“I hope you will allow me to hear you play, one day.” Nathaniel tilted back slightly, to allow the footman to set his plate in front of him, but immediately leaned in closer as soon as it was placed. “I have no musical talent whatsoever, and I envy those who do, so I should like to sit and envy you for a while.”
Leah could not hide her delight though her mind whispered that he might not mean it. “I hope that I shall not disappoint.”
“I doubt you ever could in anything you do,” he replied in a soft and earnest voice that sounded so very genuine. It was not the false chivalry of Jonathan but true interest and faith.
“If you have no musical talent, where doyourgifts lie?” Leah asked, glancing down at the glistening slices of roasted goose that sat upon her plate, drizzled with an amber-colored sauce, accompanied by crispy, golden potatoes and honeyed carrots, studded with miniature sprigs of rosemary. It looked delicious, but the conversation was far tastier.
Nathaniel laughed awkwardly. “In the usual pursuits. Riding, fishing, walking.”
“He has never enjoyed hunting. What manner of gentleman does not enjoy hunting?” Jonathan chimed in, but his remarks only served to enrich the conversation between Leah and Nathaniel, like a prompt feeding dialogue to thespians.
Nathaniel pulled a face. “I find myself pitying the poor creatures. I do not mind the chase, but I do not like how it ends, so I do not partake in any of it.”
“I know of several people who view marriage that way,” Leah whispered, grinning as he burst out laughing. There was an unparalleled joy in making others laugh.
Jonathan tried to lean over. “What are you laughing about? What is the jest? It is rude to hold private conversations at a dinner party though I suppose I should not be surprised that the two of you are unaware of that.”
Nathaniel cast a tight smile at Jonathan. “Andyouought to be less concerned with our discussion and more concerned with the whereabouts of your wife. She has been absent for rather a long time, has she not?”
At that moment, Mrs. Dibney entered the dining room, reminding Leah that the host had been tending to Phoebe’s departure. Yet, Mrs. Dibney had definitely been away far longer than necessary and seemed harried, her cheeks tinged red, her hair in disarray.
Leah was about to get up and ask if Phoebe was all right when Mrs. Dibney made her way around to Leah’s side of the table anyway. But she did not pause to speak with Leah. Instead, she bent close to Jonathan’s ear and whispered something while the rest of the table looked on in blatant curiosity.
Meanwhile, Leah could only catch a few words, “Tend to… She is… Cannot be consoled… too much wine. The carriage… At once.”
Jonathan’s jaw clenched, his eyes darting around the table, prompting the other guests to lower their gaze or return their attention to the poultry course or pretend they had not been staring at all. A plump vein writhed at his temple, his nostrils flaring in anger. Evidently, Dorothy had done something to embarrass him, and though Leah should have been thrilled, she found herself feeling more than a little worried for Dorothy herself.
“Is it something I can help with?” Leah offered, looking at Mrs. Dibney rather than the man she hated most in the world.
But Jonathan’s lip curled as he snarled, “You would be the very last person she would ever want help from,” and stood sharply. “I shall tend to her, Mrs. Dibney. Please, accept my sincerest apologies. She has not been herself of late.”
“It seems there is something catching in the air,” Mrs. Dibney muttered, but Leah knew the remark was not truly intended for Phoebe.
Jonathan set his napkin on the table, still glaring at Leah. “It is not something catching, Mrs. Dibney,” he said, his grimace transforming into a cold smile. “My wife is not herself because she is with-child.”
The revelation hit Leah like a cannonball to the chest, winding her as Jonathan stalked away to tend to his wife, wherever she had hidden herself away. Leah could not help but watch him go, her hand clasped to her chest as she tried to urge her lungs to breathe properly again.
“Inhale deeply and hold it until I let go,” Nathaniel said, finding her free hand underneath the table once more. He squeezed it lightly, showing her how long she should hold the breath for. “Now, exhale. And again—inhale… hold… exhale.”
He did that until the suffocating grip on her chest eased, her shock ebbing.
“Thank you,” she gasped.
He smiled. “It was for the host’s sake as well as yours. The last thing Mrs. Dibney needs is another young lady falling ill at her dinner party.” He paused, his tone shifting to one of apology. “Youdidlove him, did you not?”
“Never,” Leah wheezed, the accusation seizing her chest all over again.
But as Nathaniel sat and squeezed her hand, guiding her through her breaths once more, Leah had to wonder why it hurt so much if she had not cared at all? The answer was, perhaps, simpler than she wished it was. She had not loved Jonathan, not really, but shehadloved the idea of a family all her own, to be raised with love and kindness and without the pressure to be one thing or another. He had taken that from her when he had made her unmarriageable… and the man sitting beside her could not give her that either.
“Let us eat before it goes cold,” she said, withdrawing her hand from Nathaniel’s.
Indeed, she was beginning to fear that a pretend courtship was even more dangerous than one that had ended with a jilting, for her heart and Nathaniel’s charms were already starting to smudge the boundaries, like ink smearing across a contract, obscuring the terms and conditions.
CHAPTERELEVEN
In a dark dock warehouse in Rotherhithe, Nathaniel slipped unnoticed through the crowd of men who were cheering and drunk on strong ale as they bartered and wagered on the match ahead. Nathaniel wore a hooded cloak, conscious of not being noticed until he reached the rear of the warehouse where he would find his second and the man who organized these bouts awaiting his arrival.
“Nathan, where the devil have you been?” a gruff voice barked as Nathaniel entered the curtained off area. Sawdust covered the ground, and a few men lolled in chairs, their bruises and cuts being tended to by burly men with little understanding of medicine.
