Chapter 13

"Everything is going to be fine," Nathaniel told himself, taking one last look at his reflection in the bedchamber mirror. There was a hint of a bruise in the natural curve beneath his eye, following the bone of the socket, but after almost a week, it was barely noticeable.

He touched the injury gently, the flesh still tender. Despite the dull ache, he smiled, for though the blow had hurt afterward, he had won the boxing match and retained his title as champion. The winnings had been significant: enough to buy that splendid gown, straight from the window of the finest dressmaker in London.

I earned it with my own two hands, he mused proudly, for though it might not have seemed like the most gentlemanly way of gaining income, it was the only thing he excelled at. True, he had some income from his various, modest business ventures, but that money went toward the townhouse and the estate and his mother's comfort as did the great fortune that his father had amassed. The trouble was, Nathaniel did not want to touch any of the latter if he could help it, and the thought of buying anything for Leah with that money had rankled him.

Pushing a lock of his dark hair forward, so it fell across his injured eye, he gave a nod of satisfaction and headed downstairs to await Leah. It was ten minutes to seven; she would arrive at any moment, and though he would not admit it, he was nervous.

"I hope this young lady does not think it is fashionable to be late," Nathaniel's mother said, the moment he stepped into the drawing room. "Cook shall be furious if dinner is delayed though I do not know why she has gone to all the trouble of cooking so much. It is not as if we are celebrating."

Nathaniel leveled his gaze at his mother. "Mother, you will be civil, and you will be pleasant to her. You will not be stubborn and aloof, merely because you did not choose her for me. Am I understood?"

"I shall decide when I meet her," Abigail replied, squinting up at her son. "Comb your hair back at once. You look slovenly with that lock flopping over your eye like that."

Nathaniel shrugged. "I like it, so it shall stay this way."

"Must I come over there with a comb and do it myself?" Abigail began to stand as if she truly meant to.

"Mother, leave me be. I am not a little boy. If you come within a foot of me with a comb, I shall take Leah and her mother elsewhere for dinner, and you shall be left here to think about your behavior with an entire feast to devour alone," Nathaniel warned, half smiling. He could never stay angry with his mother for long.

She sniffed. "Well, when this Lady Leah thinks you look unkempt, do not complain to me."

"I would not dare," Nathaniel said, walking to the side-table to pour himself a small measure of brandy—a nip for courage.

He had just swallowed the hearty mouthful when a bell sounded through the townhouse, tinkling vigorously. He banged on his chest, struggling not to choke as the liquor seared down his throat and into his stomach.

She is here…

"Be nice," Nathaniel warned again as he headed back out into the entrance hall to greet Leah and her mother personally.

The butler, Mr. Parker, was also halfway to the front door. Seeing Nathaniel, the older man froze and frowned as if uncertain of how to proceed.

"I shall manage this, Parker," Nathaniel said with a smile, leaving the butler at a bemused standstill, right in the center of the entrance hall. It would make for a strange welcome, but Nathaniel could not do anything about that now.

He pulled open the heavy front door, his eyes widening in delight as he saw Leah standing there on the porch attired in a pretty dress of ivory muslin with a fur tippet to stave off the gathering cold. The weather in London was always temperamental, but it seemed to know exactly when the society season would begin and had decided to speed up the approach of winter, putting a severe chill in the air that crept under doorways and through the cracks in window-frames.

"Welcome, welcome!" Nathaniel crowed, ushering Leah and her mother into the house. There, he offered the butler a reprieve. "Mr. Parker, would you take their coats and furs? I assure you, ladies, it is more than warm enough in this house. My beloved mother never lets a fire dip below roaring."

The butler rushed forward to obey, taking possession of the pelisse coats and tippets and bonnets, his arms full by the time Leah and her mother were comfortably divested of their outdoor garments.

"I thought we might begin in the drawing room," Nathaniel suggested, "before moving to the dining room. I find that it is always easier to converse in a more informal setting, and I should like you both to be at ease here."

