Page 59 of Two Blessings For His Duchess
“We shall see what the physician says,” Nathaniel replied. “For now, you must rest.”
He stood up from the edge of the mattress, smoothing down his shirt, and turned to make his way toward the door.
“Nathaniel?” she called out to him.
He paused, turning back to look at her with his hand resting on the doorframe.
Euphemia swallowed, gathering her courage before the lingering distance between them could settle back into the room. “I know that recently... we have not been speaking much. It has felt as though a little bit of distance has grown between us, and I do not want that. I truly believed we were becoming very good friends.” She offered him a tentative smile. “I had hoped we would be at the stage of our friendship where we might sit and discuss our favorite books, or simply find pleasure in each other’s company. I just want to know... are we all right? Is everything fine between us?”
Nathaniel stood entirely still for a long moment. He let his hand drop from the doorframe and took a step back into the room.
“I am sorry, Euphemia,” he said. “I must admit that work has been incredibly overwhelming of late. I have drowned myself in it entirely because there is a great deal I wish to achieve right now, and this happens to be the perfect window for it. My duties have taken up most of my time, but you are entirely right. I can make time, and I have simply failed to do so.” He paused,looking at her with a warmth that felt entirely real. “I am sorry. When you are feeling a little better, perhaps I could take you through the library and show you my favorite volumes.”
A soft smile broke across her face. “I should like that above all things.”
“Rest now,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on her for a second longer. “I shall check in on you again later this evening.”
With a final nod, he slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Euphemia sank back into her pillows, a peaceful warmth settling over her. The fears that had driven her to a collapse felt distant now, entirely resolved by their conversation.
She closed her eyes, letting a deep, healing sleep pull her under, feeling better than she had in weeks as she harbored the desperate hope that this new understanding between them would truly last this time.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“May I present my wife, the Duchess,” Nathaniel said.
He was speaking to a Viscount and Viscountess whose names Euphemia had heard a mere three seconds ago and had already entirely lost to the white noise roaring in her ears. She forced the requisite, perfectly practiced smile to her lips, tilting her head at the precise angle expected of a woman of her station, while her mind spun in a frantic, unhelpful circle.
Concentrate, Effie. You have to stop doing this. Concentrate.
The hand on her waist was the entire problem.
They had arrived at Emily’s evening gathering nearly thirty minutes ago, and from the exact moment their carriage had emptied them onto the steps, Nathaniel’s palm had found the curve of her hip. It had not left. It was there as they navigated the crowded vestibule, it was there as they exchanged pleasantrieswith a trio of elderly barons, and it was there now, warm and devastatingly heavy through the silk of her gown.
The setting only served to heighten her sensory overload. Emly had apparently chosen to host the affair within her estate’s newly constructed iron-and-glass conservatory, a massive indoor pavilion that felt entirely outdoor. Overhead, the glass dome revealed the night sky peppered with early summer stars, while hundreds of white wax candles flickered from hanging brass chandeliers. The air inside was perfumed by the scent of blooming orange blossoms, night-flowering jasmine, and damp earth from the manicured perimeter beds. It felt too romantic for just a small… evening gathering.
She was trying, with every ounce of her upbringing, to be entirely normal. She was supposed to be present in the moment, a gracious guest at a glittering affair, but her focus was utterly shattered by the perplexing proximity of him. All she could worry about, all that had bothered her for the last half-hour, was the maddening ambiguity of where they stood.
The question she could not stop turning over… the one that had displaced the weather and the flowers and Lord Ashford’s extensive opinions about road conditions … was simply if they were back.
Were they back to what they had been before the distance, before the weeks of avoidance and corridor nods and dinners eaten at different hours? Were they back to the ball, the first ball, when he had looked at her on the dance floor and she hadfelt something shift and had spent the entire carriage ride home telling herself it was the punch?
He was acting as if they were the closest of companions. He steered her through the sea of people, with an attention that bordered on possessive, introducing her to every passing peer as his wife. Not only as duchess. His wife. Every few minutes, he would lean down slightly, his shoulder brushing hers, to murmur a wry observation about someone’s overly ambitious headpiece or an exceptionally dull conversation they had just escaped, leaning into that humor that always managed to steady her.
Yet, beneath her serene expression, Euphemia was in a state of absolute panic. She wanted to look at him, to read the green of his eyes and demand to know if the ice had truly melted, or if he was simply executing his duties as perfectly as Eleanor once had. But his fingers remained resting firmly against her waist, a weight that kept her trapped in a beautiful, agonizing bewilderment.
The Viscount and Viscountess eventually offered their final nods and melted back into the crowd, leaving the two of them standing beneath the shadow of a towering palm.
Nathaniel did not immediately release her waist. Instead, he leaned down, the heat of his breath brushing the sensitive skin just below her ear as he closed the distance between them.
“If that man corners me for another five minutes,” he murmured. “I will be forced to discuss the widening of thesouthern parish road for the entirety of the evening. I would rather endure another sermon on... chair fabrics.”
The sheer, unexpected proximity of him, the warmth of his chest pressing against her shoulder and the casual intimacy of his tone—made Euphemia catch her breath. She gave a small, involuntary gasp, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs as she looked up at him.
Nathaniel caught the sound. He pulled back just enough to look down into her eyes, his gaze holding hers before that rare, gentle smile tugged at his lips.
“You look as though you need a distraction,” he said softly. “Would you like something to drink?”
