Chapter 10

For the first two courses, a tenuous truce allowed Leah to eat in relative peace, her comfort assured by Nathaniel's rearrangement of the place-cards. Leah had felt the prickle of Jonathan staring at her now and again, but he was too many chairs away to make any unpleasant remarks, disguised in a soft, concerned tone. Dorothy seemed equally annoyed at being so close to Leah, concentrating upon her food with an almost mad determination. Watercress soup had never been so diligently spooned.

"Delicious, is it not?" Nathaniel asked, finishing the first fish course with a dab of a napkin to his lips.

Leah nodded. "Exceptional. It always is."

"You attend this party often, then?"

She dabbed her own lips. "Every year since my debut. Mrs. Dibney used to be Phoebe's governess before she married Mr. Dibney, the youngest son of Baron Waverley, and Phoebe invited me the first year, so it has become a tradition of ours." She lowered her voice. "Do not ask me why Jonathan receives an invitation, though. If I had my wish, he would not be invited anywhere."

"Quite right." Nathaniel nodded, sitting back as he sipped his wine. "He is the very worst sort of gentleman to attend society gatherings, for I remember he would always turn the conversation toward business. Namely, his, and how much everyone was willing to invest if he were to draw up the contracts. It rather sours the enjoyment of an evening when there is one man who can only speak of money and commerce."

Leah stifled a chuckle. "I almost feel sorry for his wife."

"Goodness, yes, we all must pity her. She must have to visit the physician often for her poor ears after constantly having them talked off by him." Nathaniel flashed a mischievous grin at the same moment that Phoebe leaned in to whisper in Leah's ear.

"I do not feel well, Leah," she said, her brow slicked with sweat, her ghoulish complexion positively deathly. "I think the watercress began my decline, and the fish has… ensured it." She covered her mouth with her hand, a strange, hiccupping sound bubbling out of her throat. "Goodness, I must leave."

"Shall I come with you?" Leah asked, her stomach churning as if she was the unwell one. "I must. Come, I shall take you to your aunt's."

Phoebe waved the offer away. "You have to stay, or Mrs. Dibney shall never forgive me, and we will never be invited again. Please, explain my malady to her and grovel if you must." She swallowed loudly. "This is my favorite night of the year."

"At least allow me to see you to your carriage," Leah urged, and Phoebe relented.

The two women rose to their feet and made their way around the oval-shaped table, heading for the door. Mrs. Dibney noticed the exodus and frowned questioningly.

She is feeling sick, Leah mouthed in reply, touching a hand to her stomach.

Rather than anger, Mrs. Dibney looked deeply concerned, rising from her chair to join the two women in making their way out of the fine apartments. She caught up with the friends in the reception hall where Phoebe waited restlessly for her pelisse to be brought, her complexion tinged with green.

"Phoebe, are you well? What is the matter?" Mrs. Dibney asked softly, setting a hand upon Phoebe's shoulder. "You have not looked well since you arrived though I did not wish to mention it."

Phoebe expelled a shaky breath. "I wanted to be here for you, Tabitha. I always relish this dinner party, but… I should have kept to my bed. I have tried to run before I can walk, and now, I… do not feel well at all."

"It was not the fish, was it? I thought it tasted rather… fishy," Mrs. Dibney asked, her tone panicked as if envisioning every single one of her guests falling ill with terrible stomach upsets.

Phoebe shook her head. "Not the fish's fault. I am at fault."

"She has suffered a recent malady and thought she was improved," Leah explained. "You know Phoebe—she does not wish to disappoint anyone. I imagine she thought she was well enough and has since learned that she is not. Please, accept our apologies."

Phoebe nodded feebly as she was helped into her pelisse. "Leah will remain, of course, and tell me of all the wonderful revels you enjoy this evening. I am so very sorry, Tabitha."

"Do not apologize!" Mrs. Dibney urged, her tone genuine. "Goodness, if I had known you were unwell, I would have insisted on you returning home. You silly thing. Of course, I appreciate the dedication—you have always been so dedicated to your friends—but, perhaps, this is one lesson you will finally learn. You cannot do everything. Sometimes, you must listen to your body and rest, dear girl."

Phoebe fanned her face. "I shall try to learn it."

"Lady Leah, you should return to the dinner table," Mrs. Dibney insisted. "The poultry dish is about to be served, and I do not want to confuse the servants. Inform them of Phoebe's early departure and tell them to take her dish back to the kitchens where they can save it for their own dinner, later."

Leah hesitated. "Will you be well on your own?"

"Quite well," Phoebe replied with a wan smile.

"I shall ensure she is safely settled in her carriage," Mrs. Dibney assured, nudging Leah back toward the dining room.

With no other choice, and not wanting to insult the host's wishes, Leah retraced her steps to the dining room, glancing back over her shoulder in time to see Phoebe and Mrs. Dibney embracing warmly. In many ways, Leah supposed that Mrs. Dibney was the maternal figure she had been lacking, and if anyone could persuade Phoebe that she did not have to do it all alone, maybe it would be her former governess.