Leah's mother seemed relieved by the suggestion. "That would be delightful, Your Grace, and thank you ever-so kindly for inviting me. You have a beautiful residence. So beautiful that I am doubting whether or not to invite you to dine at our apartments, lest you find them too… humble."

"Nonsense, Countess. I should be thrilled to be invited to dine with you," Nathaniel insisted. "And please, do not refer to me as "Your Grace". My name will suffice."

Leah's mother, Sarah, shook her head. "Oh, I cannot do that."

"As you prefer." He smiled, not wanting to make her feel awkward. "In truth, I will answer to almost anything. You could yell "hedgehog" across a ballroom, and I would likely turn to respond."

Sarah covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "I shall have to remember that."

"Goodness, Nathaniel, must you leave the door open wide?" His mother's voice grumbled, moments before she appeared from the drawing room. "I have cultivated a particular warmth, and you are making it chilly."

Nathaniel gestured to the closed door. "It is shut, Mother." He paused, turning to Leah and Sarah. "But now that you are here, Mother, it is my great pleasure to introduce you to Sarah Bolton, the Countess of Druidstone, and her dear daughter, Lady Leah. Ladies, this is my mother, Abigail, the Dowager Duchess of Bergfield."

"Your Grace." Sarah gave a low curtsy, still as graceful and elegant as a woman half her age.

Leah echoed the gesture, holding Nathaniel's attention. If her mother had the grace of a ballerina, then Leah had the grace of a prima ballerina, her arms flowing out with the slow bend of her legs, like a bird's wings. "Your Grace," she said softly, lifting her gaze. Her eyes flitted toward Nathaniel, a shy smile turning up the corners of her lips before she returned her attention to Abigail.

"A pleasure," Abigail replied in a tone that suggested it was anything but. Nathaniel shot her a sharp glare which she promptly ignored. "Shall we make our way to the dining room? It is almost seven o'clock, and I do not like to have dinner served late."

"I thought we could—" Nathaniel began, but Leah cut him off.

"Of course, we should hate to delay dinner by even a moment."

Abigail stared at her as if she suspected sarcasm. "Yes, well…"

Without another word, she marched off in the direction of the dining room, leaving Nathaniel, Leah, and Sarah to follow behind. As they walked, Nathaniel searched Sarah's face for any sign of disapproval, but she seemed to be too distracted by the portraits and paintings and vases and ornaments to notice that his mother had been curt with Leah. As for Leah herself, while she had been lithe and graceful not a moment ago, now she was rigid with nerves, chewing upon her lower lip as if that was dinner.

"She is annoyed about Lady Kate," Nathaniel whispered, pulling Leah back for a moment while her mother wandered on ahead. "Whatever she says to you tonight, however she might behave, just know that it is not your fault. It is mine for refusing her selection."

Leah nodded uncertainly, her breaths shallow. "I shall try to remember."

"It is good to see you by the way," he said, smiling. "It feels like only yesterday that we dined together."

She smiled back, albeit anxiously. "It rather sounds as if you missed me."

"I admit, I have," he replied, surprised to find that he meant it.

Her smile turned into a frown. "What happened?" she whispered, lifting her fingertips to the lightly bruised curve beneath his eye. "This is not the same one you had at Mrs. Dibney's dinner party."

He flinched at her touch, for he had not expected it. "I confess, it happened the night of the dinner party. I had imbibed too much, and I fell from the carriage when I arrived here. I am particularly clumsy after I have consumed a large quantity of wine."

"You do seem rather prone to injuries," she remarked gently, curiously, her fingertips still caressing the bruised skin—almost as if she did not realize she was doing it. "Please, take care of yourself, or I shall worry."

He caught hold of her hand, bringing it to his lips. "I shall try, for the last thing I want is for you to worry. Did my letters reach you?"

In place of his actual presence at her side, for there had been very few events taking place during the past week, he had tried to write to her every day, so she would know that he had not forgotten their promise to one another. She, however, had only written back twice with short letters that answered none of his questions.

