Page 57 of Two Blessings For His Duchess
“Nothing, Nathaniel,” she murmured, her heart thumping against her ribs. “You truly do not have to worry over —”
“Do you require new gowns from London?” he continued, entirely unpersuaded. “A more comfortable carriage? Shall I commission a new pianoforte for the morning room, or perhaps procure rare botanicals for the conservatory if the gardens displease you? Is there a particular luxury you lack? Tell me, is that what you want?”
Without thinking, driven by a sudden wave of tenderness, Euphemia reached out and placed her hand over his.
His skin was warm, and he froze the exact moment her palm met his knuckles. She looked at him softly, her thumb brushing over his hand. “I know. I am sorry I worried you. I promise you I do not want any of those things. I have a lot already, Nathaniel. I have more than I ever thought I would ever have in my life, and I am fine. Truly. I was simply a little overwhelmed.” She offered him another reassuring smile, trying to ground them both. “I will be healthy. I will take this bed rest seriously.”
Nathaniel looked down at her hand resting on his, remaining silent for a long moment. When he finally looked up, his jaw was tight. “You scared me, Euphemia, and I do not like to be scared.”
“I am sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t apologize. Whatever you need, you must say it,” he insisted gently, his fingers turning slightly under hers. “If you are weary of this house, perhaps you would like to go home to the countryside for a short period? A visit to Lady Byron might make you feel better.”
“No, there is no need for that,” she said quickly. She immediately pulled her hand back, her posture stiffening under the sheets. “The countryside is quite damp this time of year, is it not? I believe the girls would miss me terribly if I were to leave for even a week. Tell me, did the physician say when I might be permitted to take my meals downstairs again? I should hate to be confined to this room for the entire weekend.”
Nathaniel watched her closely, his eyes tracking the sudden shift in her demeanor, but she kept her gaze fixed on the bedpost, determined to avoid the topic of Lady Byron and the unspoken secrets of her childhood that she was not yet ready to reveal to her husband.
Nathaniel watched her for a silent moment, his eyes lingering on the sudden tension in her shoulders before he finally conceded to her redirection.
“I am certain I am all right,” she murmured, leaning back against the pillows as she tried to project a calm she did not entirely feel. She took a slow breath, holding his gaze. “But I do have a question for you, Nathaniel. One that might make me feel a little better, if you would answer it honestly.”
His brow furrowed slightly, his posture. “What is it?”
“We have not truly spoken of our pasts,” she began softly, her fingers lightly pleating the sheet. “Our marriage was swift, and our wedding was swifter still. But we are here now, and I feel we are in a position where we should learn more about one another. About where we come from.” She paused, gathering her courage before stepping into the dangerous territory. “I want to ask you about the late Duchess. Your... previous wife. I cannot find a single portrait of her in the entire house. I attempted to question the housekeeper, but she did not seem to have any answer for me either. Even the girls have no memory of their mother.”
She leaned forward just a fraction, her eyes searching his face. “I know so very little about her, Nathaniel, and I wish tounderstand. Will you be willing to talk about her? What did your friend, His Grace, mean when he asked if you had told me about the late Duchess?”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop instantly. Nathaniel froze, the tenderness from moments before vanishing. He looked down at his hands as he contemplated if he wanted to even answer her at all.
When he finally spoke, his voice was so low it barely carried across the bedchamber. “Her name was Eleanor.” He did not look up. “Our marriage was not like this, Euphemia. It was a much colder arrangement, born of a union where she did not want me, and she never once pretended otherwise. It produced two daughters, and very little else.”
Euphemia shifted slightly against her pillows, the bleakness in his tone pulling at her chest. “You say it was not like... ours? Even though it was an arrangement too?”
“Yes,” Nathaniel replied. “When I was younger, every minute of my life was accounted for by my father. Everything. My education, my duties, and eventually, my marriage. Eleanor was the daughter of a Viscount, one of my father’s closest friends. She had been told from a very young age that she would marry the future Duke of Greymoor, and she had spent her entire life preparing to be the perfect Duchess. We married because it was expected. There was no affection between us.”
Euphemia watched his face. “Did you know her before the wedding?”
“We had met. At various functions over the years.” He paused. “We did not know each other.”
“But you married anyway.”
“We married because it was arranged. There was no love. Neither of us pretended otherwise. We understood what the marriage was and we proceeded accordingly.”
“Did you both... learn to love each other overtime then?” she asked and swallowed, unsure if she wanted to hear his answer. “I mean... how did it work out? You have two beautiful daughters. That must mean that during the honeymoon phase you must have... succeeded in...”
Nathaniel turned his head fully toward her. He did not answer immediately. He simply looked at her, his gaze moving over her face unhurriedly, and after a moment, something altered at the very corner of his mouth.
“Euphemia,” he said calmly, squinting his eyes. “Are you asking me whether we... managed to make... love?”
She held his gaze. Her cheeks were warm but she did not look away. “Yes,” she said. “I suppose I am.”
He was quiet for a moment. His eyes narrowed, just slightly, as if he was trying to establish exactly how much the person seated in front of him understood before he decided how to proceed.
“Have you...” he said carefully. “...determined yet what that means?”
She let out a small sigh. “Not quite,” she admitted.
Nathaniel lowered his head. His chest rose and fell with a breath that was slow, and he studied the coverlet for a moment as they sat in that silence.
