Chapter 18

CHAPTER18

Sitting back in the wicker peacock chair with a thick woolen blanket wrapped around her, to stave off the chill of night, Nancy was struck by an odd feeling. She was far from home, married to a gentleman she had not wanted to marry, in a huge manor that should have felt daunting, but she felt… content. She could not explain it.

It is the sandwiches and cakes, surely.

She tucked her chin into the top of the blanket. Mrs. Holloway and one of the maids had brought a hearty feast to the courtyard, and with the Dowager Duchess’s encouragement, Nancy had eaten a veritable mountain of delicacies, washed down with endless cups of tea. A perfect dinner, in her opinion.

“I am as stuffed as a Yuletide goose,” Adam declared, smiling and patting his stomach, which could not have been flatter if it tried.

The Dowager Duchess flinched, her eyes blinking slowly as if she had been dozing. “Hmm?”

“I said I am quite full,” Adam repeated softly, rising from his chair. “Shall I take you to your chambers, Mother? You look weary.”

The Dowager Duchess snorted. “I always look weary. I have not been well-rested since before your birth, my boy.” She glanced at Nancy, frowning. A moment later, the frown became a flicker of recognition that grew into remembrance. “Have you eaten enough, dear girl? I apologize for falling asleep. You must think me a terrible bore, or terribly uncouth, for slumbering in company.”

“Not at all,” Nancy replied. “My own mother is fond of napping and cannot stay awake during summer afternoons no matter how hard she tries. Once, we visited the botanical gardens, and she fell asleep on a bench in the butterfly house. She was utterly mortified, but I have always thought that one must sleep when one is tired, regardless of the place.”

The Dowager Duchess seemed pleased by the reply. “You are a sweet girl, Nancy. Sweeter than my dear boy deserves, but precisely what he needs.” She put her hand out to Adam. “I think I shall retire now, after all. Might you send for Mrs. Holloway? I will not trouble you to take me to my chambers when your lovely wife is here.”

“I do not mind,” Adam said.

The Dowager Duchess smacked his hand lightly. “What an unkind thing to say! Of course, you must mind.”

“What I meant was, I can take you to your chambers and return to my lovely wife. I am stronger than Mrs. Holloway, and if you should fall on the stairs, I would never forgive myself,” Adam urged.

My lovely wife…

Nancy’s heart fluttered, her chest warm as if she had sipped a mouthful of brandy.

Just then, the housekeeper appeared, making Nancy wonder if she had been hiding somewhere nearby all along. Nancy’s father had once said that the test of a good servant was how well they could anticipate one’s needs, and though Nancy did not like to think of what needs her father might have been referring to, Mrs. Holloway was clearly a dedicated cornerstone of the household.

“I am here, Your Grace,” Mrs. Holloway said, taking hold of the Dowager Duchess’s arm.

The Dowager Duchess smiled. “What would I do without you, Bess?”

“Oh, I am certain you would manage,” the housekeeper quipped, smiling back.

There was a sweet fondness between the two older women that warmed Nancy’s heart, for there seemed to be a friendship there, likely forged over decades. Perhaps it was inevitable that two women who had been in one another’s lives for so long would become friends, even if they had begun as mistress and servant.

I wish Mama had someone like that.

Fanny had only recently started to try and rekindle old friendships that Nicholas had ruined. According to her, it had not been easy to try and persuade her friends to take her back after years and years of silence.

“Don’t you worry, Your Grace,” Mrs. Holloway told Adam. “You enjoy the evening before autumn comes and it gets too cold to sit outside.”

Adam pressed his lips together in disapproval, but the two older women were already making their way through the nearest door, heading back into the manor and leaving the young newlyweds to enjoy each other’s company… or sit in awkward silence, whichever came first.

“How long has she been unwell?” Nancy asked once the ladies had gone. She figured she would get ahead of any uncomfortable silence.

Adam returned to his chair, gazing out across the courtyard to where it opened out into a shadowed garden. Lavender drifted on the breeze. The torchlight reflected in his eyes, making it seem as if they were burning.

“Adam?” Nancy prompted.

“Since my father died. A slow, wasting sickness.”

“When did he die?”

“Ten years ago, next week,” he replied. “He died on her birthday.”

Nancy nodded slowly. “Was that a gift of sorts?”

She had made certain assumptions from the Dowager Duchess’s limited words—primarily one word: brute—about the man in question, and Adam’s cold grimace only confirmed them.

“It should have been,” Adam replied, “but he left her with this parting sickness that has plagued her for a decade. Physicians of every kind have come to investigate her malady, yet none have been able to give a diagnosis. It is a mystery illness that takes more of her every year, so one can only assume it is a curse.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow. “You do not believe in such things, do you?”