"They did," she replied carefully, "but I decided it would be better if we talked in person. Writing letters is much too… intimate, and I would not want my mother or father prying."

Her response surprised him. "Ah… very well, then I shall cease all correspondence unless it pertains to an event. Would that suffice? I could add it to our contract if you like?"

Too intimate? He had not considered that, but he supposed that writing the letters to her had felt rather too familiar, as if he knew her better than he did. But he could not deny that he had enjoyed the pastime, for he rarely had anyone interesting to correspond with, other than old friends who had their own lives and wives and families to distract them.

"I think that would be for the best." She hesitated. "But I am so very grateful for the gown you sent. I did not think it was an insult at all. It is… the most beautiful thing I have ever owned."

He smiled, soothed by her words. "I am glad."

"Nathaniel!" Abigail shouted from within the dining room, making him wince.

"I believe my mother wishes to enjoy our presence. Did you notice how charmingly she requested it?" he observed drily, offering his arm to lead Leah into the room.

She took it, chuckling softly. "I might be mistaken," she whispered, close to his ear, "but I do not think your mother likes me very much."

"Whatever could have given you such an outlandish idea?" he teased, realizing that the simple dinner for four would be more of a challenge than he had anticipated.

And it was about to get much, much worse…

"Is that my brooch?" Abigail half screamed the moment Nathaniel and Leah entered the modest dining room. Her hand flew to her throat as if it had somehow been plucked straight from the ruffles of her chemisette, stolen from right underneath her nose.

Nathaniel glanced down in a panic, noticing the glint of amethyst for the first time upon the neckline of Leah's dress. He was certain he had written something in one of his letters about not wearing the brooch to dinner, but as he searched through his memory, he began to doubt himself. Perhaps, he had only meant to warn her not to wear it, for though it was a piece that his mother hated, he should have known that she would notice it immediately.

"It… was a gift," Leah spluttered, covering the brooch with her hand as if she could somehow make it disappear. "Nathaniel sent it to me."

Already seated at the table, Leah's mother nodded effusively. "It is true, Your Grace."

"I did, Mother," Nathaniel confirmed. "You have enough jewels that you do not wear, and you have always said that purple does not become you, so I thought it should belong to someone who will cherish it." He took a half step in front of Leah. "Do not be angry with her, Mother. I should have asked you first, but I did not think you would miss it, so blame me if you must blame someone."

"Would you like it back?" Leah began unpinning the brooch, but Abigail swatted a dismissive hand through the air.

"My son is right; I do not care for the piece. Have it." She sniffed. "It is all his property anyway, and I am never consulted in any of his decisions. Why should my jewelry be any different?"

Leah continued to unpin the brooch and walked with it to the chair where Abigail sat, showing such courage that Nathaniel could not take his eyes off her. He could tell she was upset by the way she chewed her lip, but she proceeded with grace, not allowing her nerves to stand in her way.

Gently, Leah set the brooch down on the table. "I cannot take something that was not given by the one who owns it. I would not have accepted it at all if I had known it came without your consent."

Nathaniel held his breath, feeling utterly foolish. He had not meant to embarrass Leah, had promised he would not in any capacity, and had somehow managed to do it anyway. In truth, he was not even certain why he had put the brooch into the box; he had seen it, thought of her, and in it had gone without a moment's further consideration. Now, that rashness had come back to bite him.

"That is… very generous of you," Abigail said stiffly, eyeing the decorative piece. She closed her hand over it. "And that was very inconsiderate of you," she added, shaking her head at Nathaniel. "Now, shall we dine before everything cools? I think there has been quite enough excitement for one evening."

Leah took the chair beside her mother while Nathaniel took the chair opposite, next to his mother, rather like they were drawing lines upon a battlefield of mahogany and lace tablecloth.

For a long while, no one said anything. Meanwhile, the footmen began to bring in the first course, the watercress soup still steaming hot as the wide bowls were set down.

"I apologize that it is watercress again," Nathaniel said, flashing a sheepish smile at Leah.

