13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

N athaniel stared at the connecting door between his room and Melior's. He would not pass through it, not tonight, or tomorrow, or possibly ever.

What had he done?

He'd sentenced himself to a life of pure torture, that's what he'd done. Everything he'd ever imagined physically in a wife awaited him beyond those doors, and yet it was not what he had imagined at all. There was supposed to be excitement and love, not dread and remorse.

He slumped into the overstuffed chair near the fire and pulled at his cravat until it loosened. The flames in the hearth jumped and flickered but all he could see was Melior's tear-filled eyes as she gazed at the wedding cake he'd requested. Her gratitude over such a simple token was astonishing.

He'd expected her to scoff and ask why their meal was nothing more than roasted beef and boiled potatoes. Of course, there had been a nice white soup and the bread had been pleasantly fluffy with a perfectly crispy crust, something his cook had never been able to manage before, but that was nothing to the meals his new wife had been accustomed to. Yet she ate without complaint, even seeming interested in the conversation with his mother, however inappropriate and awkward.

Everything had been going in the right direction until she'd gotten that horrified look when he'd suggested she retire early. It took little imagination to understand why. The idea of being husband and wife repulsed her. He was repulsive to her.

He laid his head along the back of the chair and stared at the white plaster ceiling, reminding himself that he'd planned to give her space and time anyway. But now it seemed theirs would be a marriage in name only, and it broke his heart. Gone were the dreams of a warm hand to hold on cold winter nights. There would be no shared smiles over the dinner table, no laughter in the privacy of their room, and no one to share his deepest fears and most treasured hopes… and no children.

A fissure opened in his heart. He wanted children, lots of them.

He and his sister Mary had been the only children to fill Havencrest's echoing rooms. They'd been incredibly close, talking of the large families they'd raise together on neighboring estates. But when she'd died during the same epidemic that had taken his father, everything in his life had turned cold and hollow. In his pain he'd clung to the hope of one day having that large family they had always imagined.

And his mother knew that. It was the basis for her pointed conversation. He could not blame her. She'd never imagined she'd live to see grandchildren. Now it was within both their grasps, and yet not. Melior did not want him.

He'd witnessed her distress after Mr. Fairchild's unwanted advances. If he passed through that door, he'd be just as bad.

The fire crackled as he gazed into the flames, seeing only a long, lonely existence. His wife slept in the next room, but the door between them might as well have been a stone wall and the space between them a chasm. There would be no crossing the threshold.

Nathaniel made his way to breakfast that first morning at a much later hour than was his habit. He'd been up far too late grieving all the things he'd lost, falling into a fitful sleep somewhere after midnight.

When he'd found the breakfast room empty, he'd waited and waited, but Melior never came. That evening, though, she had been prompt to dinner. An awkward affair as it was only the two of them, but it was what he'd expected as most days his mother took her meals in bed.

The next morning he'd waited again on Melior, only to finally make his way to the study where he lost himself in ledgers, the recent periodical, a book on agriculture, anything that would keep his attention so he did not reflect on his disastrous marriage.

A week went by in this manner, only Nathaniel made sure to avoid the breakfast parlor. There was no use eating there alone.

Why he had not broached the topic of Melior's absence over their brief dinners, he did not know. Perhaps because it might upset the tenuous balance that had settled between them.

Other than dinner, they avoided each other. At least he assumed Melior was avoiding him because he did not see her, not even for Sunday services.

Then again, when had he ever seen any of the Kendall family, other than the duke and late duchess attend services? He supposed he should not have expected it.

Even Melior's absence at breakfast could simply be a difference in town and country hours, so Nathaniel tried to give her grace.

On the eighth day after their marriage he found a letter on his desk, the Newhurst seal adorning the back of the cream-colored paper. He broke it and began to read.

Nate,

I hope married life is treating you well. I will be returning to Gibly Manor and have hopes of calling on you Monday next at ten. Please send word if you are amenable.

J.N.

