Page 20 of Unmasking the Silver Heiress
On the second day, as they stopped for luncheon and rest, Nell took the liberty of ordering baths for all four of them, so that they might feel a little more human for the final leg of their trip. She encouraged everyone to take their time and feel restored, as she did not fancy the prospect of arriving on Nathaniel's doorstep as bedraggled and unkempt as she'd been at the end of their last journey.
Despite the urge to fall back into her book, Nell committed to a nap after her bath, leaving her long mane of hair over the end of the cot, so that it might dry while she slept.
By the time she woke, it was already dark, and she reasoned that they might as well spend the night. The drivers in particular expressed great gratitude at this idea, and Nell took Sarah abovestairs to share one of the nicer rooms with a larger bed for the evening, rather than continuing to board in mixed company after dark.
"You seem to like your book as much as I like mine, ma'am," Sarah said happily as she combed through the tangle of Nell's curls before bed. "Might we trade once we've both finished? I've never had such time to read about England before, and I find it is giving me great pleasure."
"Does it?" Nell asked, pleased. "What have you learned?"
"Oh, a great many things, ma'am. Did you know that England used to be Italian?"
"Italian?" Nell asked, turning her head for a moment.
"Yes, ma'am. Kent in particular was part of Rome all through the old times. Even the great King Alfred, who I take was quite the effective bloke, couldn't take Kent for the Saxons. The book says the Roman influence is alive and well today. I wonder if they're all dark and Italian-looking there!"
"I doubt it," Nell said with a laugh. "Rome was basically the whole of Europe back then. They're likely just as English as you and me. You know, I am from Winchester, west of London. There, we are Saxon down to our bones. King Alfred is buried just a short walk from my parents' home."
"Perhaps you're finally taking Kent for the Saxons then, ma'am," Sarah giggled. "Else you're joining the enemy."
"I suppose we shall see," Nell replied with a little smile. "God willing, I'll do my forebears proud."
"Oh, I'm sure you will," Sarah said, wrapping off the end of Nell's braid. "So long as we don't turn into heathens by Christmas, I figure we've held strong."
"Ha," Nell said, climbing into the bed and snuggling down into the covers. "By the time you finishmybook, you'll wish you were a heathen all along."
"Splendid." Sarah yawned. "I'd make a right pretty heathen, ma'am. I look well in furs."
Nell fell asleep smiling, her mind spinning with a strange tapestry of thoughts that resulted in spectacular—if incoherent—dreams.
Chapter 11
Nathaniel was not a coward.
He didn't think he was a coward, anyhow. He hadn't run from anything since he was eleven years old, hiding in the stables to avoid his uncle's strap. Yet here he was, halfway across the nation, because a sweet little woman wanted to share his bed.
It was absurd. He was being absurd.
He had faced down far more harrowing confrontations than bedding a willing wife, and one who was more appealing by the day besides.
He couldn't rationalize what it was about her that was suddenly so vexing. Perhaps it was just the way between men and women, that if they spent enough time together, certain urges would emerge. That must be it. He had never had trouble resisting temptation before, when he'd been the one and only king of his private life.
It was her constant presence that was muddying his mind. It could happen to any man. Hell, it likely did happen to a great majority of them. Nate should be congratulating himself on how rare an occurrence this was rather than lashing himself over his weaknesses.
She was a woman and he was a man. This was just the nature of things. Framing her as some particular breed of female allure was just his primal impulses urging him to action.
Still, every time he thought about this particular marital duty, his lifelong survival tactics for maintaining a cool head seemed to fail. His general strategy of finding some sensible means to dismiss both his urges and his panic as irrational nonsense was just as useless as his attempts to occupy his mind with important business he must still attend to.
It seemed like every time he had a moment of quiet in which to formulate coherent thoughts, he found himself pulled into various fantasies about what she might look like under all of those boxy, unfashionable clothes. Once he got himself into that particular state of fervor, there was no careful calculation to be had, no calm execution of a plan that would ensure an optimal outcome.
He might have cried if he were prone to such things. As it were, he was not, and instead settled for riding horseback, hell for leather, in cold, misty weather en route to Kent. Why send a missive when one could simply arrive on his estranged family's doorstep, after all?
Why indeed? He was not above sleeping in a stable or two to hasten his arrival. Patience had never been his strongest virtue anyway. It was hard to dwell on such silly problems when your body ached and your skin had gone numb from the unflinching onslaught of cold. And one never much dreamed during sleep borne of such deep exhaustion.
Once he had passed through the county border, past the wooden sign that proudly declaredInvictabetween a crude painting of two white stallions, the memories of this place began to replace his disjointed thoughts concerning Eleanor.
His cousin, Kit, still lived in his childhood home, a homestead surrounded by fruit orchards that stood close enough to Meridian to reach by horse in under an hour. As children, Kit and Nate had often visited every afternoon in the summer, in one home or the other.
Navigating to the Cooper home was second nature to Nate, even after all these years. Some things were permanently etched into the memory, no matter how far afield destiny might take a man.