She bit her lower lip, but it did not appear to be anxiety this time; there was humor in her eyes, like she was struggling to swallow a laugh. "I will never complain when there is watercress soup. Why, I think it might be my favorite soup."

"It is?" Nathaniel felt a laugh threatening to bubble up his throat, for what sort of dinner discussion was this? Had they truly fallen on such hard conversational times?

Leah nodded. "I find it very… earthy."

"Earthy? An interesting description." The corner of Nathaniel's lip crept up into a smirk. "In what way is it earthy? Do you taste soil? Mother, you ought to check with the cook and ensure that she did not accidentally sprinkle soil instead of pepper."

Leah snorted, blowing a few drops of soup off her spoon. To try and hide what she had done, she hurriedly sipped the soup off the spoon and promptly began to choke.

"Darling, are you well?" Sarah thumped her daughter between the shoulder blades, but it only seemed to make the spluttering worse.

All the while, Nathaniel's mother watched with an unimpressed glower, still clutching the brooch in one hand as she ate with the other.

"Water!" Nathaniel urged. "She needs water!"

A footman darted forward and poured a glass then Sarah brought the glass to Leah's lips, helping her to drink. A few moments later, peace had been restored, and the unfortunate spray of soup had been cleared up with a few dabs of a napkin though the redness in Leah's cheeks could not be so easily wiped away. She looked mortified, and Nathaniel did not know whether to make a jest of it to bring a smile to her lips, or whether he should put an end to the evening before his mother could cast any further judgment upon the poor woman.

But to his surprise and delight, Leah straightened up, took a breath, and said, "Ordinarily, Your Grace, I prefer to ingest my soup with my mouth. I am not in the habit of spurting it from my nose." A faint smirk graced her plump lips. "Please, do forgive me. The brooch incident has made me nervous. So nervous, in truth, that I think I forgot how to eat for a moment."

"You are forgiven," Abigail said coolly. "But, perhaps, you could be more careful with the fish course. I would not want a bone catching in your nose or mouth."

Leah closed her eyes for a second and pressed her lips together, suppressing another smirk. "Of course, Your Grace. And let us all hope that the meat course has been sliced, for all our sakes."

"A toast, my dearest Leah," Nathaniel suggested, releasing the laughter he had been fighting to hold in. She was not just courageous but witty and able to make fun of herself in the face of a mishap. He did not know if he had ever seen a more remarkable response in a person, and though he knew he had no right, his chest swelled with pride.

Leah raised her glass. "A toast to what?"

"To you and your steadfastness," he replied. "To you and your shining character. To you and your grace in the face of my foolishness."

She smiled. "To an uneventful remainder of our dinner together."

"To strengthening the bonds between our families," Sarah added, her expression so hopeful that Nathaniel almost felt guilty.

Abigail sipped from her glass, refusing to toast. Instead, she returned to her soup, silently spooning in mouthful after mouthful, like she was hoping to rush as quickly as possible toward the end of the evening.

"To all of that," Nathaniel said, clinking his glass with those of Leah and Sarah before casting a frown at his mother. She was never usually so rude, and though she might not have appreciated how Leah had come into his life, he was appalled by her behavior. Indeed, he would tell her so, just as soon as dinner was concluded.

Leah cleared her throat, drawing Nathaniel's attention back toward her. "Your Grace, I wondered if I might play the pianoforte for you after dinner? I realize I have not shown much grace this evening, but I assure you, I am in possession of some."

"The pianoforte?" Abigail seemed to mull over the idea. "Yes, I suppose you may though be aware that it is a rather valuable instrument."

Leah bowed her head. "I shall be careful, Your Grace."

"Very well." Abigail appeared more pensive as she continued to eat her soup, but it was Nathaniel's curiosity that had been piqued. After all, Jonathan had claimed she was atrocious while she had claimed to be much improved. Nathaniel supposed he would soon discover who was right, and though he was not a wagering man himself, he knew where he would place his bet.