I told myself I wasn’t hurting anyone else.
Anyone else. As in, anyone other than herself? Because doing what she’d done, with him, had been something Bess did knowingly that hurt her.
It tormented him.
The chestnut on the right shook his head restively, pace faltering for an instant, and Nathaniel deliberately relaxed his grip on the ribbons.
He could not afford a moment’s inattention. The light, open design of the curricle was intended for speed above all else—considerations like stability and safety had not been taken into account.
If they broke an axle or a horse went lame, or worst, if they overturned, it could be hours before anyone happened along to help them.
Even if Nathaniel knew what to say, he could not begin another conversation with Bess that might result in more of her tears.
Dangerous or not, he knew he would have to drop the reins or pull the curricle off the road to take her in his arms and stop the crying. He would not be able to stand it, and they didn’t have the time.
So they sat side by side in a tense silence that was filled with the echoes of everything they’d ever said to each other, and Nathaniel kept driving. And thinking about the question of what sort of future he and Bess could have together.
The charge she’d leveled at him, that he would endanger his “good name” for a tumble with a servant, choked him with a dense mix of anger, denial, and shame.
For wasn’t that exactly how he’d thought of his father’s liaison with Henrietta? And didn’t Nathaniel blame the decline of his family’s standing on that?
Somehow, the thought rang hollow to him now. Was it really his family name—his father’s name—that mattered?
They crossed the Maidenhead bridge in the sullen gray light of dawn, horses blowing hard and lathered with sweat. Nathaniel’s shoulders burned, his back a solid wall of tension, as he steered the curricle into the courtyard of The Bear.
An ostler ran to hold the horses’ heads, potboys already beginning to unbuckle the harnesses while Nathaniel jumped down and rounded the carriage to help Bess.
He reached up for her, but she didn’t move, only stared down at his outstretched hand with a blank expression. Nathaniel’s heart was a lead weight against his ribs.
“Come rest, Bess. Please. It will take a few minutes to change the horses and purchase a hamper of food. You should stretch your legs.”
“I’m fine,” she dismissed him. “I don’t need a break. Let us keep going as soon as may be.”
“Bess. I know you’ve decided our affair is over.” Not that he agreed, but this was neither the time nor the place to launch his campaign of re-seduction. “But we are here together now, and you will let me help you. You have hardly slept. You haven’t eaten in hours. You will do Lucy no good by driving yourself to a collapse.”
“I’m not doing Lucy any good, no matter what I do,” she pointed out, lips white and pinched. “But the faster we find her, the better.”
“The Bear is reputed to have some of the best pork pies in the county,” he tried. “Won’t you help me choose a couple, and some other things to put in a hamper, to sustain us while we search? I’m famished.”
She bit her lip, clearly torn. Nathaniel didn’t like to use her caretaking tendencies against her like this, but needs must. It would be worth it to get her down off the box, out of the wind and into the relative comfort of the inn for a few minutes. To let her use the necessary and splash some water on her face to wash away the travel dust. To unbend her spine before it shattered from stiffness.
“As long as we’re quick about it,” she allowed, and Nathaniel handed her down gladly. He was just grateful she was speaking to him again.
After a brief few minutes inside the inn, Nathaniel gently bullied Bess into taking a turn about the courtyard to get her blood flowing, then handed her back up into the curricle. While she was arranging herself, he accepted a heavy hamper from the innkeeper, a rotund little man with a bow-legged stance and a wide smile.
“Here you are, Yer Grace, and all the best of everything from the supper my missus made last night, with our compliments, and best wishes, and hoping very much that you and your lady wife enjoy the food!”
Your lady wife. The words ran through Nathaniel like electricity.
The innkeeper thought Nathaniel and Bess were married. Of course he did. It would be the height of impropriety for an unmarried gentleman and lady to be traveling together, even in an open carriage. They would do better to keep up the pretense than they would to disabuse this man of his assumption.
Bess had averted her face, pretending to fuss with her skirts, but Nathaniel could see the pink shell of one ear.
“My wife and I thank you, good sir,” Nathaniel heard himself saying, as if from a distance. Shaking himself, he tipped the innkeeper liberally and vaulted into the driver’s seat.
Taking the reins from the potboy, Nathaniel got them back on the road. The whole stop hadn’t been more than half an hour, but there was a bit of color back in Bess’s cheeks. When she bent to rifle through the contents of the hamper at their feet, Nathaniel watched with one eye and a great deal of satisfaction.
Bess was more critical of the food than Nathaniel had expected, her usual kindness slightly eclipsed by her scandalized dismay at the toughness of the pork pie’s hot water pastry crust. Picking through the hamper with a jaundiced eye, Bess set aside the pies and instead offered Nathaniel a packet of bacon sandwiches.
