Nell finished putting on her heavy bonnet and oilskin coat, her heavy leather gloves. Holding Beckett’s arm for stability, they dashed together in the pelting rain into the carriage. They sat in the enclosed air, humid and cloying, despite the chill. Nell shivered. The rain was torrid enough that even in those few moments of a dash, her slippers and her hem were soaked through, weighing her down and causing her toes to numb. She had forgotten to put back on her pattens.
Beckett thumped on the wall to signal the coachman to move, and the conveyance swayed and lurched into motion. But instead of speaking, they sat in silence. Nell couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
“I have questions,” he said, at last.
“As do I,” she said. But the questions were not the same as his. The questions she harbored were about his emotions, his intentions, his world. She did not doubt what his were for her. The kind that left her exposed and vulnerable, flayed open for scrutiny.
But it was not long until the coach pulled up in front of her home. Nell couldn’t bear to go through this awkwardness a second time. And there was no way she would sleep unless they finished this conversation once and for all.
“You may come in, if you wish, to discuss this. Your coachman may tend to the horses and take a cup of tea in the kitchen with Jacobs, if he so desires.”
“Thank you,” Beckett said, and while Nell hurried into her home, informing Jacobs and Sabine of their company, Beckett told his manservant the same.
“Oh, but I’ve built up the fire in your room,” Sabine said. “The sitting room is like sitting in a block of ice!”
“Then we will have our conversation in my room,” Nell said, which was only sensible.
But Sabine gasped and Jacobs scoffed. “That’s not seemly!”
Yet, while peeling off the soaked garments, and even the wet oilskin coat that did not slick as well as it should have, being next to a warm fire was all she could think about. “We’ll catch our deaths otherwise, Sabine. Please prepare a pot of tea and two sherry glasses.”
Beckett ran in then, soaked even worse than she, for he had not donned an oilskin coat. His pressed white shirt stuck to his chest beneath his waistcoat, and his trousers clung to his thighs.
“The floors,” moaned Sabine quietly, and when Nell looked, indeed, the threadbare rug and wooden floors were caked in dark mud from Beckett’s shoes.
Beckett looked down and saw the mud. “My apologies, madam.”
Nell could not help but stare at Beckett. His formal clothing had become as indecent as a nightshirt.
He removed his hat, tipping water from its brim as he did so. They all watched as it pooled on the floor, making a further mess. “Terribly sorry.”
“If I may lend you something to wear, my lord,” Jacobs said, stepping forward and giving Nell a look that was perhaps a glare, and perhaps something else that she had not figured out how toread. It was not the first time this man had need of a wardrobe at her abode. Spilling tea seemed so long ago.
“If you would be so kind, Jacobs. Thank you,” Beckett said, holding his position, as if he were trying to will no more droplets to fall from his clothing. But he did not control gravity, and fall they did.
“You remembered his name,” Nell said as Jacobs disappeared down the passage.
“I may be a slow student, but I am teachable,” Beckett said.
“Madam,” Sabine said, stepping forward, her eyes on Beckett. “Madam, can we get you upstairs and changed by the fire? I’m afraid you’ll catch your death.”
“Please,” Beckett said. “Jacobs will take care of me.”
Nell accepted his graciousness and went upstairs with Sabine. Now that she was no longer occupied with the sight of Beckett, she found she was rather uncomfortable. Her clothes were heavy, soaked as they were, and her teeth chattered. Before she opened the door to her room, Nell felt her entire body go slick with bone-deep cold. Sabine ushered her in, and the fire was a siren song, beckoning her towards safety and comfort.
She closed her eyes and warmed herself as Sabine gently stripped her of her sodden stockings, unhooked her gown and let drop the weight to her feet. Nell stepped out of the pile of fabric, letting the disappointment of an expensive gown ruined prick her only once. There were many disappointments in life. She would deal with those after she dealt with Lord Beckett. That was the next task, and she dared not muddle her mind with other possibilities.
Sabine brought her a warm dressing gown—she must have tucked it in next to an ember-filled bed warmer, for the fabric slid like warm water along Nell’s arms. Then Sabine unpinned Nell’s damp hair—wet despite her wool bonnet’s protection. Shefinger-combed out the tresses, while allowing the small braids to fall where they may.
“I’ll bring up a tray. Would you like me to stay in the room?” Sabine asked, rubbing warmth into Nell’s still-frozen hands.
“A chaperone?” Nell asked, amused that she could be north of thirty and need one.
“If you like. Or Jacobs standing by,” Sabine said and Nell understood what Sabine was trying to tell her. She was safe. She was protected. She need not do anything she did not want to do. Despite the difference in their classes, Sabine and Jacobs would happily boot an earl out on his ear if he said or did anything amiss.
Nell felt her heart swell. “Thank you, but I think I shall be fine. I don’t believe that Lord Beckett is the type.”
Sabine’s features darkened. “None of them seem the type. That’s how they do it.”
