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"Lord Beckham, did you... not get along, with my daughter, today? Did... something happen?" the shocked old man asked through a cough. "I was certain you would... grow to... love her," he said, his words limp and pained.
"We... we got along fine, m'lord. Knowing your daughter... this is what she wants. It's what's best for her," Lord Beckham said resoundingly. He could see the heart break in the father's eyes as he came to terms with the contract. "If you'll sign it, and have Nadia do the same, we can have a wedding publicly, if you like... or privately. Whichever is simplest for her."
"I just don't... understand, I suppose," Lord Havenshire sighed. "My daughter... she deserves love. I had hoped I would see it, before I died. Her face... experiencing that amazing feeling. Do you know it, Marshall?" Lord Havenshire asked, crestfallen. Lord Beckham looked away, stilling his raging heart.
"I should really be off for the eve, m'lord," he evaded answering the question deftly.
"You won't stay the night? Certainly, it's too late to be out among the moors. Bandits often prowl these roadways at night, and the sheriff..."
"I should be off," Lord Beckham insisted.
"...Very well," Lord Havenshire said with a weak sigh, a coughing fit claiming him.
"It's been a pleasure, m'lord," Lord Beckham said.
"... A pleasure," the ailing man replied.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The day broke and the sun draped across Lady Havenshire's body, still lain atop the sheets as she had been while speaking with Mary. She'd drifted away; the day had been exhausting, even life-changing; but worry kno
tted her stomach the moment she rose from the bed, worry over the nature of her relationship with the man who had claimed her intimately for the first time; the man she found herself helplessly falling in love with.
Men can be animals... men can take what they want and leave. Ms. Mulwray had said the same thing; had warned the girl against being taken advantage of. Nadia considered herself far too strong, far too independent to ever be taken advantage of by something so simple as a man, or silly concepts like love.
Of course, it's those too full of hubris and confidence who often fail to see those signs. Her self-doubt welled up as a sickness in her stomach; she longed to see him, and hoped that, perhaps, he had stayed the eve in the guest-rooms on the grounds. That would give the both of them an excellent chance at speaking about the issues that had come up between them; perhaps they could clear the air, and reignite whatever passion had wavered after their intimate time together in the cabin. A knocking on the door alerted her and she sprung from the bed, still clad in her messy riding uniform; she pulled it off, throwing it into a pile in the corner, grasping at her collection of soft, silken-white gowns to face the day with.
"Who is it?" she asked, her heart ringing hopeful that she'd hear a man's deep, stormy voice on the other side of the door.
"M'lady, your father wishes to see you," came the prickly and stern response. Ms. Mulwray's voice proved not nearly as pleasant as Lord Beckham's, and the harsh tone of her gave pause to young Nadia, who held in her churning stomach a strange little bit of excitement for today's events, hoping to reaffirm her love for the man who had showed her what it meant to be close; showed her just what love could feel like.
"I'll be down in just... a moment, Ms. Mulwray," she responded, her voice shaky. The tone had upset her, and she hastily threw on whatever garment she could get ahold of, running her hands down to smooth the rumples and curls; glancing in a mirror, she paid particular attention to herself; her hair still a mess, her skin dirty, her face tired... she could never present herself to Lord Beckham like this, she thought. Her nerves alight and her heart thumping, she yet hoped she could see him - perhaps he would accept her, no matter how desperate she looked. Her dreams had not been kind; that simmering fear in her stomach had turned to wild dreams of abandonment; Mary's words had made her imagine the duke leaving, never to speak to her or the house staff again.
She contemplated the dream as she fixed her hair, wrapping it into a small bundle with a pretty yellow ribbon. He wouldn't do that, would he? Certainly not. He couldn't! Not when he'd so intimately spent time with her; not when her father had searched him out so. He couldn't do that.
Or perhaps that was the simple girl inside of her talking; the girl with no knowledge, no understanding of relationships. The words of a hopeful heart crying out for him, while her stomach turned, unsure of what to expect when she left her bedchamber.
"He's waiting in the study, and he's quite fragile this morning, m'lady," Ms. Mulwray warned, her eyes focused deeply on Nadia. "Don't set him to desperation today, please."
"Father, yes... is Lord Beckham in the manor? Or in Emerys, perhaps? Did he stay the evening?" Nadia asked tensely, searching the hallway for any sign of the nobleman. Ms. Mulwray's expression flooded with confusion.
"Did you expect him to?" Her words struck Nadia like a resounding cudgel thudding against her head; he hadn't stayed... of course he hadn't. What a stupid girl I'd been, Nadia thought, to expect him to. She walked along the corridor like a tormented revenant; slow, plodding steps, searching endlessly for a love she began to fear she had lost. Why wouldn't he stay? Had he not wished to see her? Wouldn't a man in love be dying to sleep so near to his lover? Wouldn't a man in love spend his waking moments begging, pleading to see his love once more?
She arrived finally at the door of her father's study; she could hear the crackle of its fireplace. The sound triggered memories; her pulse pounded harder, and she imagined his body, strong and nude, so close to hers; his tongue pleasing her as she begged for him never to stop, as they shared quiet words of love and devotion and emotion, words she had never dared say to any man for fear of what he might try to take from her. She hadn't felt that with Marshall; she had found in him a spirit she thought would reject her or use her.
Dread filled her stomach at the thought that he had just been another man... that her worst fears had been true, that all men had the same wicked thoughts and feelings in their head. She took a deep breath and pushed her way into her father's study. He sat in the armchair, swirling a glass in his hand; a piece of parchment grasped in the other, lost in thought. He didn't even notice her at first, something that... rather startled her, and so she began to speak to catch his attention.
"I heard Lord Beckham left last evening? Has he sent word of a safe arrival? The bandits in the moors tend to be ruthless in the evenings," she asked, her words shaky, as she tried so hard to maintain the confidence her father knew her for.
"He's made it back, I'm certain," Lord Havenshire murmured absentmindedly.
"Are you certain? The bandits..." her voice trailed.
"Nadia, I wanted to... to congratulate you - you've found a husband," her ailing father said. "It's a day for celebration. You should be proud."
"Wh... what?" Nadia blinked. "A husband?" She stormed towards her father, her expression stern. "What manner of trickery is this, father?"
"Trickery? There's... no trickery. I've thought on it all evening, and I've signed the contract. Lord Beckham authored this, and he... he told me, it's what you wanted. What would be best for the both of you," he said. He handed the document gripped in his fingers to her, and she snatched at it with a slow, nervous rage building in her chest, the pressure pushing out the love and replacing it with terror. Her eyes pored over the words and with each sentence she felt the urge to scream; she felt pain filter into her, and she nearly collapsed as she finished reading.
