The night brought no peace.
Nathaniel lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the day. The look on Fairfax’s face when he saw Miss Collard. The way Miss Collard had said “it would not be unwelcome”—speaking of marriage to another man, a life that did not include Nathaniel at all.
He should be happy for her. If Fairfax made an offer, if Miss Collard accepted, she would be secure and comfortable for the rest of her life. She would have a home, children of her own, a recognised place in the world.
She would have everything Nathaniel could not give her.
And he would have… what? An empty house. Three young charges who would one day grow up and leave him. The cold consolation of his title and his fortune.
He had never minded solitude before. He had cultivated it, even—retreating from society after Edward’s death, finding a certain grim order in his own company. But that had been before Miss Collard. Before she had entered his life and quietly shown him what he had been missing.
She had awakened something he had not known lay dormant. A longing for connection, for companionship, for the sort of partnership he had once observed between Edward and his wife. A wanting so acute it felt almost physical.
And he had no notion what to do with it.
The rules were clear enough. A marquess did not marry a governess. It was simply not done—not without scandal, not without consequence, not without risking everything he had been taught to protect. His title. His reputation. His family’s standing.
Yet lying there in the dark, with Miss Collard’s face sharp in his memory, Nathaniel found himself wondering whether any of it truly mattered.
What was a title worth if he was miserable? What use was society’s approval if it came at the cost of watching the woman he wanted give her life to another man?
Edward had faced a similar choice once. Edward had chosen love over propriety, had married beneath his station, and had borne the consequences without regret.
Could Nathaniel do the same?
He turned onto his side and stared at the wall, forcing himself to imagine it. Declaring himself. Asking for her hand. Enduring the inevitable scandal. He imagined her not in the governess’s quarters but at the heart of Greystone Hall, presiding over his household, bearing his children.
The image was so vivid it stole his breath.
And yet it terrified him.
For what if she refused? What if she met his declaration with gentle firmness and told him that his feelings were not returned? What if the connection he sensed between them existed only in his own lonely mind?
He could not bear to know.
Better to wonder. Better to preserve the fragile possibility—however unlikely—than to destroy it with a declaration that might be unwelcome.
Better, he thought bitterly, to be a coward than a rejected fool.
The night wore on.
And Nathaniel did not sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
The following days passed in a haze of carefully maintained normalcy.
Nathaniel forced himself to keep his distance from Miss Collard, to engage with her only when necessity required, to maintain the professional courtesy appropriate to their respective positions. It was exhausting—this constant vigilance, this unceasing suppression of feelings that refused to be suppressed—but it seemed the safest course.
He could not trust himself around her. Could not trust that he would not reveal too much, say something that would render the situation even more impossible than it already was.
So he retreated. Back to his study, his ledgers, his endless correspondence. Back to the solitude he had cultivated for two years—the walls he had built around his wounded heart.
But the walls were weaker now. Miss Collard had found the cracks, and the light she had let in refused to be extinguished.
He watched her from a distance, unable to stop himself. Watched her with the children in the garden, her laughter carried on the breeze. Watched her at meals, animated and engaged, coaxing even Samuel out of his shell. Watched her move through his household as though she belonged there, bringing warmth to rooms that had been cold for too long.
And he wanted her. Sweet mercy, he wanted her with an intensity that frightened him.
