Chapter 24

"You are too kind!" Ezra enthused, patting Nathaniel squarely on the back. "Is he not generous, Sarah? What a chivalrous gentleman to bring our darling daughter back himself when we had no notion you were even together, nor that she was unwell!" His face strained, a vein pulsing at his temple as if his blood could not endure the pressure.

Nathaniel bowed his head. "There is no need for flattery, Ezra," he assured. "I could not have had any peace this evening without knowing she was well and safely in her residence."

Leah stood in the reception hall with Nathaniel's greatcoat still around her shoulders, wishing she did not have to give it back. She felt so safe within the heavy wool, and it smelled of him, of woodsmoke, bergamot, and peppermint—a comforting perfume.

Well, I shall not have any peace this evening, she lamented, her mind spinning with her heart's secret hopes. The future Duchess… It pained her to think of it, to want it, to wish for it, though it would not have mattered if he was a farmer's boy; she still would have desired what she could not have. Him.

"Of course, you must stay for tea," Sarah interjected. "I shall pour a medicinal tea for Leah and the rest of us can have something more ordinary."

Nathaniel raised his hands in a gesture of defense. "I cannot, Lady Druidstone. My brother is in the carriage, and he has a bee to save."

"Pardon?" Sarah blinked.

"It is a sweet story. Leah can tell it to you, but I fear Colin will blame me if the bee does not survive, so please, accept my apologies, and let us postpone that tea until another day," Nathaniel urged, backing away toward the door.

Leah smiled. "Give it my warmest wishes."

"I shall," Nathaniel replied, his expression freezing for a moment, his mouth slightly parted. It was the sort of look one would give when they had seen something surprising, but Leah could not tell if it was the good or bad kind. "I will collect my coat the next time we see one another," he added, his face softening into a pleased smile. "It becomes you remarkably well."

"Are you leaving it here as insurance so that we will see one another again?" Leah half-teased, her nerves jittering.

Ezra gasped. "Leah! What sort of question is that? Of course, you will see one another again."

"Your father is right," Nathaniel said, walking up to her. "I shall see you soon, dearest Leah." He dipped his head, and placed a soft, startling-and unnecessary long kiss upon her hand. Her skin tingled, the heat flushing down into her face, making her cheeks throb with the fever of it.

Wide-eyed, she watched him turn and leave, still staring at the spot where he had been long after the front door had closed, and he had gone. Slowly, she raised her fingertips to her other hand, touching the place he had kissed. She did not know why, but she had expected to feel something there, but it was just her smooth skin, the same as ever if slightly hotter.

"Are you trying to chase him away?" Ezra hissed, running a stressed hand through his hair.

Sarah elbowed her husband in the ribs. "I might be mistaken, darling, for it has been so long since I have experienced it myself, but I do believe they were flirting with one another."

"What?" Ezra squinted as if solving a problem.

"They were flirting, you dolt." Sarah burst into rich laughter that suddenly made Leah want to cry. She wanted to give her mother a reason to laugh and smile, she wanted to be able to reassure her mother that this would not end in tears, and she wanted to be able to say, proudly, that she was in love and was loved in return by a gentleman who would protect her heart as he had protected her. But she could not do any of that, and it stung.

"Mama. Father. I think I will retire," Leah said quietly. "I really do feel unwell, and I am sorry I did not inform you that I was meeting with him. I thought I had. Mrs. Sharples was with us, anyway, so there is no reason to worry."

Sarah frowned. "I did not see her go up to her apartments."

"She has gone up the street to have tea with her friend. Truly, I think she might be the most popular woman in London—she encountered at least five friends while we were at the botanical gardens," Leah explained. "Now, if you please, I must rest. There is a ball on Friday, and I should hate to miss it due to illness."

Panic set Ezra's head into a vigorous nodding motion. "Of course, you must. Go, at once. There will be colds and fevers in abundance once winter has properly set in, and if we are to have you engaged before then, you must attend this ball." He clapped his hands together. "It is not far away; I can feel it. My daughter: a Duchess."

He could not have known how much those words pinched, nor did Leah feel inclined to correct him. All she wanted was her bed where she might have some hope of escaping Nathaniel in her dreams. Either that or she might meet a different version of him there in her dreamland: a version of him that felt the same way she did and was not afraid to confess his love or to adore someone whose heart bore a few scars that still needed healing.

I would be the salve for you too, if you would but let me, she mused wearily, padding away to the safety of her bedchamber.

* * *

"Out of your nightclothes, at once!" Nathaniel heard Sarah hiss as he waited patiently in the parlor the following morning. He smiled, imagining Leah and her mother scrambling for day clothes and ribbons and a hairbrush to drag through Leah's silky locks, tousled by sleep.

Ezra coughed loudly to try and cover the sound of his wife and daughter. "They will be along shortly. You should have informed us of your intention to visit." He paused, looking aghast. "Not that you are not welcome to call upon Leah whenever you please! Of course, you must call upon her whenever you please. I merely meant because she has had this terrible headache, she was not prepared for visitors."

