Page 7 of Unmasking the Silver Heiress
Chapter 4
Nate had never put much stock in the concept of fate. That type of whimsical diversion was much more the domain of his cousin, Kit. After all, surely if there were some divine accountant of destiny, the world would be a much fairer place overall.
Still, he had to marvel at his luck in recent days. It wasn't just the business with Alex Somers, though that certainly pushed the limits of serendipity. He had just married into the family of the most mysterious woman in England. He might have served as an agent for Lady Silver for several years and still come no closer to learning her identity, if not for the slapdash marriage he'd fallen into with her niece.
Kit would have seen it as proof of some grand plan for them all. Nate simply thought he'd managed to stumble forward this time instead of backward.
So, the hard-nosed spinster turned businesswoman, Zelda Smith, was the notorious Lady Silver. He had never met her without her veil on, but he'd heard plenty about her from her patrons throughout theton.
It made a sort of sense, he thought. Such an enterprise would surely not operate under the sole purview of a married lady, and the very business of scandal and gossip was necessary to inspire the prints sold from her shop and the others like it.
He himself had been featured in one of her satirical cartoons, some years ago. He never had the pleasure of seeing the piece, but he was told it was an amusing rendering of his work browbeating several Jamaican plantation owners into paying their taxes as agreed to the Crown. All in all, such things could actually benefit one's reputation in the long run, and so he hadn't minded in the least.
It was also an excellent way to leverage the type of blackmail that he'd found in those letters to Lady Hansen. Now the question arose of just how this society came to be in the first place and who, if anyone, they answered to in the government. There was no obvious connection, as he had expected there would be, in identifying Lady Silver herself.
When they stopped again for late-afternoon repast, he saw to the refreshing of the horses while also securing a second driver. This way, they could continue to travel through the night with no necessity arising for another awkward evening in a shared inn bed. He imagined they might both sleep better on opposing sides of the carriage anyway.
He rather imagined his little wife breathed a sigh of relief alongside him. She had buried herself into a book following the explosive revelations of their earlier conversation and had barely come up for air since. She'd even taken it with her into way stations to read while she ate. In fact, he was reasonably certain she had finished the damned thing and started it over again just in an effort to avoid conversation.
She had peeped up at him over the fraying cover of the book a few times, her eyes magnified by those round spectacles, and each time, he'd met her eye with a smile. He knew it was a little unkind, but it was only that she was so very amusing when flustered. He had never met a woman of breeding before who was so expressive with every little thing she felt.
Her lips would purse at things she found objectionable and her eyes would narrow if she was feeling suspicious of his sincerity. Sitting across from her during conversation was quite the visual entertainment. Still, teasing people was not an activity he much bothered with, unless one could classify his manipulations during negotiations as teasing, and he did not.
He would have to engage her in a gambling game of some sort, just to observe all of her peculiar little tells. How such a woman managed to conduct espionage was beyond him.
She seemed to wait for him to doze off before arranging herself on her side of the carriage under one of the blankets. He never got to witness her ritual of settling into sleep, and instead always seemed to find her rapidly changed from a state of complete awareness to her almost childlike pose with her hands folded under her cheek, spectacles hidden away somewhere, her breathing even and lost in the oblivion of sleep.
Of course, it would usually be too dark to study her any further shortly thereafter, as the carriage rumbled along through cobbles and dirt and the occasional paving that hadn't been retouched since Ancient Rome. It was not the most restful sleep of his life, but it was still an improvement on those days prior to the wedding.
He couldn't wait to be back in London and to fall asleep in his own, fine bed. The thought that he would not be alone in that bed any longer was not one he allowed to pester him. It was a problem for tomorrow.
* * *
Fog hung thickover London upon their arrival, a heavy veil of icy air that shimmered with the looming promise of snow.
Far from the bustling streets and fashionable squares of the Season, the city in deep autumn was a place for the workmen and the poor, bundled up in their patched coats and scarves and gloves. It was bleak and misty and far too forbidding and quiet to interest those who enjoyed the trappings of wealth and warm hearths in sprawling country estates.
Nathaniel watched his wife as she gazed, wide-eyed, out of their carriage window at the much-changed city. The scene was enhanced by the ominous glow of the sunset, which thickened the crowds on the streets with an eagerness to return to their homes before dark. The book she'd been immersed in was in her lap, with one of her slender fingers holding the place where she'd last read, but it seemed much forgotten for the first time in days.
She had leaned so close to the window that her little, upturned nose was almost flush against the glass, her lips parted in surprise as her breath created a small cloud of fog to appear and vanish with every breath she took. As ever, it was a pleasing sort of entertainment to observe her, unkempt hair and all.
She had done her best to maintain the coiled bun at the back of her head, but her hair had become more unruly by the day, refusing to stay in place and dropping tendrils down that she had taken to just shoving behind her ears. He imagined he hadn't fared much better, in truth, and both of them were looking forward to baths and rest.
He would have a guest room made ready for her. Yes, that would be best. They could both recover from their journey without being concerned with waking or otherwise disturbing the other. His staff knew well enough to keep their silence, and they would be much better off with a night of proper sleep behind them than they would be going directly to Bond Street to present their failure to Lady Silver ... or, should he think of her now as Aunt Zelda?
He shook his head, repressing the urge to sigh at the strangeness of it all. Once they were in the city, every street seemed to take as long as a full day on the road in the country, as though block by block they began their journey anew. When he was little, he used to bounce his legs or fidget with his hands when he felt this way, as though time were moving as slowly as it deliberately could, just to torment him. He'd gotten enough raps across the knuckles for it that the habit was fully quashed in adulthood, but damned if he didn't sometimes wish he could indulge in a bit of childish restlessness.
His townhome was modest by his own design, chosen for its unique location, which happened to be both convenient to the requirements of the Season and secluded enough that he rarely dealt with unexpected visitors. Even the gravel of the drive seemed muted under the wheels of the carriage as they pulled into place, yet of course, somehow his staff was at the ready to assist them with disembarking and finding their way inside.
"The lady will require a bath and a bed," he said to the butler, tossing a glance over his shoulder at Nell. "I would like the same, please. Dinner should be served quickly rather than opulently, if you catch my meaning, and both of us should be roused early in the morning. If you can find a lady's maid on such short notice to attend our guest, it would be most appreciated."
He didn't stop to get a nod of assent, trusting instead that his instructions were taken with the same level of professional reverence to which he was accustomed. He saw himself up the stairs and into the bedchamber, stripping himself of his cravat and jacket along the way. Just a few moments of rest in his own bed was all he needed, then he could rise, wash, and eat something as he planned for tomorrow.
A claw-foot tub and soaps from his preferred apothecary would make a world of difference. A belly full of something other than the wayfarer's rations they'd eaten along the way would fortify him. He'd sleep well and awake refreshed and attack the challenges of the day as precisely as he always did.
Yes, just a little bit of rest first, he thought as he climbed into his imported sheets and sank his cheek into eiderdown pillows. Just a bit of stillness first, he promised himself, and closed his eyes against the sounds of his household being roused back to life.
Chapter 5
