Chapter 20 #2
The heavy mahogany door of the study loomed before her like a barricade.
Euphemia paused, her fingers tightening around the edge of the silver plate, the warmth of the fresh biscuits seeping through the metal into her palms. She closed her eyes, took a long breath to settle the sudden fluttering in her stomach, and knocked.
“Come in,” his voice drifted through the thick wood, flat and entirely devoid of warmth.
Euphemia turned the handle and stepped into the room.
Nathaniel was seated behind his massive desk, a mountain of correspondence and ledger books flanking him.
At the sound of the door, his eyes flicked up.
For a fraction of a second, his gaze locked onto hers, but before she could even offer a greeting, he indifferently looked away, returning his attention to the document beneath his quill.
It was her first sign of the frost, a chilling gust that threatened to freeze the pleasant smile right off her face.
‘Push through, Euphemia,’ she fiercely commanded herself, keeping her posture upright and her expression perfectly serene. ‘Push through. You can do this. Just be polite, handle the matter, and get it over with.’
“I brought you some biscuits, Your Grace,” Euphemia said. “The girls are still down in the kitchen baking, but this is a batch we finished earlier. I thought it wise to bring a selection up for you.”
“Thank you,” Nathaniel replied. He did not look up from his writing. The quill continued its scratching march across the parchment, completely ignoring her presence.
The absolute coldness of it stung, but Euphemia gripped her internal composure tightly. ‘It does not matter,’ she told herself. ‘Push through. Continue.’
“The girls are quite eager for an outing,” she forged ahead, determined to fulfill her promise to Georgianna.
“They were thinking, and I quite agree, that perhaps we might all go out to the park for a promenade, or perhaps a small drive through the grounds if the weather permits. The children would truly love it, Nathaniel, and I was wondering if it is something you would be open to —”
The scratching of the quill abruptly ceased.
Nathaniel laid the feather down and he braced his hands on the desk and finally looked up at her. “Euphemia, I must apologize.”
Euphemia caught her breath, her heart taking a hopeful leap. An apology? Was he actually going to express regret for being so maddeningly distant these past few days... again? Was he going to explain his retreat after the ball?
“I apologize,” Nathaniel continued, “I have not been entirely clear with you regarding what is right and what is wrong in this home. I shall do better to ensure there is no further confusion between us.”
The relief vanished instantly, replaced by a cold dread. Euphemia blinked, her brow furrowing as she stared at him. “What is going on? What do you mean?”
Nathaniel stood up slowly, towering over the desk, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.
“I wish to make it entirely transparent that I cannot give you what you want, Euphemia. Perhaps I should have made this explicitly clear before now, but I am doing so now so that there is no misunderstanding moving forward. I cannot give you what you are seeking.”
“What I am seeking?” she echoed, utterly bewildered, the silver plate trembling slightly in her hand. “Nathaniel, I am merely speaking of a family drive —”
“I cannot possibly know you in the manner you might wish, Euphemia,” he interrupted, his eyes flashing with intensity.
“Whatever it is you are looking for, I cannot give you anything more than what you already possess. I have made promises to myself, commitments to how I govern my life, and I intend to keep to them. Whatever affection or deeper attachment you think might grow between us, I simply cannot give that to you.”
He paused, his jaw tightening as he looked at her face. “If I have allowed my actions of late to give rise to false expectations in any capacity, I apologize for that. It was an error on my part.”
Euphemia felt as though the breath had been violently knocked from her lungs. She stood frozen, the warmth of the biscuits now feeling like a mockery against her numb fingers.
“Therefore,” Nathaniel pressed on. “I believe it would be best if we re-established a seat of distance between us. We have tried other arrangements, but this is what will work for our contract. You must continue to do what you are doing, find your happiness with the twins, manage the household, and enjoy the comforts that you enjoy. But you must not base your happiness on me. I refuse to be held responsible for it.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
The utter arrogance of his words, the profound insult of his assumptions, began to curdle the shock in her chest. It seemed too much like she was begging for his love.
Like she was a desperate woman weaving fantasies because he had offered her some kindness.
A hot, volatile spark ignited beneath her ribs, consuming her hurt and turning it into something fierce, and blindingly angry.
With a sharp, resounding clatter, she dropped the plate onto the edge of his desk. A few of the shortbread biscuits tumbled over the polished wood, but she did not care.
“You know exactly what you are, Your Grace?” she whispered, her voice low before it began to rise, fueled by days of stifled bewilderment and sudden, blinding fury.
She began to pace. Her skirts whipped against the furniture as she marched across the rug, her hands gesturing sharply in the air.
“You are an enigma of the most aggravating sort! I was reading Gilbert White’s Natural History of Selborne the other day, which described creatures that retreat entirely into themselves the very moment conditions change.
Like the hedgehog. Or the dormouse. Visible and active one moment, and then sealed away the next with absolutely no indication of when, or whether they ever intend to re-emerge. ”
Nathaniel arched his eyebrows and tilted his head. “Are you comparing me to —”