Chapter 18

For the rest of the evening, Nathaniel did his best to forget what he had almost said, if he had been the one set to marry Leah. He did not know what had possessed his tongue to even think of saying it, but he had chosen to blame Bill and all the old man's talk of Nathaniel looking happy and of settling down and of his heart not being as black as his father's. It had thrown him, and he was struggling to right himself.

"You are quiet," Leah said as the rowboat sculled along the water of Round Pond. She had convinced him to take one of the boats to see the merfolk on the rocks, and though he had expected Sarah to join them, she had professed to have a terrible fear of water. A white lie, judging by the overjoyed grin on Sarah's face where she stood on the shore of the lake.

Nathaniel put on a smile. "Apologies, dear Leah. I was in something of a trance. I cannot profess to have rowed much, not even in my Oxford years, but I find the sport rather meditative." His smile became genuine. "Would you like to try?"

"I have the arm strength of a grasshopper," she replied, her tight expression relaxing as if something had thawed between them.

"A grasshopper has rather strong arms for an insect. One ought to judge oneself by something of similar size." He chuckled. "You would have weak arms in comparison to a gorilla, for example, but if you were to arm wrestle with your mother, I believe you might win."

Leah laughed. "My mother hides her muscles beneath those sleeves of hers. She is quite powerful. I saw her hurl a snowball at my father's head one winter—she almost concussed him!"

"Ah, perhaps that is why he says such nonsensical things."

Leah tilted her head to one side. "What nonsensical things?"

"That you are a lost cause, for one," Nathaniel admitted, his heart pounding strangely as if there was a chrysalis where the organ should be, and something was in the midst of emerging, breaking free.

It is the rowing, he told himself, for it was more of an exertion than he had anticipated. And though he was in fine athletic form thanks to his bouts in the boxing ring, they were short rounds, unlike this exercise in endurance, navigating around the fake rocks and platforms.

Leah's face pinched. "He said that?"

"The ramblings of a man with a long-standing head injury," he replied softly. "Take no notice."

She stared down into her lap for a moment. "What was your father like?"

"I prefer not to speak of the dead," he said a note too quickly. "He… shaped me, but he did not duly prepare me for the role of Duke. I am still learning what it means to be one."

Leah raised her gaze. "You seem fond of your mother."

"I am," he conceded. "And she is fond of you. You must not pay any heed to her scowls; her face is rather stuck that way after she made the mistake of squinting into the wind on a particularly gusty day."

Leah snorted and hurried to cover her mouth. "My mama always used to say that. For years, I was terrified of making any sort of expression in bad weather. I remember one year, during a summer storm, just smiling into the wind like a madwoman. I hoped it would make me prettier. I must have been ten or so, and I startled the gardener so badly that he went to my father and suggested that the physician be sent for."

"You did not need the wind," Nathaniel said, the compliment tight in his throat. There were no other people nearby; other rowboats were drifting in the near distance while guests watched in awe from the edge of the pond, so why was he flattering her as if they were in company? This was not a necessary part of the arranged performance.

Leah frowned. "What do you mean?"

"To become prettier, you did not need the wind," he replied, unable to stop himself.

I would have sounded like an idiot if I had not finished the thought, he told himself, doing his best to convince his mind that all of this was just a result of Bill's meddling.

Leah's mouth opened in a small, astonished ‘o,' her cheeks flushing a rare shade of pink that made her look unbearably beautiful in the low light of the torches that adorned the lake platforms. She glowed; it was the only description he had.

"Did the physician come?" he asked hurriedly, shifting uncomfortably on the rowboat's bench. "Goodness, the poor gardener."

He heard Leah swallow. "No, there was no need. My father likely muttered something about me being the death of him, and that was that. The gardener simply avoided me from thereon in. He left shortly afterward, actually. I think he thought the Abbey was haunted, and that I had been possessed by the ghost of an insane monk or something."

"I did feel a tickle on the back of my neck when I visited," he said, relaxing back into the rhythm of the oars slicing through the water, letting it distract him. "There is no possible way that Abbey does not have a few lurking ghosts."

Leah nodded slowly. "I have seen strange things, but I have never mentioned them for fear of actually being sent away to an asylum." She paused. "What of Bergfield Manor. Is that haunted?"

"Only by the living," Nathaniel replied, meaning it in jest, but the words came out far sadder than he had intended. He hastened to add, in a lighter tone, "Now, what do you make of these merfolk? I rather think they are more impressive at a distance."

Leah glanced toward a nearby rocky platform where two mermaids flapped their shiny tails now and again, one of them stifling a yawn. "I think you are right. I can see the stitching and the paint from here."