"I only intended to leave a letter," Nathaniel remarked, sipping from the cup of tea that had hastily arrived.

"Well, yes, but as I have already said, it would be better for you to see her. She is greatly recovered, and as Sarah and I are not afflicted with headaches, I am certain it is not catching," Ezra fumbled to reply, clearly rattled by Nathaniel's morning appearance.

Five awkward minutes later, Leah was all but shoved into the parlor, panting as if she had just come in from a brisk winter walk. She looked beautiful, but nothing would be more astonishing to him than the image of her the previous afternoon, draped in his greatcoat. It had made his arms ache to hold her in his greatcoat's stead, his heart sighing at the thought. Indeed, for the first time in his life, he had been envious of a piece of clothing.

"Apologies if I kept you waiting, Nathaniel," Leah said raggedly, still catching her breath. "I will not lie to you, I was asleep."

Nathaniel chuckled. "I wanted to deliver a letter, but your father insisted on us seeing one another over tea." He gestured to the two teapots on the tray before him. "I believe the smaller one is filled with your mother's medicinal concoction."

"Oh goodness, lash it out of the window at once!" Leah teased, seeming entirely recovered.

Sarah harrumphed from the hallway. "You would still have a roaring headache if not for that tea, darling. Be kind."

"Yes, well, I have several matters to attend to, and my wife has some rose bushes to prune, so we shall leave you to talk alone," Ezra announced, getting up. "I know it is more appropriate for a chaperone to be present, but as you are here in this residence, and I shall only be in the study across the hall, I see no harm in a few minutes of peaceful tea-drinking together."

Sarah poked her head in, looking like she was about to protest, but Ezra swiftly scooped her in the crook of his arm and steered her out of the room and down the hallway, out of sight.

"Pruning rose bushes when it is almost December?" Nathaniel tilted his head to one side. "Your mother has some strange pastimes."

Leah laughed softly, sitting down on the settee opposite. "My father is terrified that you have lost interest in me or that I have somehow chased you away. I believe this is his attempt to bring us closer together."

"Yet, you are all the way over there," Nathaniel said, feeling the absence of her at his side.

Leah nodded. "And here I shall stay. Which teapot was mine?"

"The one with the ducks on it," Nathaniel replied, wondering why she seemed colder. Was it because he had bruised Jonathan's face? Did she think him a brute, now? Or was it the "duchess" debacle? Was she still wounded by it? He hoped not, for it was the one thing he did not know how to fix. "How are you faring today?" he asked. "I have been worried sick."

Leah paused mid-pour. "You were?"

"Certainly. I barely slept thinking about your… sudden ailment," he replied, stumbling over his words. "Colin sends his wishes, too. The bee survived."

Leah gasped. "Oh, I am glad! I also did not sleep well, worrying for the poor thing." Her cheeks reddened, her gaze dropping to the teapot. "My parents, of course, did not believe the story. Well, my mama did, but my father thought you were just making an excuse not to stay for tea."

"It would sound outlandish to anyone else," he conceded. "But you are sure you are well?"

Leah nodded, resuming the pouring of medicinal tea into her cup. It smelled bitter and strange, like rosehips and blackcurrant mixed together. Being bright red, he wondered if he was not far off the right ingredients. But it was her stiff posture and strained smiles that held his attention, making him uneasy.

"Leah, might I be frank for a moment?"

She sat back, bringing her cup to her lips. "Of course. Always. I encourage it."

"Have I upset you? Perhaps I am imagining it, but you do not seem as friendly today," he said, agitated. "Is it the headache, maybe?"

Leah paused, pointedly setting her cup back down. "It is not the headache, but my mind is very full." She drew in a breath. "I have had a great deal to consider, and I think our discussion yesterday brought something to the forefront of my thoughts. In truth, it is something I have been contemplating for a while, ever since one of my dear friends mentioned it, but I had smothered it until yesterday."

"Oh?" Nathaniel's knee began to jig as nerves trickled into his veins. Something had happened to Leah, and whatever it was, she was not quite the same person he had left at these apartments the previous day.

"You said something poignant to me," she continued. "You said, "Is that not why we began this, to show Jonathan what everyone else already knows—that jilting you was the greatest mistake of his life?" In the chaos of our ruse, I had forgotten that, and your words—and Jonathan's face—were a necessary reminder. Indeed, I realized last night that my objective for this deception has already been accomplished."

Nathaniel's knee stopped dead. "What do you mean?"

"I wanted him to understand that he was no longer any concern of mine," she explained. "I wanted to wipe the smug smirk off his face, and after yesterday, that has been accomplished. You said it yourself, he will not say another unkind word to me. I am free of him, Nathaniel, and it is all thanks to you."

Nathaniel swallowed. "Yes, but what are you saying?"

"I am saying that my half of the reward has been delivered," she said with an unsettling calm in her voice.

