28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Melior pulled the blankets up to her chin, blinking into the darkness. Her worry and guilt over her part in the cloakroom debacle had mounted throughout the day as she and Nathaniel had talked of everything and nothing. They'd shared childhood stories and adult concerns for hours after he'd found her in their room.

More stories like those from the carriage had passed between them and Melior had marveled at the idyllic childhood Nathaniel had experienced. She'd been raised mostly in Town where her parents could be close to Society, only visiting the country when her uncle and aunt invited her to one of their estates.

There were still happy memories, times she and Eddie had played hide and go find from their nurse or the many hours she'd spent curled up in the family library with a book, but they were only little reprieves from her harsh tutors and even more demanding mother.

Although she'd been able to laugh about Nathaniel's antics, her mind had often turned to regret. Why had she been so willing to be molded by her mother, to take her council when she showed little affection and even less reason for her teachings? She'd looked past her obvious poor character and desperately tried to live up to her expectations, not realizing how unrealistic and unattainable they were—or how little her efforts would mean when she fell short.

Melior's growing discomfort must have struck a chord in Nathaniel because the conversation turned more serious. She'd commiserated with him on his mother's failing health, sharing the parting words she'd heard uttered to Mrs. Wayland.

He'd extracted a letter from his pocket that Lady Stanford's had given him upon their removal from Havencrest, allowing her to read the upbeat words with an undertone of farewell. They'd decided to return after her uncle's wedding even if they had not located the person responsible for compensating Mr. Fairchild.

Through it all, however, the guilt of her own motives weighed on her. When conversation turned to the friends who seemed to have deserted her, it was too much. She'd cried. Not a soft weeping, but a hard ugly cry. Nathaniel probably assumed the pain of loss fueled her emotions, and while they were partially to blame, it was the guilt that held her clasped in sorrow, which had probably brought on the massive headache.

She'd opted not to attend the soiree in a desperate bid to keep from facing Lord Caraway or anyone else, knowing her own culpability for following her mother's suggestion.

After all, she was not a child, and as a grown woman she could make her own choices. But she'd chosen to go against her own intuition for the sake of saving face and had brought about her own downfall as a consequence.

Nathaniel had been visibly disappointed that she would not attend with him, and yet he'd been kind, removing her slippers when she'd curled up on top of the bed and asking if she'd like a maid called to help her.

Falling asleep long before he'd left, she'd woken nearly half an hour ago to a grumbling stomach. If she'd been at Kendall House she would have tiptoed down to the kitchens for a midnight snack but being unfamiliar with Nathaniel's townhome she worried about creeping around in the dark.

Not that the home was large. With only two stories and less than a dozen rooms it would not be too difficult to find her way around. But Nathaniel, Al, and Javenia had not arrived home yet and that left her with only unknown servants. At least she assumed the others had not arrived home.

A creak in the hallway made her question herself, then the door to the room opened. She pulled the blanket up over her nose to guard herself from whoever entered. It was a ridiculous notion that her covers could protect her from an intruder, but somehow the childish idea that if she could not see them they could not see her still guided her actions.

A shadow passed in front of the embers of the fire and she saw pant legs. A man then. He sat on one of the chairs and quietly removed his boots. If it was Nathaniel, wouldn't he call for help? They'd left their personal help at Havencrest when Al and Javenia had been added to the party, but surely he'd call the butler or a footman for assistance.

The man left her line of vision for a moment and she heard boots clunk on the floor. A few moments later he returned, this time dressed in a nightshirt. Relief settled over her.

It was Nathaniel, unless some shadowed assailant had a penchant for putting away their clothes in the wardrobe and donning other men's nightshirts.

Nathaniel lifted the covers on his side of the bed and slipped in. The cold air that seeped under when he picked up the covers was quickly replaced by the warmth of his person. Melior listened to him exhale a long breath. Had the night been hard? Did he discover anything?

The questions burned on her tongue while her mind screamed at her to stay silent. If she asked, she'd have to speak. And if she spoke, he might find out the truth, a truth that might destroy the peace and comfort between them. Or at least the comfort she hoped he felt.

Comfort had completely fled her. Had coming to Town been the best idea? Perhaps they should have let sleeping dogs lie. Other women could take care of themselves, could they not? It was not her responsibility to run out like a soldier leading the charge and round up unsavory characters.