"Shall we return to shore?" He needed to get out of the boat, needed to get away from Leah until his mind had ceased churning, needed to catch his breath and give himself a stern talking-to. That was the trouble with charades—before long, the pretense began to feel like reality, and he could not and would not risk the boundaries blurring.

Leah shrugged. "If you want to."

"Do you want to?"

She turned her gaze toward the shore, where a crowd of young ladies had gathered, all staring and whispering at the couple in the rowboat. Nathaniel did not need to be able to hear them; it was obvious what they were saying from their animated gestures. The ruse was going exceedingly well. Too well.

"I think the evening has been one of our greatest successes," Leah said in a faraway voice, her throat moving as she swallowed. "Everyone has seen us. Everyone believes we are helplessly in love. Who knew we would be such accomplished thespians?"

She sounded sad, her melancholy eyes twinkling with moisture as she turned back to Nathaniel.

"Are you having doubts about continuing?" Nathaniel asked, his voice catching. He cleared his throat, pretending there was something stuck there.

Leah hesitated. "No."

"Are you certain?"

She sighed wearily. "I am worried about my mother, that is all. She will be heartbroken." She gestured toward the shore. "You saw how happy she was tonight. I wish… I could bottle that and save it for a rainy day. It has been an age since I have seen her so… merry, but no, I am not having doubts. Everything is working perfectly."

He did not believe her fully, nor did he want to press her for fear that she might say something he was not prepared to hear. The ruse was just a ruse, no matter how confused his mind had become, but he wondered if they had barreled into it with too much enthusiasm. They had played their parts too freely, and now, the eventual cost of their game was rising to unexpected heights.

People will be hurt, he realized, thinking of his brother and even his mother. But Leah and I will be spared. It was an uncomfortable trade, he considered, but one that had to be made.

"Let us return to shore," he decided, his arms burning as he steered the boat away from the center of the lake and rowed with all his might back to the safety of land. There, he could make his excuses and hurry toward the one thing that was guaranteed to clear his mind.

A short while later, the rowboat bumped against the edge of the lake. A few of the watching ladies gasped and mumbled to one another, feigning a swoon, but Nathaniel paid them no attention as he leaped out of the boat and tied it off. That done, he offered his hand to Leah.

"My darling," he said, his voice soft and earnest, coming from a place he did not trust.

Leah took his hand, her broad smile not reaching her beautifully sad eyes. "I thought you were going to abandon me and make me clamber out of my own volition. Why, I pictured myself tripping on the hem of this gown and tumbling right into the lake."

"I would never abandon you, my dearest," he urged, the words as dangerous as glass in his mouth.

Her smile tightened as he helped her out of the boat, but as she made to take a step forward, the hem of her gown took its cue. It had taken her vision too literally. All of a sudden, she was stumbling, falling, the toe of her shoe caught in the folds of lavender silk.

Without thinking of all the eyes upon them, his arms rushed around her waist, pulling her against the sturdiness of his chest. Her hands grabbed his lapels, her face panicked as she kicked out to try and free her foot.

"I must have thought you were taller," he said thickly, the weight and shape of her in his arms proving to be too much; his head was about to explode, his blood prickling in his veins, his entire being sounding a warning that she was too close, and he was stepping too far over the line they had drawn in the sand with their contract.

When she still could not right herself, he took hold of her hand and rested it on his shoulder as he kneeled before her. Swallowing thickly, he lifted her foot and teased the twisted fabric back to where it was supposed to be before setting her foot back on solid ground.

Gasps and whispers erupted all along the shoreline like a storm rustling through treetops, and when Nathaniel peered up at Leah, her face had blanched, her eyes wide in alarm. In that moment, it felt like all the world was watching, and being down on one knee, he knew they were getting the situation entirely wrong.

So, in his own panic, he did the only thing he could do. He turned to the excited crowd. "The perils of too-long hems!" he announced. "Have no fear, Lady Leah's foot is free. But let this be a cautionary tale to you all—if a gentleman wishes to purchase a gown for you, insist on him paying for a seamstress too!"

Nervous laughter began to bubble through the guests, and it was not long before they lost interest in the dramatic scene and returned to admiring the carnival. A few ladies seemed relieved, but Nathaniel was anything but. That had been too close. Much too close.

"Are you well? Goodness, what happened?" Sarah hurried to her daughter's side. "I heard someone saying there was a proposal afoot, and I—"

"Just a foot, caught in silk," Leah interrupted, breathless. "Nathaniel saved me from an unexpected dip in the lake."

