Page 44 of Bluebell’s Fate

She turned to a fresh sheet of paper and looked at the side of the house, trying to imagine it with a window box filled to the brim with flowers. She drew what came to her mind, but she couldn’t do her vision justice without color. Rising from the ground, Bell stretched her legs and back; her body felt heavy and achy all over—it must have been a warmer day than it seemed. She left her drawing supplies below the ash tree and walked around to the back of the house, still looking up at the space where the blue room was situated. Here, there were no windows, at least in this corner.

Feeling the warmth of the sun caress the back of her neck, Bell turned around. The back of the house faced south. Isn’t that what Nathaniel had said, that the windows would need to be on the south? Goodness she was feeling hot, but then that had to be good for plants. What if, instead of building a conservatory, they added windows to the blue room? She rushed back to her sketch pad and brought it around to the back of the house with her. She drew the dimensions of the house to the best of her ability. With a new idea tickling her mind, she gathered her leather satchel and shivered. How had it turned from hot to cold so quickly? She ambled back inside the cottage and went directly to the blue room to continue her work.

Bell took up residence on the blue bed, her back pressed up against the headboard. Her aching muscles welcomed the soft cushions opposed to the hard ground—which was odd. She never minded being on the ground. She brought her knees up to prop up her sketch pad. As she drew, windows and shelves and pots bursting with plants began to take shape on the paper before her, and then she would begin another rendering of what was possible. The bed was strewn with sketches before Bell noticed that she was having to squint to see her own work. She rolled her shoulders and laid her head back, smiling like she was a young girl again—for no other reason than that her imagination had been rekindled.

She stifled a yawn and picked her way around her mess to get off the bed. Her stomach grumbled. Had she missed supper? The realization made her feel like she had been slapped across the face by a fairy. She had been doing so well to stay present and punctual. Taking the evening meal together had been the only predictable thing about Bell’s time here the past few weeks. What would Nathaniel think of her woolgathering? Papers crinkled and fell to the ground as she quickly pushed herself to the edge of the bed, her heart sinking like the sunset outside with each second that she’d wasted cooped up like a nun in an abbey. She ran from the room to check the time and collided with Nathaniel, smacking her forehead against his shoulder.

“Bell, is everything alright?” Nathaniel grasped her shoulders gently and stooped to look into her face.

Bell rubbed her forehead and sighed. “I’m so sorry, Nathaniel.” She pushed herself past him. She needed to change for dinner, and there wasn’t a moment to waste. “Only, I just realized that I lost track of time, and I’ve never missed supper before, and I was afraid you might be upset, and—”

Nathaniel grabbed Bell’s hand, turned her around, and put his fingertip on her lips, effectively silencing her rambling excuse. “There’s no need to apologize.” He smiled at her and lowered his hand, whispers of a flame remaining upon her lips. It wasn’t a bad burning, as if he’d scalded her with hot tea; it was almost the feeling she got when she stood too close to the fireplace…inviting and comforting, and potentially dangerous if she stayed too long. She dropped her gaze to his chest and forced air in and out of her lungs.

“I’m sorry I am late for supper.”

“Don’t be concerned. I had Mrs. Carter put your meal on a tray and deliver it to your room. Only, when she arrived, you weren’t there. I had thought you’d been resting.”

Bell swallowed, finding words to be too aggravating, making it difficult to explain that she had a terrible tendency to lose track of time when she was lost in her mind. Would it be better if Nathaniel believed her to be feeling sick? Lady Dalrymple had always surmised that Bell wasn’t quite right in the head. To be honest, Bell had been feeling a little off this afternoon. “I am merely tired.” She met his eyes. “Would you thank Mrs. Carter for me?”

“Of course.” Nathaniel took her hand in his own and led her down the corridor to her room. “Is everything alright?”

The worry in his voice made Bell swallow back bile. She was misleading him. Truthfully, she was tired, down to her bones, but that wasn’t what she was hiding from Nathaniel. The guilt pricked at her heart as she opened the door to her bedchamber. Tomorrow, she would tell him about her drawings. Crashing down from a wonderful afternoon to realize that she was just as flawed as ever was too much to explain at the moment. She stepped across the threshold of her room, and turned to face Nathaniel, slowly starting to close the door behind her.

His forehead was wrinkled, and his eyes were fixed upon her. He placed one hand on each side of the door frame. “Please don’t shut the door,” he whispered. His voice, low and husky, shook Bell to the core.

“What?”

“There are times when I want to rip this door from its hinges and throw it in the woodpile. Every time I feel like we are making progress, another door closes on me. Please,” his voice broke. “Please let me in.”

Bell’s heart jumped up into her throat and made it impossible for her to breathe. There was no romantic gesture, no sign of duplicity in his demeanor. Did he know what he asked of her? He wasn’t just asking to come see her bed chamber, he wanted to understand her. If she allowed him to know the innermost workings of her mind, it would be akin to placing a delicate bluebell bloom in his hands and praying that he would treat it with care when it was turned inside out.

Whether she was comfortable with it or not, this moment was bound to come. Fate, it seemed, didn’t want to wait for her to be ready. It was time she let her husband know exactly who he’d married. She cloaked herself in magic, and knowing she could not fight this battle alone, she summoned an image of herself walking proudly, with fairies flanking her steps. After a deep breath, she opened the door wider again and, not trusting her voice, gestured Nathaniel into her bed chamber.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Nathaniel’s entire frame tensed as he followed Bell into her room. For so long, he’d been shut out—from his parents, his brother, his dreams—it was terrifying to be allowed inside. What did he hope to accomplish anyway? Bell hadn’t been completely truthful with him. She’d told him she’d lost track of time, and then she said she wasn’t feeling well. If the latter was the truth, he could help her be comfortable, couldn’t he? He looked around the room he’d avoided since he’d been married. It felt like sunshine piercing through a storm, like late nights reading by a fire, like an enchanted wood…this room felt like his wife.

Perhaps it was the pots of flowers that covered the windowsill, or the sketches that lay askew on her writing desk. Or perhaps it was because Bell had dreamed here. Even in the shadows of the evening, the room felt like hope. Hearing the door click shut behind him, Nathaniel turned to Bell. Her hands were tucked behind her back, her head held high. He imagined she could not look more brave if she were walking the plank of a pirate’s ship. For all he knew, that was the story she was living in right now.

“Would you come sit with me?” He held out his hand, fully expecting her to refuse his offer.

“On my bed?”

Nathaniel could feel heat rise in his cheeks. He hadn’t meant it like that. But they’d be more comfortable talking together if they weren’t standing like soldiers. “I was going to sit in the chair.” He pointed at the hardback chair next to the writing desk.

She nodded, and perched on the edge of her bed while Nathaniel scooted the chair to face her. If only he had planned out what to say, he might feel more in control of the situation. As it was, his lips were practically glued shut.

“I’m sorry,” Bell whispered.

Nathaniel’s jaw went slack. “Sorry for what?” And how did she do that so easily, apologize? It was all but a foreign language to his ears. And now she had apologized to him twice.

Never had his family been the sort to admit fault, let alone apologize for wrongdoing. Could it be that easy to repair damage that had been done so long ago? No, nothing could fix a mistake of that magnitude.

Bell’s shoulders sagged; it was as if Nathaniel could see the moment she decided to step outside of her story and show her true self.

“I didn’t mean to miss dinner.” She lowered her gaze to the floor.

Nathaniel stretched out his hand and touched her shoulder. “I’m not upset, Bell. Only worried.”