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"Yes, I do! It's only proper," the woman insisted with a little self-satisfied snicker.
She denied it, so sternly, but... something about him, about Ms. Cauthfield, about all this, had begun to thaw that rigid iciness she had arrived carrying in her heart.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"How is your braised beef, m'lady?" he asked plainly.
She wanted to tell him how it was. She wanted to tell him that the honeyed delicacy had crashed into her mouth with a ferocity of sweet and savory taste she had never anticipated, or yet experienced in so simple a dish. She wanted to tell him it tasted overwhelming; it tasted like nothing she had expected to taste, and that it had helped to set her free from the anger she carried with her after a week of suffering the rude and intolerable notions of a society bent against her. She wanted to tell him everything she had felt since she saw his manor, and since she saw what lived beneath it; a confusing mire that enticed her at the same time that it repulsed her, the majesty much like the beauty of northern England, which she both appreciated and deplored for what it represented. She wanted to tell him everything.
"It's fine," she said quietly, keeping her words sparse, and her emotions sparser. He didn't respond with words, but only a simple nod, seeming as out of place and as unsure of his feelings as she was, but she held out hope she could make it through this without exposing those feelings. Seated at the opposing end of the long dining hall, their words came not directly but as distant echoes reverberating along tall, vaulted ceilings.
She hadn't strayed yet from her original plan. She was halfway there; she need only finish her food, offer those same empty pleasantries as would be expected of her, thank her host, and leave. Then this week of contemplating and curiosity and hatred and of everything other confusing notion would end.
"It's rather lovely, isn't it," he asked, his voice that commanding and powerful tone she remembered, but feeling so... forced, so disingenuous. "The... sky," he said awkwardly. She regarded him closely, and began to think on a curious thought, one that struck hard at her pride. Had he been as anxious of this meeting of theirs as she had been? It wasn't something that would have troubled her before, but she could feel herself slipping.
"Yes," she responded coldly, and then silence. She devoured another exceptional bite of this braised beef, confident that she could report to Egan that whichever chef had crafted so divine a recipe deserved many times the credit he had given to the Havenshire home's kitchen staff. Knives and forks scraped against porcelain and teeth chewed quietly with mouths closed, but little else happened for a long and uncomfortable stretch of time.
"Your father is an honorable man," Lord Beckham said quaintly, making sure to clear out his throat before saying it, in the same stilted manner as his previous query. Something inside of Nadia flared up; perhaps that same, prideful part of hers that had brought words out from inside of her the first time they'd met. She'd always been willful, after all.
"Are these the manner of things you think it necessary or appropriate to say in the usual sort of courting ritual that women endure from rich dukes and barons?" she asked bluntly, surprised even at herself for having said it. She cleared her throat and an awkward silence followed. He shifted in his chair, watching her intently, and she wasn't certain her question would elicit an answer, and hoped that it would pass ignored, so that she could stick to her plot of remaining indifferent and leaving.
"To be perfectly honest, m'lady, I can't quite say I'm aware of the frivolities of the generic aristocratic courting ritual. If I was, I suppose this would probably be a far more successful and far more entertaining dinner between us," he responded rather casually, laughing softly, perhaps at himself. His response utterly infuriated Lady Havenshire... because it broke her composure, and she found herself grinning stupidly, just the same as he.
Damn it all, she thought to herself. The man bloody did it again; he made her feel something. He made her laugh, and smile.
"Are you certain? I think it'd be equivalently boring, myself," she snickered.
"Am I boring you? Blast it," Lord Beckham intoned sarcastically. "I suppose Lady Henrietta was wrong about me, after all. Quite a shock, right? As she's renowned for her truthfulness, and honesty, and for her ability to close her mouth, and all."
"You already made jokes at poor Lady Henrietta's expense, m'lord, you're not going to catch me with those again," Lady Havenshire teased playfully.
"Clever girl, she's on to my tricks," Lord Beckham quietly hissed. "Quickly, let's return to our discussion of precisely how boring I am. That had far greater possibilities."
"I've a better question for you," Nadia said, tapping her chin. "My father told me you were espousing some rather unorthodox thoughts to him, in your discussions about me. What, precisely, did you say to him that's got him thinking you're some sort of kindred spirit?" she hummed.
"Well, I expressed to him my feeling that you're a rather bizarre woman, and I'm a rather bizarre man, and us, being bizarre people, would do a wonderful job of terrifying the rest of the country together," he explained with joking pedantry, earning warm laughs from the lady, who nonetheless grew insistent.
"Tell the truth! I'm quite interested, now," Nadia smirked. Lord Beckham took a deep breath, glancing away.
"I'm certain that if I were to tell you, now, you'd take it as a simple ploy to whisk you away, marry you, and force you to have my children, or some other such lovely fantasy that I'm certain you're no stranger to," he admitted. "You'd think of my words as a ploy, and not as sincerity."
"Perhaps, but if you instead refuse, it's likely this conversation will die out the same as our previous conversation did, and I don't imagine that was much of a pleasant experience for either of us, was it?" Lady Havenshire admitted.
"What? I quite enjoy sitting in awkward silence with beautiful, intelligent women. It's good for one's soul," he joked.
"Then my speaking just now must have set you on the path to the devil, is that right?" Nadia returned with a wicked grin. Lord Beckham smiled, but collected himself and with gravity returned a genuine answer.
"Your father has an understanding of the rather unbecoming way in which our world treats women," he grudgingly admitted. "Nevertheless, he confessed to me his health has failed him, and that he hasn't the time to change all the world's hearts and all the world's minds, and instead hopes that before he passes he can marry you away. In our conversation, I admitted agreement with some of the methods of argument I'm certain he's heard from you, about how smart women ought to determine their own destinies. Those manner of things, you know," he said with a shrug.
"Not words a man says lightly in this sort of environment," Lady Havenshire offered. "I..." she, too, fought with herself about revealing what she had insisted she wouldn't about herself. "...I got a feeling from you, that night we met. You felt... different, from the sort of braying, selfish 'gentleman' that infects social circles. The sorts of men my friends all married. When I heard about your sister, I..."
"I loved my sister. A great deal. Leah had been my best friend, for most of my life," Lord Beckham interjected, overtaken by his emotion on the subject. "I... I believe, a part of what I feel, about you, about your father—your situation... I want to pay for what I did to Leah."
"Have you spoken to your sister, of late? Does she hold it against you?" Lady Havenshire asked, confused as she was concerned.
"Leah... the death of father, the ruling of the magistrate, the estate... it all took her far too suddenly, and poisoned her heart. She left home, and I've not heard from her since," Lord Beckham recalled, voice full of melancholy. "I know... what you want, what your father wants. It's... not a marriage of love, but a marriage of... well, of convenience. One in which you bear my name, to carry on your line, and your wealth, and title, but... none of the burdens expected of a woman in a marriage. You need help, but want also to maintain your freedom. I feel that, if I... can't make up what happened to Leah, on my own. Perhaps I can do a small favor, to help unwrap this grand, terrible thing wrought upon the mindful women of this world."
The lord's speech ended and met with deafening silence. Her mind churning over the words, Lady Havenshire sat with her mouth slightly agape in surprise. She now felt only venom for herself for her presumptuous nature; for how quickly she had judged the lord in their last meeting. She lost her doubts in his sincerity; she saw in him something she had never truly expected to see.