There will be snow in July before that happens, Leah knew, deep down, as she entered the dining room once more.

Chatter babbled all around the oval table, everyone in merry spirits after drinking liberally poured glasses of wine that were never permitted to empty, and no one seemed to notice Leah. Even Nathaniel did not seem to, nor did Jonathan—perhaps because they appeared to be in the midst of a heated discussion, leaning over the empty chairs between them like rutting stags who were waiting to make the first strike with their antlers. Indeed, it took Leah a moment longer to realize that Dorothy had also vacated her chair and was nowhere to be seen.

As Leah returned to her seat, the two gentlemen rocked back to their former positions as if they had not said a word to one another.

"Am I interrupting?" Leah could not help but ask, for Jonathan's cheeks were a pulsing shade of red, and Nathaniel's eyes were still narrowed. The empty plate in front of him could not have been the cause, for he had just said how delicious the fish was.

Jonathan smirked. "I was merely making observations that your acquaintance took offense to, Lady Leah."

"Her beloved," Nathaniel shot back. "You are the acquaintance. A speck of ash upon the pages of her life."

Beloved… Leah's heart skipped, surprising her. She had never been anyone's beloved before, and even though her skipping heart knew it was a performance, that did not make the sound of it from his lips any less pleasant. Although, Jonathan's presence did.

"What observations?" Leah asked, as the footmen swept in to take away whatever was left of the fish course, moving as one in a domestic ballet.

Jonathan cooled his cheeks with the back of his hand. "I was remarking upon the departure of you and my wife—how different you are. My wife is always attired in the latest fashions, gaining admiration for her appearance wherever she goes, so everyone notices when she departs to powder her nose. And you… are attired the same way you were when I met you… goodness, how many years ago was it? Five? That is all I said—that it was… interesting to see you in those same gowns and dresses. Quaint, really."

Leah bristled. He knew full well how long it had been since they met.

"And I told him that one must have nothing interesting to converse about if the only thing one notices about one's beloved is their attire. A shallow affection," Nathaniel replied, smiling. "I think you look beautiful, dearest Leah. This hue of purple has always become you well, bringing out the green of your eyes, but it is your smile and your laughter and your wit and your intellect that becomes you best of all, and that, my darling, shall always be fashionable." He lifted his hand to her face, pushing back a lock of hair that immediately sprang forward again. He laughed at the stubbornness.

Around the table, every lady stopped talking, some of them freezing mid-sentence so their mouths hung open as they stared at Leah and Nathaniel. The gentlemen, of course, twittered on with whatever they had been saying, oblivious to the diverted attention of their female neighbors.

Leah blinked, her skin tingling where his fingertips had lightly brushed her cheek in their bid to restrain the wayward hair. And gazing up at him, she began to understand why poets and writers insisted that a person could drown in another's eyes. Those deep, dark blue pools were pulling her in if not pulling her under.

Behind her, Jonathan made a noise of disgust, but she barely heard it, submerged in the charm of her "beloved."

"I have had no cause to purchase new gowns," Leah explained, feeling a little self-conscious—not because of Jonathan's words, necessarily, but because she was sitting next to the most eligible bachelor in England, who wore a beautiful burgundy tailcoat and matching waistcoat, embroidered with gold feathers, that was certainly new for the season. And because he had called her "beloved," and because he looked the way he did and said the sweet things that he did.

Nathaniel let his hand drop, catching hold of hers beneath the table to give it a reassuring squeeze before he returned his hands to the surface of the table where all could see there was nothing untoward afoot. "I would not care if you wore the gowns your mother wore when she was your age. I do not care for anything that society has to say about how anyone "should" do things. Wear trousers and a riding jacket if you please." He grinned. "You are everything I have searched for, just as you are."

What? Leah's heart pounded harder in her chest, the blood rushing in her ears and making her dizzy, until she caught the gleam of irreverence in his eyes and the discreet wink that followed. Her traitorous heart sank in confusing disappointment; he did not mean that she was the woman he had been searching for but the conspirator. Of course, that is what he meant! she scolded herself, flushing at the mistake.

"You should hear her play the pianoforte," Jonathan muttered, "then you might change your mind."

Nathaniel arched an eyebrow. "You play the pianoforte?"

"It is… a passion of mine," Leah confessed quietly, wishing she had the nerve to throw her glass of claret all over Jonathan. Why could he not keep his mouth shut after all he had done? Why did she have to be miserable so that he could feel victorious? It was not as if she was the one who had abandoned him on his wedding day.

"If the Viscount is rude about your playing, then I am certain it must be excellent," Nathaniel said, apparently unaware that the entire dining room was watching their interaction. His gaze was fixed upon Leah and had not strayed.

Leah smiled, dropping her chin to her chest. "I have improved over the past three years," she admitted. "It was my sanctuary for a long time, sitting in the music room at the Abbey, playing for hours and hours until I had mastered a piece of music. But much like my gowns, I have had no cause to display anything in recent years."

