“Are you perfectly sure you’re well enough to travel?” Nathanial said—again—at breakfast. In Theo’s two weeks’ recovery, he had been nothing but a dedicated husband. He read to her, played piquet and chess and whist, and cancelled an obscene number of social engagements so he could be at her side. Thetonmarvelled at his devotion.
Theo knew it was because he suspected her of being in danger. Although they had not spoken about it since that first night, the very fact he remained in her room, even going so far as to sleep beside her on the bed while she tossed and turned, proved beyond doubt that he feared another attempt on her life.
Still, she liked this new Nathanial. She liked the sensation of waking up in the morning and hearing his soft, regular breathing and feeling his overpowering warmth.Howhe contrived to be so warm, she did not know, but she did not mind.
What she did not like was his endlessfussing.
“Yes,” she said calmly, sipping at her tea. “More than well enough.”
He touched a curl that framed her face. “I doubt that.”
“Why?”
“Because you are still too pale.”
Theo frowned. She had thought, when she’d looked at her reflection that morning, that she had looked better. Almost entirely well, in fact. Perhaps her cheeks were a little more hollowed than usual, her eyes a little too large in her face, but she was already putting on weight again.
“Never fear,” he said, leaning past her and flicking her nose as he reached for the jam. “You are still exceedingly pretty.”
Her blush sent any accusations of being too pale to the grave. His lip quivered as though he was trying to hold himself backfrom laughing, and when she fumbled an answer—really, why had her wits left herthen?—he chuckled.
“We should be ready to leave in an hour. Do you think you can manage that?”
Theo gave him her best withering look. “Of the two of us,Iam not the one likely to delay our journey.”
As it transpired, she was correct: Nathanial got distracted by going over some last-minute documents in his study, and when they at last set off, they were around half an hour late.
The journey took around six hours. Theo did her best to read a book, make idle conversation, or observe the scenery, but somehow, the mere act of travelling sapped her energy; she spent the last two hours asleep against Nathanial’s shoulder. He woke her gently, and she wiped her mouth, dismayed to find she had drooled all over his coat.
If she had ever harboured any hope of romance, it was long gone.
He rolled his shoulder before flashing her a smile and handing her out of the carriage to greet their hosts.
Lord Stapleton was a florid man in his forties, with a rounded stomach and expression of perpetual joviality. His wife, in contrast, was a thin husk of a woman draped in shawls and a scowl. They vied over one another to see who could greet their guests first, without seeming to acknowledge each other at all.
Dinner had already been served, so Nathanial and Theo ate alone before joining the other guests in the drawing room. With the Season coming to an end, a shooting party was a welcome reprieve, and the room was full.
To Theo’s dismay, Tabitha appeared from nowhere and made a beeline for her. “Duchess!” she said, taking Theo’s arm possessively and forcing Nathanial to let go. “I’m so glad you could make it. Was not the journey horrid?”
Theo glanced at Nathanial and bit her lip at his smile. “Terrible,” she agreed.
“But now you are here! Things have been so dull in Town now. So many left for the country.” She gave Theo a sly look. “Sir Montague remains in London, however. And he has been paying meparticularattention.”
It took Theo a moment to find her voice, dismissing the malice in Tabitha’s words. If she was hoping for Sir Montague to offer her marriage, she would be very sorely disappointed. “Oh,” she said. Nathanial’s jaw ticked, although he was ostensibly in conversation with Lord Stapleton. “Then I suppose I am happy for you.”
“Oh, to be sure, I could do better thanhim, although heisknown to be your husband’s heir. Not, of course, that he’s likely to inherit.” Tabitha cast a meaningful glance at Theo’s stomach. Usually, six months into a marriage, a wife had something to show for it.
She imagined rumours were going wild, speculating whether she was barren. No one would ever consider the true nature of the arrangement she shared with Nathanial.
Suddenly, viciously, she wished he had never proposed it.
Before either of them could say any more, Nathanial rose and seated himself beside Theo with his customary careless grace. “Lady Tabitha,” he said. “You’re looking well.”
Tabitha snapped open her fan, which Theo now viewed as a lethal weapon. “Oh, you are too kind, sir. Did you notice I chose my yellow muslin today? I thought perhaps the colour washed me out, but you have quite convinced me to wear it again.”
Theo watched in amusement as Lady Tabitha, clearly unwilling to waste this opportunity (even if the Dukewasmarried), did her best to charm Nathanial. And Nathanial, with no intention of being charmed, rebuffed her advances with polite civility.
Eventually, Tabitha was called to a game of loo, and Nathanial stretched out comfortably beside her. Theo glanced about the room.