"Are you saying you want the ruse to end already?" He felt the shock in his throat, tightening his words.

She shook her head. "I am saying that my side is complete. Of course, I shall continue the ruse as agreed in our contract until your objective has also been accomplished. You have helped me so much; I must do the same for you. After that, our agreement will end."

"Just like that?"

She shrugged, taking up her cup of tea again. "Whyever not? That is what we decided upon. That was always the plan, was it not?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Then we must abide by the terms of the contract." She sipped her tea, but Nathaniel noticed the slightest tremor in her hand, her gaze flitting away from his. "You see, what you did for me was more than I ever could have imagined, and you did it so expertly that I have what I wanted from this already. I am as surprised as you, but that is the truth."

Nathaniel sat back, his heart a stone in his chest. "This is because I hit Jonathan, is it not? You think me a brute."

"I could never think that," she replied softly. "You defended and fought for my honor against the man who broke my heart. I would not judge you for the way you did it, not even a little bit."

A breath caught in Nathaniel's throat. "Broke your heart? I thought it was just your reputation that he wounded."

"I suppose I told a small lie," she conceded, turning her gaze toward the windows and the bruised rainclouds beyond. "I… did love him. I loved him the moment I set eyes upon him, for I was young and foolish. I do not think any woman can know the true nature of a man until it is revealed to them, for so many hide behind charm and chivalry."

Nathaniel felt sick, her words dragging him back through the years to his childhood, hearing his mother say the same thing as she sat in the kitchens with him, holding a piece of raw meat to her cheek.

"I did not know that he valued his pride above all else and that his affections for me were fickle," Leah continued. "Two nights before my wedding, my mother and father held a party at Druidstone Abbey, to celebrate the upcoming nuptials. I drank too much of my father's brandy to steady my nerves, and I clambered up onto the table in the banqueting hall in front of everyone and made a speech about Jonathan. I recited a sonnet, too. I humiliated myself, but I humiliated him too. News reached him, and I suppose he decided he did not want an embarrassment for a wife."

Nathaniel stared at her, his voice brittle as he said, "You do not seriously believe that you were to blame. I know you do not."

"Oh, I am not saying that," she replied, still refusing to look at him. "If he had loved me, truly loved me, he would have laughed and married me anyway. But I am guilty of trusting him, of loving him, of thinking we could be happy. You have freed me of that guilt."

"You… really loved him?" Nathaniel choked on the sentence, the past and the present blurring together. He did not know why the thought of her loving Jonathan stung so much, but like accidentally brushing a nettle, it stung regardless.

Leah sighed. "I really did, albeit briefly. Being jilted will rid a girl of her love for anyone. Still, being jilted is better than being the wife of a wretch like him." She shook her head. "I pity Dorothy, I truly do."

"I see." Nathaniel clawed his way back to a place of calm, using the ordinary tea as his medicine. Only when his breathing had slowed and his heart had settled did he continue, "So, allow me to confirm, this ruse will end when my reason for beginning it has been resolved?"

Leah finally looked his way, nodding. "In a nutshell, yes."

"And you are certain your objective has been achieved?"

"I am." She smiled sweetly, but it was not one of her genuine smiles. He had learned the beauty of those, and there was nothing beautiful about this one; it chilled him in truth.

He drained what was left in his teacup and set it down on the table. "Splendid. Then I shall let you know when the time comes." He rose to his feet. "It has been a pleasure as always, Leah, and I hope you have a restful day. I shall collect you at eight o'clock on Friday."

"Friday?" She frowned.

"For Lord Haughton's ball."

Her frown deepened. "We are still attending together?"

"Did you not say that this would end when I was finished with my plan?"

She rubbed her throat, squirming a little. "I did."

"Excellent, then Friday it is." He bowed his head and headed for the door. "Farewell, Leah. I shall take my greatcoat with me."

She did not rise to see him to the door, remaining on the settee. But Nathaniel moved stealthily toward the exit anyway, not wanting to alert Ezra or Sarah to his departure. Indeed, he did not want anyone to see him at that moment, for they would undoubtedly see the pain in his chest reflected on his face.

To make matters worse, he could not understand why the thought of her once loving Jonathan still simmered in his blood or why he was hurt by her dismissal. It had been the plan, and getting revenge on Jonathan had been part of it. They had written it all in the contract. It had been an exchange of services, nothing more—a business matter. Now, his hands itched to tear up the blasted piece of paper.

She has seen what I am,he realized, closing the door to the apartments behind him. She fears what I am. It is the only explanation.

He halted on the steps of the front porch, sucking in a deep breath of the crisp air that threatened heavy rain and whispered to the gloom, "How could she ever harbor any affection toward a brute like you?"

But the courtship was in his hands now, and it would be up to him to decide whether to sever it painlessly, as soon as possible, or drag it out just to hold onto the fantasy of being dear to her for a while longer. Either way, he had begun to realize that he would miss her.

Glancing back at the closed door, part of him already did.