a moment before walking back to the bed, blowing out the candle, and sliding back beneath the heavy warmth of her duvet. She pulled the covers up to her chin, closing her eyes to try and force herself to sleep, but her mind was a chaotic whorl.
Strangely, she was no longer thinking about the terrifying creak of the door, or Georgianna’s venomous shouts, or even the broken porcelain doll lying in the dark at the foot of her bed.
Instead, her entire consciousness was consumed by the lingering, phantom sensation of his touch.
Her wrist still throbbed, but it wasn’t the sting of the cut that kept her awake, it was the warm pressure of Nathaniel’s fingers against her skin, the memory of his proximity, and the sudden, breathless heat that had taken over her chest.
It felt entirely different. It felt dangerous.
She turned onto her side, burying her face into the pillow and fiercely telling herself that it was absolutely nothing. She was merely shaken from the night’s events. After all, she reminded herself with a small, defiant frown, Nathaniel could not possibly be any colder to her if he tried.
Yet, as she finally drifted off to sleep, her hand remained tucked close to her heart, still warm from where he had held it.