She let out a sigh, then remembered she was supposed to be pretending to sleep.

"Melior," Nathaniel whispered into the dark.

A choice had to be made, but was she up to a late-night chat?

"Are you awake?" The gentleness in his voice lulled her into a sense of security.

"Yes."

"How is your head?"

Of all the things he could ask, she'd not expected him to inquire after her health. "Better. The housekeeper brought me some willow bark tea and I slept for a while."

"How long have you been awake?"

"I am not sure, probably the better part of an hour. Did you enjoy the soiree?"

"Define enjoy. If you mean did I find it diverting, not really, but in a calculating and perhaps slightly vengeful way I believe it was quite enlightening."

"Then you discovered something?"

"Yes, mostly more questions, but there were a few answers as well."

She rolled onto her side to see the outline of his face and chest in the dark. He remained silent, his chest rising and falling with each breath. She wondered if he was waiting for her to ask questions, but that was the last thing she wished to do, so she remained silent.

He finally turned to face her. "Why were you in the cloakroom?"

The question caused her heart to thud in her chest. It was the one she never wanted to face. "In the cloakroom?" Her voice sounded shaky even to her.

"Yes. Did you need something from your cloak?"

She could lie. It was tempting, but then she'd be adding one more deception to her guilt.

"Were you lost and wandered into it accidentally? Or did someone direct you there?"

Edith had directed her where to go, but she had known what Melior was about. Wait… Edith had known what she was about. No. It was not possible. But who else would have known she would be down that hall?

She bolted upright, slapping her hands down on the covers.

"Melior?" Nathaniel's voice held a note of concern.

"It was Edith."

"How do you know?"

"She was in the hall and told me to go into that exact room."

It was half of the truth, but all she could admit without drawing out more questions. Melior fell back on her pillows, letting her breath whoosh out.

Nathaniel lifted a hand as if he wanted to touch her face, but then pulled it back, closing his fingers into a fist before placing it on the bed. "After tonight, I am quite certain you are right."

Reaching up, Melior swiped away the hair that tickled her nose. "What did you find out?"

"Not much, but I saw plenty. While Lord Caraway did give quite a bit of attention to Lady Jane, he was most often with Lady Edith, or more accurately, she was most often with him. And tonight I recalled passing said lady when I left the ballroom the night of the Durhams' ball."

"I cannot believe it. Why would Edith do such a thing? She was my dearest friend and closest confidante."

"I do not know, but we have no firm proof yet. Only that she was there and directed you to the cloakroom. As condemning as it looks, there might be a simple explanation. Where were you going when she directed you to that room?"

Melior gripped the blanket. Perhaps a little untruth would not hurt. "I was looking for Lord Caraway. We were supposed to meet."

There. It was close enough to the truth without confessing her guilt. She truly had been trying to give him the opportunity to propose, but she could see now that providing the setting was simply trapping him in a position where he would have to offer or be seen as a rake.

Nathaniel was silent. She waited.

"Did you have an understanding with him?" he asked softly.

Was that hurt radiating in his voice? She mentally berated herself for her stupidity. No matter what direction she turned she was going to cause damage. "Not exactly."

"But you had wished to?"

His pain was so palpable she wanted to cry. She had wanted that understanding, but that was then and this was now. Carefully she reached out and found his cheek, roughened by a day's worth of stubble.

"I did, but not now."

Nathaniel's face trembled as he sucked in a breath. She rubbed her thumb back and forth hoping he could feel her sincerity even if he could not see it.

It was the reason she so dreaded letting him know how deceitful she'd been. What had started as an unequal and seemingly unwelcome union was now everything she ever wanted. He had become more than simply a husband and provider; he'd become her friend. Perhaps the only one she had.

That was not fair. Javenia had stepped in when Agatha and Edith had deserted her. She was not completely friendless.

Nathaniel's hand settled over hers. "Melior," he whispered.

"Yes," she said in equally hushed tones, feeling the tension about them.

"Your stomach is rumbling."

She laughed.

"When was the last time you ate?" he asked.

She pondered his question. "Not since we ordered tea this afternoon."

"That was hours ago. Want to sneak down to the kitchens?"

"How romantic." She giggled.

"About as romantic as your loud stomach."