Page 57 of To Have & To Hold

“Sophie, His Grace and I would like a tea tray, if you please.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Nathaniel could only see the maid out of the corner of his eye, his attention fully on his wife, but it was impossible to miss the smile in her tone as she observed the scene in front of her.

“Would you like something to eat as well?”

Emilia shook her head, “No, just the tea. I know it is late. I am sorry if I woke you.”

“Oh, it is no trouble at all, Your Grace.” Sophie’s voice was warm and genuine as she bobbed a curtsy and withdrew from the room.

Nathaniel heard the door close, but his eyes were still on Emilia. Even when addressing the servants, she apologized. He doubted she even realized she was doing it. The staff adored her—Sophie would likely have crossed London in the middle of the night if Emilia had asked it of her. He was quite certain no one in his household had ever made her feel like aninconvenience, yet it was clear that Emilia believed that her wants were burdens best kept to herself.

Nathaniel looked at the blankets in his hands for a moment before spreading them back out onto the ground. Emilia’s brow furrowed in confusion as she watched him lower himself onto the floor and stretch his legs out towards the fire.

“What are you doing?” She asked with a flicker of suspicion in her eye.

“Making myself comfortable,” Nathaniel said, gesturing to the open space beside him. “Now come tell me why you enjoy sitting on the floor.”

If Nathaniel was still determined to deceive himself, he would have excused his curiosity for mere concern—an attempt to ease the tension he could still see in Emilia’s shoulders. But it was late, he was tired, and he no longer possessed the strength or the desire to maintain the lie.

The truth was, he was fascinated by her. Every unexpected glimpse he was awarded into the mind of the woman he married, only left him wanting more.

Emilia slowly lowered herself onto the floor beside him, and Nathaniel tried not to focus on the deliberate space she left between them. For weeks he had been the one erecting the barriers, and now the few inches of blanket that separated them felt like a chasm that was impossible to cross.

“It is not a very enthralling story,” Emilia whispered, tucking her legs into her side and adjusting the skirt of her nightdress around her feet.

“I am quite certain everything about you is enthralling.” The words slipped out before Nathaniel could consider the implications. It wasn’t that he didn’t mean them, but the way Emilia’s eyes widened in shock told him that she was not ready to hear them.

She cleared her throat, composing herself quickly. “If you insist,” she replied. Emilia reached under the chair beside her and pulled out a book.

Nathaniel knew there was a copy ofThe Mysteries of Udolphosomewhere on his library shelves, but the way Emilia’s fingers moved over the worn cover and pages told him this particular one had been in her possession for years.

“When I was young,” Emilia began, her eyes fixed on the book in her lap, “I would stay up until all hours of the night reading. My uncle would become angry that I was wasting oil, so he had the lamps removed from my room. So I would take the pillows and blankets from my bed and place them by the fire so I could be closer to the light and warmth to read.”

She smiled as her thumb traced absentmindedly along the corners of the cover. “Some of my happiest memories are sitting in the dark beside the fire, book in hand, pretending I was as brave and courageous as the heroines I was reading about. Even now, when I cannot sleep, I find myself curled upon the floor with the stories that kept me company for all those years.”

Emilia laughed softly, “I can see how ridiculous it must appear now that I am afforded two perfectly comfortable chairs and more lamps than I know what to do with.”

Nathaniel sat in silence, attempting to reconcile what she had said with what he saw sitting before him. She spoke as though courage and bravery were qualities she was required to borrow from those around her, even from the ink and paper she held in her hands, rather than something she possessed on her own. Yet she was, without question, more compelling than any heroine in any novel he could ever recall.

“I do not think you are ridiculous,” Nathaniel said softly. “From what I have observed, you possess far more strength than most people in my acquaintance, and you carry it with far more grace.”

Emilia did not speak, but he could see the doubt that filled her eyes.

His heart pounded in his chest as he continued. “You care more about others than you do your own well-being. The affection that you have poured out on Charlotte, the consideration you have for everyone around you, the way you defended me…“ Nathaniel swallowed around the lump forming in his throat.

“From what I can gather, those are not qualities given by the people who raised you, but ones you have cultivated withinyour own heart,” he said. “If nothing else, you must at least acknowledge that proves the strength of your character.”

Emilia shook her head. “That does not make me fit to be a duchess,” she said sharply, each word coming out strained.

Nathaniel’s heart squeezed at the admission of what her true fears were.

“My uncle was right,” she whispered. “I was not raised for this, not like you were.”

She started to stand, but Nathaniel caught her hand in his, pulling her back beside him. She refused to look him in the eye, but he could see them gleaming with the tears she refused to let fall.

“Do you not know how I gained my title?” Guilt gnawed at him as he realized how little of himself he had shared with his wife.