“Not really.” He smiled. “I believe she has an ailment that has not yet been discovered, but it is far more dramatic to call it a curse. Indeed, it rather paints my father in the light I would prefer him to be painted in.”

“You did not have a good relationship?”

Adam laughed tightly. “No, I would not call it good.”

“Might I ask why not?”

Adam turned his head to meet her curious gaze. “You can ask, but you will not receive an answer. It is not something I discuss, for speaking of it is a thief of joy, and it has been my solemn vow to seek joy in everything.” He got up, offering her his hand. “Dance with me instead.”

“I cannot dance with you,” Nancy replied, staring at his proffered hand, thoroughly tempted. “There is no music, there is no one to call the dance.”

Adam tutted. “The trouble with you, darling Nancy, is that you lack imagination. I thought I saw a glimpse of it in the ballroom earlier, but I must have been mistaken.”

“I have ample imagination!” she protested, for it was the one thing she had in abundance.

Indeed, it was her vivid imagination that had made her believe she could find the gentleman of her dreams and live happily ever after in a romance that never ended. He was the one who had limited her imagination.

“Then dance with me,” Adam repeated, wiggling his fingers. “Let me show you how to waltz, the way I learned it in Vienna.”

Nancy’s eyes widened. “You have been to Vienna?”

“I have been everywhere,” he replied, chuckling.

She smiled wryly. “Indeed, they do say that about you.”

“Her aim is true.” Adam clasped a hand to his chest, wincing. “She never misses. A hit. Another palpable hit!”

She batted him lightly on the arm. “You are being silly again.”

“One must be silly. It is required in life, for when one takes oneself too seriously, one becomes an utter bore. Now, will you waltz, or will you not?”

She swallowed thickly and, with a breath, took his hand. “I shall… attempt to waltz.”

His skin was rough against the softness of hers, for she had quite forgotten to put her gloves back on after removing them to eat her sandwiches. And though she knew she should insist on putting them back on, she rather liked the warmth of his hand on hers and found she did not want to spoil the moment.

“You are not a gifted dancer? I find that surprising, for you have the figure and form of a prima ballerina, and you move with such grace.”

She blinked. “And I am surprised that you have made such an observation of my… figure and form. You should not have done.”

“I cannot help it.” He grinned and, without so much as asking for permission, scooped her up into his arms.

She yelped, pummeling her fists against his shoulder, kicking out her legs in protest while her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Put me down at once!” she cried. “This is most unseemly! My skirts are… where they should not be!”

“Who is here to see?” he replied, carrying her to the ballroom, beaming through every feeble blow she landed. “And if your husband does not faint at the sight of an ankle, you should not worry.”

Nancy did not know whether to laugh, punch him, or enjoy the sensation of being carried. Somehow, she managed to do all three as he carried her into that resplendent room and put her down in the center of it, where the mirrors reflected her unexpected mirth and her red cheeks and her wild hair, tossed by the breeze and the hours of traveling that she had not yet had the opportunity to shake off.

“You are exceedingly naughty,” she chided as he finally put her down.

He grinned. “Of course, and you would not be laughing like that if I was prim and proper.”

“I am not laughing. I am wheezing. You squeezed me too hard.”

He closed the gap between them while she was in the midst of catching her breath, and slipped his arm around her, taking hold of her hand, interlacing their fingers. She stood frozen, any hope of breath abandoned. Her heart thundered in her chest as her eyes met his.

“Put your hand here,” he instructed in a deep, sultry voice that bewitched her as he tapped the side of his ribcage.

She was certain she would have walked off the edge of a cliff if he had asked her to in that exact same voice.

Her hand rested hesitantly on the spot, feeling the indents of his ribs and the way the muscles flexed and loosened as he breathed.

“Very good,” he said, then placed his hand on the curve of her waist. Her breath hitched at the intimate touch, and in the mirrors that surrounded them, she saw her nerves reflected. “Now, we raise our arms like this,” he continued, their arms forming a circle of sorts, their hands joined above their heads. “I shall teach you the steps another time. For now, stand on my feet.”

She gulped. “Pardon?”

“Stand on my feet. I shall guide you.”

Gingerly, she obeyed, stepping up on his boots, hoping she would not crush his toes with her weight. But she had little time to fret about such things, as he suddenly pulled her closer, her bosom pressed flush to his chest, his arm tight around her waist. And as he gazed down at her with mischief in his eyes, their faces were so close that one tilt of his head would have brought his lips to hers.

“Hold tight,” he told her as he began to move, turning in slow circles around the room.

Fearful that she might topple over, despite his powerful arm around her waist, she did as she was told, gripping a fistful of his shirt as if her life depended on it. All the while, he moved in those slow, steady circles, sweeping her around the ballroom with the ease and grace of one of her fairytale heroes.