Sarah exhaled sharply. "Oh. Well, that is good. It would have been a shame to ruin such a beautiful gown."

"It certainly would though I would have been more concerned for your daughter than her dress," Nathaniel said, bowing his head. "Now, if you will excuse me, there is something I must attend to."

Leah looked at him, wounded. "You are leaving us?"

"Temporarily," he replied. "I promised to speak with Sir Christopher Lansdowne about his party next week, and I have just seen him on the other side of the lake. I should not be long. I will find you when I am done."

Sarah glanced between her daughter and Nathaniel, likely fearing the worst. "We shall await you eagerly, Your Grace. Should we meet at that horse display in an hour, perhaps? Will that be long enough?"

She thinks Leah is losing me, Nathaniel's innards pinched with guilt.

"Just enjoy yourselves," he urged, taking Leah's hand and kissing it gently. "I promise, I will find you."

He held onto Leah's hand for a moment longer, noting the struggle in her eyes, seeing his own reflected there. It was better for them to have some distance, at least for the remainder of that evening. He hoped she understood as he turned and walked away, taking the longest path to the "Gentlemen's Room" where Bill would be.

"Who'll step up and fight the Highwayman next?" bellowed Arnold Merryweather, shaking his fists in the air. "Who has the courage, eh? Who don't mind riskin' their pretty face for a shot at victory? Who'll not just sit and watch and go man to man, round to round, with the Champion of the South?"

Nathaniel sagged into the corner stool where Bill was ready with a cup of weak ale to swill out the fighter's mouth, his wizened hands digging into the aching muscles in Nathaniel's arms and shoulders, loosening the knots. There was a huge crowd inside the "Gentlemen's Room" tent, the supposed gentlemen drunk and unruly and wild-eyed with the scent of blood and sweat and competition.

"What are you doin'? You shouldn't be doin' this, Nathan," Bill whispered, reapplying the black paste wherever it had started to become patchy. "Did you quarrel with that lass of yours or omethin'? You'll get yourself knocked out if you carry on like this. There's naught worse than drunkards with their pride and spirits high. They'll not fight clean."

Nathaniel shook his head. "I do not care. I will fight until I am exhausted. I will fight until my head is clear."

He had boxed six different men already though only one of the matches had gone beyond two rounds. It was always the way when ordinary men were invited to challenge him, their confidence not parallel to their skill. Yet, the fog in his mind had not dispersed, not even a little bit. His thoughts were as clouded and crowded as they had been when he left Leah by the lake, and if he could not rid himself of the crawling sensation of panic and fear in his chest, he did not know what he would do. Boxing kept the darkness out. What if it sneaked in? What if it already had, and that was why his mind would not clear?

"What if you're recognized?" Bill hissed, his sharp eyes surveying the tent.

Nathaniel hesitated. "No one will know it is me. No one has ever known it is me." He gestured at his sweat slicked chest. "This is not how gentlemen behave. No one would consider it a possibility, not even for a moment."

After all, plenty of notable gentlemen attended the boxing matches in the warehouses of London, and nobody had suspected a thing when it came to the identity of the mysterious Highwayman. If they had, his name would have been plastered across the scandal sheets.

"I will take the challenge!" a smug voice shouted from the crowd.

The writhing mass of drunken gentlemen parted for the combatant, cheering and applauding his approach to the boxing ring. Through sweat-soaked locks of hair that flopped across his face, Nathaniel looked toward his opponent, but the light in the tent was dim, only the ring itself properly illuminated by flickering footlights.

Nathaniel squinted, his thundering heart transforming into a block of ice as the figure bent and climbed through the ropes into the ring.

Of course, you would be foolish enough… Nathaniel wanted to shake his head and urge the fellow to turn around and go home before his pretty wife scolded him for returning to her with a swollen face. But as he watched Arnold go to the man and begin to talk him through the expectations of the match, Nathaniel felt the fog in his mind begin to thin, ever so slightly. The remedy was working again; it had merely required the right ingredients.

Namely, Jonathan.

"This will be my last bout of the night," Nathaniel told Bill.

Bill arched a worried eyebrow. "You know him, don't you?"

"Distantly." Nathaniel smiled, getting to his feet. "Do not fret, Bill. My head is almost clear again."

But Bill was fretting; Nathaniel could feel the vibrations of his friend's concern as he walked to the center of the ring, smiling at the way Jonathan turned and lapped up the crowd's eagerness, raising his fists high in the air, striding back and forth in front of the ropes with a na?ve swagger.

I am going to make you wish you had never hurt her,Nathaniel promised while a different, gentler voice in the back of his mind whispered, But if he had never jilted her, you would never have met her.