"I hope you will allow me to hear you play, one day." Nathaniel tilted back slightly, to allow the footman to set his plate in front of him, but immediately leaned in closer as soon as it was placed. "I have no musical talent whatsoever, and I envy those who do, so I should like to sit and envy you for a while."

Leah could not hide her delight though her mind whispered that he might not mean it. "I hope that I shall not disappoint."

"I doubt you ever could in anything you do," he replied in a soft and earnest voice that sounded so very genuine. It was not the false chivalry of Jonathan but true interest and faith.

"If you have no musical talent, where do your gifts lie?" Leah asked, glancing down at the glistening slices of roasted goose that sat upon her plate, drizzled with an amber-colored sauce, accompanied by crispy, golden potatoes and honeyed carrots, studded with miniature sprigs of rosemary. It looked delicious, but the conversation was far tastier.

Nathaniel laughed awkwardly. "In the usual pursuits. Riding, fishing, walking."

"He has never enjoyed hunting. What manner of gentleman does not enjoy hunting?" Jonathan chimed in, but his remarks only served to enrich the conversation between Leah and Nathaniel, like a prompt feeding dialogue to thespians.

Nathaniel pulled a face. "I find myself pitying the poor creatures. I do not mind the chase, but I do not like how it ends, so I do not partake in any of it."

"I know of several people who view marriage that way," Leah whispered, grinning as he burst out laughing. There was an unparalleled joy in making others laugh.

Jonathan tried to lean over. "What are you laughing about? What is the jest? It is rude to hold private conversations at a dinner party though I suppose I should not be surprised that the two of you are unaware of that."

Nathaniel cast a tight smile at Jonathan. "And you ought to be less concerned with our discussion and more concerned with the whereabouts of your wife. She has been absent for rather a long time, has she not?"

At that moment, Mrs. Dibney entered the dining room, reminding Leah that the host had been tending to Phoebe's departure. Yet, Mrs. Dibney had definitely been away far longer than necessary and seemed harried, her cheeks tinged red, her hair in disarray.

Leah was about to get up and ask if Phoebe was all right when Mrs. Dibney made her way around to Leah's side of the table anyway. But she did not pause to speak with Leah. Instead, she bent close to Jonathan's ear and whispered something while the rest of the table looked on in blatant curiosity.

Meanwhile, Leah could only catch a few words, "Tend to… She is… Cannot be consoled… too much wine. The carriage… At once."

Jonathan's jaw clenched, his eyes darting around the table, prompting the other guests to lower their gaze or return their attention to the poultry course or pretend they had not been staring at all. A plump vein writhed at his temple, his nostrils flaring in anger. Evidently, Dorothy had done something to embarrass him, and though Leah should have been thrilled, she found herself feeling more than a little worried for Dorothy herself.

"Is it something I can help with?" Leah offered, looking at Mrs. Dibney rather than the man she hated most in the world.

But Jonathan's lip curled as he snarled, "You would be the very last person she would ever want help from," and stood sharply. "I shall tend to her, Mrs. Dibney. Please, accept my sincerest apologies. She has not been herself of late."

"It seems there is something catching in the air," Mrs. Dibney muttered, but Leah knew the remark was not truly intended for Phoebe.

Jonathan set his napkin on the table, still glaring at Leah. "It is not something catching, Mrs. Dibney," he said, his grimace transforming into a cold smile. "My wife is not herself because she is with-child."

The revelation hit Leah like a cannonball to the chest, winding her as Jonathan stalked away to tend to his wife, wherever she had hidden herself away. Leah could not help but watch him go, her hand clasped to her chest as she tried to urge her lungs to breathe properly again.

"Inhale deeply and hold it until I let go," Nathaniel said, finding her free hand underneath the table once more. He squeezed it lightly, showing her how long she should hold the breath for. "Now, exhale. And again—inhale… hold… exhale."

He did that until the suffocating grip on her chest eased, her shock ebbing.

"Thank you," she gasped.

He smiled. "It was for the host's sake as well as yours. The last thing Mrs. Dibney needs is another young lady falling ill at her dinner party." He paused, his tone shifting to one of apology. "You did love him, did you not?"

"Never," Leah wheezed, the accusation seizing her chest all over again.

But as Nathaniel sat and squeezed her hand, guiding her through her breaths once more, Leah had to wonder why it hurt so much if she had not cared at all? The answer was, perhaps, simpler than she wished it was. She had not loved Jonathan, not really, but she had loved the idea of a family all her own, to be raised with love and kindness and without the pressure to be one thing or another. He had taken that from her when he had made her unmarriageable… and the man sitting beside her could not give her that either.

"Let us eat before it goes cold," she said, withdrawing her hand from Nathaniel's.

Indeed, she was beginning to fear that a pretend courtship was even more dangerous than one that had ended with a jilting, for her heart and Nathaniel's charms were already starting to smudge the boundaries, like ink smearing across a contract, obscuring the terms and conditions.