He wouldn’t have been surprised by almost any answer she gave, by the news that her husband had been a country squire or a rector or even a soldier. Instead, she managed to shock him in a different way.
“Don’t you think you might call me Bess, instead of Mrs. Pickford?” Her voice was light, but strained at the edges. “Since I am a member of your household, as we have established.”
It pains her to speak of him, Nathaniel realized with a pang he did not like. Maybe it even hurt her to be called by his name, the name she’d taken when she married him—this decent, kind man. Because surely this woman would not settle for anything less.
A decent, kind, dead man whom Nathaniel hated.
“It wouldn’t be proper,” he told her with some reluctance. “Your married name is a title of respect.”
“I’ve never understood that. Why are landladies in pubs and even unmarried housekeepers in great houses called Missus So-and-So? She does the same job either way, no matter what name she goes by! Unmarried women deserve the same respect as those who’ve taken a husband. Perhaps more, for they must make their own way in a world that sees them as less.”
“So you’ve read Wollstonecraft as well as Keats.”
She huffed. “Come, it’s far more surprising that you have any familiarity with Mrs. Wollstonecraft’s work than that I do.”
Nathaniel inclined his head in acknowledgement, thoroughly enjoying the chance to speak with someone who loved books and reading as much as he always had. His father had despaired of Nathaniel’s bookishness; he would’ve much preferred a son who played with toy soldiers and clamored to learn to ride and shoot.
“I hear what you’re saying, and it’s an idea with some merit,” he allowed. “A radical idea, mind you, but not without merit. I don’t know that I can call you Bess, however.”
Her lips twisted. “Too common.”
His hands flexed, knuckles throbbing under the tight gloves. “Too familiar. When I have already treated you far too familiarly.”
Let me keep some distance, he wanted to beg.
Her eyes gleamed in the dim light. He thought she looked sympathetic, as though she’d heard his silent plea yet could not relent. “I would prefer familiarity to a sham of respect.”
“It’s not a sham. I do respect you,” he protested, then grimaced. “I should not have shouted at you earlier, when you came to my study. I…apologize.”
Her twinkling smile was easily visible across the carriage, bright and full of laughter. It lifted his heart to see it, so much that he didn’t even mind that she was clearly laughing at him.
“Ouch, did that hurt? You seem a man unaccustomed to apologizing, and how many is that now, in a single evening? I shouldn’t like you to strain yourself.”
“I’ll survive,” he said drily.
“Just as you’ll survive calling me Bess!” She smiled at him again, that sunshine smile. Nathaniel was still blinking the dazzle from his eyes when he realized how neatly she’d maneuvered him.
“Fine. Bess.”
She went quiet and pleased. Nathaniel liked it.
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of Ashbourn House, and a footman opened the door and let down the step to help Bess alight. A murmured word from Nathaniel sent the footman inside to fetch Lucy’s lady’s maid, who appeared, yawning, to help her mistress up to bed.
Mrs. Pickford—Bess—made to follow them, and before he could convince himself it was a terrible idea, he’d said, “Would you care to join me for a nightcap in the drawing room?”
What was he doing? Nathaniel cursed himself for a fool, but when Bess smiled up at him and agreed, he couldn’t regret it.
The drawing room candles seemed glaring after the darkness of the carriage. Nathaniel both feared and hoped the odd, fragile intimacy that had sprung up between them would dissipate as he busied himself pouring brandy into two cut crystal glasses.
Settling herself on a rose damask loveseat, Bess accepted the brandy with a nod of thanks. “It was very kind of you to share your experience of bullies with Lucy.”
Knocked off balance, Nathaniel felt the edges of the fine crystal bite into his too-tight grasp. “Don’t cast me as some sort of downtrodden victim. My childhood was extremely privileged. I had all that I required and no cause for complaint.”
“Goodness.” She raised her brows over the rim of her glass as she took a sip. “If that is the best you can say about it, it must have been awful.”
“Not at all,” he replied stiffly. For a moment, he wished he was the sort of man who could respond to her gentle teasing with humor and flirtation. With a light touch.
But nature had gifted him with heavy fists instead.