That was John, short and to the point. If only other people, his wife in particular, could be as clear with their intentions.

It would be nice to have a friend nearby again. He'd exhausted every other resource in his effort to stay occupied, even resorting to reorganizing the already perfectly alphabetized papers in his desk and the books on his shelves. Monday could not come soon enough.

A light knock on the door drew his attention. "Enter."

Mrs. Thompson stepped in. "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but the Primleys have come to pay a bridal visit."

"And what is that to me? I am sure Melior will receive them."

The housekeeper placed a hand on her hip. "Yes, but there's no one to make introductions."

Of course. With his mother confined to bed he was the only other person to perform the social nicety.

He sighed. "I will be there shortly."

After carefully folding the letter and stowing it in his top drawer, Nathaniel made his way to the sitting room where the guests had been shown. Melior paced in front of the door, obviously nervous. That was unexpected. In London she had never shown a hint of weakness.

At the click of his boots on the floor her head came up and she immediately stopped. Her shoulders went back, her chin rose, and she stood completely stilled. The change impressed and saddened him.

One moment she'd been a woman, normal and approachable. The next she was an impervious goddess, and completely not herself.

"May I?" He held out his arm to her.

"Thank you," she said softly, placing her hand tentatively upon his arm.

It was not the first time she'd taken his arm in the last week, but one glimpse at the Melior he remembered from his youth and a hole had been blown right through his carefully constructed armor. Warmth spread from her hand up his arm and he had to remind himself to breathe normally as they entered the room to meet their guests.

Inside, he found Mr. and Mrs. Primley as expected. What he had not expected to see were their two dashing sons. Last he had heard they were still visiting an uncle in Bath.

The moment their eyes landed on Melior, both men's faces lit up with interest.

He could not blame them. Melior was the picture of perfection, but he also did not like how much attention they were giving her. Instinctually he rested his other hand over Melior's. She cast him a confused glance, but he ignored it.

Introductions were made and he tried not to scowl as each man took his turn bowing over Melior's hand, but he failed.

When the younger Mr. Primley rose, he said, "I can see why Sir Nathaniel hovers so closely. You are as beautiful as they say, Lady Stanford."

Melior dipped her head in acknowledgement, the soft expression she always wore in company fully in place. "I thank you, sir. Please excuse me while I ring for tea."

And just like that she had brushed off his compliment.

Nathaniel smiled at the confused young man, secretly rejoicing in his discomfort.

Several more visitors came through the doors of Havencrest that day and all were met with the same civility as the first, which surprised Nathaniel. Not once did Melior dismiss anyone no matter their rank or importance. And with each visitor the hot coals of his own harsh words began to heap upon his head.

When the last visitors had come and gone, he said, "You did very well."

"Pardon?"

"I only meant that you received everyone with equanimity, and I thank you for that."

Her face fell. "I see. And now that I have received my pat on the head you wish me to run along."

His head jerked back. "I simply wanted to show my gratitude for your effort."

"Because of course I would not have done so if I'd not been instructed like a little child."

"No, Melior, I—" He what? It had sounded like he thought her incapable without his direction. "I am sorry. I never should have spoken to you as I did in the carriage."

She was silent for a moment, then sighed. "Your words were not unreasonable. I have been careful in forming previous acquaintances."

Acquaintances like him. It hurt, but it was the truth and he could not fault her for it. She was simply doing as all young women were instructed to make a match at or above their station. And he was most definitely not of equal station.

Silence resonated between them.

"I see. Well, if you have need of me, I will be in my study."

She peered at him curiously but did not answer.

What was she thinking? Did she wish him to stay?

Melior's gaze fell to the floor. "I suppose I should dress for dinner."

He glanced at the clock. "It is about that time."

With a dip of her head she left and the tension that had filled the room dissipated.

Whether his apology had healed the breach or not, Nathaniel did not know. But it had certainly made him feel better to issue it. He only wished he understood if it had truly been received… or even felt.