“Tomorrow,” she said finally. “I will come.”
Relief flickered through him before he masked it.
“With my mother,” she added.
“As you wish.”
That seemed to settle something in her. A carriage passed at the edge of the square, wheels grinding softly against the stones. The world continued around them, as if they were utterly inconsequential, but Nathaniel saw the lady beside him as anything but.
“Tomorrow, then,” she said quietly.
“Tomorrow.”
Neither moved immediately. He became aware, abruptly, of how close they stood– close enough that he could see the faint crease between her brows when she thought too hard, close enough to notice the way her fingers tightened slightly against her pelisse.
He did not reach for her hand. He wanted to, but he did not. This time, when she turned to go, she did look back once before reaching the corner. Nathaniel remained where he stood long after she disappeared from view.
Tomorrow would place her within his walls, and for the first time since devising this arrangement, he felt the faint edge of uncertainty. It was not about her, but about himself. She had been to his home before, but that had been for a reason. He did not have one this time, only that he wished to see her.
The following evening, the carriage bearing Margaret and her mother drew to a halt before the wide steps just before six. He watched from the window in his study, then descended before the footman could announce them.
Margaret stepped down first. She wore one of the new gowns. Ivory, understated, and it suited her in a way that unsettled him. Everything that she did, he realized, was beginning to unsettle him.
Her mother followed, composed and observant as ever.
“Your Grace,” she said warmly, and he returned the greeting.
“Shall we?” he asked.
They entered together.
“Good evening, Miss Eliza,” the footman said, bowing too quickly and not looking their way. “What a pleasant–”
Nathaniel did not allow him to finish.
“That will be all,” he said evenly.
The footman faltered as he looked up to see that he was mistaken, and it was possibly the worst mistake that he could have made.
“Your Grace, I understood that Miss–”
“You understood incorrectly.”
The words were calm, but there was a reminder within it not to question him. The servant flushed.
“Forgive me, Your Grace.”
He retreated at once.
Silence followed. Margaret’s gaze had shifted to Nathaniel. He wondered what conclusion she had drawn, and simply hoped that it was not the right one.
“Miss Eliza?” she asked.
“Forgive me, my footman is new. He must have been confused.”
Lady Fairleigh adjusted her gloves lightly, though she said nothing. It was not her place to do so, but then it was not Margaret’s either.
“Of course,” Margaret nodded, though he could see the doubt in her eyes.