Gradually, the fear disappeared, replaced with the thrill of whirling and twirling around the magnificent ballroom. Nancy threw her head back, laughing and yelping every time he moved too quickly or caught her off balance while she watched them together in the mirrors. The reflection did not seem real. It was as if she was watching performers in a theatrical, marveling at the beauty of them, wishing she were inside the mirrors, partaking.

Soon enough, giddy and overwhelmed by the thrill of it all, she decided to step off his feet and dance for herself. The steps themselves were simple enough, and she was a quick study.

“Forgive me,” she mumbled as she floundered through the first couple of steps, trying to make her feet do what she had seen his feet do in the mirrors.

“Take your time,” he whispered, slowing the rotations so she could catch up.

A moment later, she had it, the movements slotting into place in her mind and body as she moved with him, safe in his arms. She peered up into his eyes, the mirrors and their reflections fading into nothing as she concentrated on him and only him. She did not even need to glance down at her feet; they were doing what they were supposed to. She could feel it, letting herself become one with the dance.

Magic seemed to thrum through the magnificent ballroom as they danced together, unspeakably close, twirling around through pools of light and dark. Only a few lanterns had been lit in the side sconces, while only one chandelier cast down any light to see by, half-filled with candles. And as they had lost the sunset’s glow that had previously streamed in through the far windows, it transformed the ballroom into a strange and beautiful underworld, where Adam and Nancy pulsed in and out of the light, as if glimpsed through hedgerows or cracks between worlds.

“Are you not glad that you danced?” Adam asked as he suddenly stopped and twirled her.

She spun back to face him, breathless and exhilarated. “I am, though that still does not mean a waltz has any place in society.”

“Who said I want to see it in society?” he purred. “Here is far more delightful. Alone. Just the two of us.”

He pulled her to him once more, though he did not try to raise their arms in the circle from before. Instead, he held her hand against his chest, while his other arm wrapped around her waist again. She waited for him to move, believing it was some unknown part of the dance—a second movement, perhaps—but he did not. He just held her, his gaze flitting down to her parted lips.

“Why must you be so beautiful?” he asked thickly. “Who sent you to torment me, hmm?”

Nancy’s confusion transformed into alarm. “What do you mean? In what way am I tormenting you?”

“I cannot say, for if I do, you shall hate me for it,” he replied, grazing his teeth over his lower lip. “I should… take you to the bedchamber.”

Panic seized Nancy’s heart in a vice-like grip, though she could not ignore the small tremor of intrigue that vibrated beneath the fear. “I told you, that is not permitted. There is to be no… bedchamber tomfoolery.”

“Your bedchamber, you silly goose,” he said softly, almost regretfully. “I must take you to your bedchamber before I do something that you shall undoubtedly punch me for, and I cannot risk my nose breaking this time.”

She relaxed and found the faintest echo of regret in her own heart. “Are you saying we should not dance again?”

“Not tonight,” he replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “There is too much magic in the air tonight.”

Her eyes widened. “Magic? You… felt it too?”

“Youfelt something?” His arm pressed her closer to him, his hand cradling her cheek. “Now, that isinteresting. Perhaps we could continue to dance if something has been stirred with—”

“I meant the ballroom,” she blurted out, suddenly embarrassed by whatever she had been feeling. Indeed, she wished she had kept her mouth shut, not indulging in whatever games he was playing with her. “The magic of the ballroom. It was like I could feel the history and all the dancing that had come before. That is what I was referring to.”

He smiled. “I see.”

“I am telling the truth!”

His smile widened. “I never said I doubted you.”

“No, but you are staring at me with that of course expression. All haughty and superior and amused with yourself,” she huffed, her cheeks on fire. He must have been able to feel the heat of them. “Indeed, one might ask what magic you were referring to.”

He shook his head and took hold of her hand, lifting it to his lips. “I dare not speak of that either.”

“For fear of being punched?” she scoffed, struggling to keep up the appearance of a woman who had control of her emotions.

He sighed. “No, dearest wife. For fear of something far more concerning.”

“What do you mean?” Her heart pounded wildly, the little hairs on the back of her neck standing up as if a storm was coming.

“I cannot say, for you will surely hate me for it,” he repeated, then kissed her hand softly, his lips caressing her bare skin. “Come, let us retire before your curiosity gets the better of you.”

But it was much too late for that. Her curiosity, like a sickness, was already sweeping through her, refusing to be ignored.

“What magic did he feel?” the foolish, girlish, romantic part of her mind screamed, but he was already walking away, and she doubted she would receive an answer she could bear.

For there was nothing he could say to her, no promise he could make or confession he could declare, that she could ever trust.