Page 52 of The Spinster's Stolen Hear
“Of course, I shall,” she responded, with a look in her eyes that hinted she had guessed more than he would like.
There was no time to worry about that, however. Swallowing hard, Nathan pushed himself away from the table and set off, striding away down the hall. He had to get out of this place. Now.
***
Nathan tripped as he climbed out of the carriage, catching his foot on the lower step. Having drunk too much whiskey, his thoughts whirling around his head, he did not catch himself in time and sprawled out on the gravel.
The footman who had opened the carriage door gave a yelp of alarm, rushing to help him up.
“I’m quite all right,” Nathan said sharply, holding out a hand. “Don’t worry, Edward. I’m not in my cups, I’m only clumsy.”
The footman did not seem convinced, but he pulled back even so, letting Nathan haul himself up onto his feet. He stumbled inside, ignoring the pain in his knees and palms where they’d scraped on the gravel.
This was one of the worst days of my life,he thought miserably, a thought which was followed by a wave of guilt at not having enjoyed Colin’s wedding the way he should. Colin, of course, had not noticed, being entirely wrapped up in his new bride. As he should be, of course.
My dearest friend’s wedding, and all I could think about was the woman I wish was beside me. A woman who is no doubt on the cusp of marrying another man, if rumour is to be believed.
Lord Barwick’s pursuit of Miss Randall could only end in success. He was a better match, after all, and a woman like Miss Randall, with no wealth of her own, would do best to secure the best match she could.
He stormed through the house, heart thudding, feeling sick. No doubt news of his sudden departure would reach his mother soon enough, and then she would come hurrying back, worried about him.
I don’t deserve her. I am entirely too ungrateful.
Nathan went directly to his study, brushing off the butler’s offer of tea, and closed the door behind him, leaning against it. He let out a long, shuddering breath.
Is this what my life has come to?
I wish I’d stayed here, buried in my work. At least here I am sure of success. Why, oh, why did I let my wretched mother drag me out into Society?
He let out a shuddering sob, sliding down to the floor. There was a pile of paperwork waiting for him on his desk. He should get started with it at once, but Nathan found that he could barely convince himself to breathe, let alone move.
I love her. I love her. What am I meant to do about it? Nobody warned me it would be so complicated. Nobodywarnedme.
Perhaps it would have been simpler to marry Amanda Davenport after all.
He paused, considering this thought, and shook his head. No, marrying Amanda Davenport would never be anythinglikesimplicity. Quite the reverse.
Nathan sat where he was, curled up against the door, and stared into space until he heard the rumble of carriage wheels on the gravel outside. His mother, then, had come home. He dragged himself to his feet, pasted a reassuring smile on his face, and went out to meet her.
Chapter Seventeen
It was the perfect day for a picnic, really. The sun shone, but not hot enough to make direct light unbearable, and there was just enough of a gentle breeze to cool them without blowing grass over the picnic spread.
The whole family had come out, even Aunt Mary. William did not seem particularly pleased to be kneeling on a picnic blanket at the top of the scenic Lark Hill, but neither did he complain. Even Bridget had kept her remarks to herself, mostly.
“I can’t remember the last time we had a picnic,” Pippa found herself saying, leaning back on her elbows. The food had mostly been eaten, and it was traditional picnic fare – cold chicken and meat, bread, cheese, good butter, jam, fruit, pies, and more, with a huge strawberry tart. Frankly, Pippa felt full to bursting.
“Oh, I remember,” Bridget spoke up, licking her finger to pick up the last of the tart crumbs from her plate. “It was quite a few years ago, before your father fell sick. It was meant to be a fine day, and we carried blankets and hampers up to the top of Reading Hill, right under that old oak… do you recall?”
A smile spread over Pippa’s face. “Yes, indeed, I do! It rained just as we’d gotten everything set out!”
Bridget let out a chuckle, shaking her head. “And the rain came downheavily. Everything was soaked, including us. We practically slid all the way down the hill.”
“Papa couldn’t stop laughing,” Pippa murmured. “He saved quite a bit of the food, and we ate it at home in front of the fire, while we dried off.”
“That seems like a very pleasant family memory,” Katherine remarked gently. “I wish I’d known my uncle. He seemed to be a kind, good man.”
“He was,” Bridget said, her voice a little shaky. “He was the best.”
