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Chapter Twenty-Four
“What?” Jenny could swear she had forgotten how to breathe just then.
“You want to know something more?” There was something harrowing in his eyes as he spoke. “She was with child and I killed that child, too.”
Vigorously shaking her head, she reached a hand toward him. “No, Nicholas, that can’t be. She died in the fire.”
“Because I could not save her.”
“You can’t blame yourself for that. And what has this to do with our marriage?”
“Everything.” He shrunk from her touch and stood. “I destroy things, Jenny. I don’t want to destroy you, too.”
“I don’t believe that,” she insisted, jumping to her feet and going after him when he went toward the door.
“Don’t,” he called firmly. “Don’t come after me. This conversation isover.” He walked out and closed the door shut, leaving her unable to completely fathom what had just happened.
Nicholas blamed himself for his mother’s death and it was in the way of their marriage even though she could not understand how. Jenny solemnly walked back to the sitting area and sat down, a painful sigh pushing its way out of her lungs. She felt utterly lost and helpless. His want of intervention rang louder than the church bells in town but she had no inkling of how to help him.
Someone knocked at the door; it was Bentley. “Your Grace, Mr. Brighton is downstairs.”
“I shall be right down,” she replied, rising from her chair and walking into Nicholas’s dressing room where she splashed some cold water on her face.
It helped calm her down. Although she could share what disquieted her with Ernest, she was disinclined to. This was her burden to bear with Nicholas and the less anyone knew about it, the better. She had a smile on her face when she appeared in the drawing room where Ernest was waiting.
“I see your husband is well and back to being his noble surly self. I met him in the foyer on his way to his study and he barely stopped to greet me.”
“Yes, well, the fever has not been kind to him.”
Ernest shook his head. “Poor fellow.” He smiled at Jenny, then. “How are you?”
“I am well, Ernest.”
“Wonderful! Do you have anything I can eat? I am quite famished.”
One of the things that endeared Ernest to her was his ability to make her laugh even when she was in a bad mood. “Careful, Ernest, for I am starting to believe food is the only thing that brings you to this house.”
“You wound me, Jenny.” He clutched his heart in a show of feigned affront.
“You are just in time for luncheon,” she said, glancing at the clock.
“Perfect.” He rubbed his hands together with delight. “Will Nicholas be joining us?”
“He has to,” she heard herself say as she decided right then to ensure he ate with her and Ernest. If Ernest had not called, she would have eaten alone, feeling sorry for herself. “I’ll get him now.”
Her heart stuttered in her chest as she approached her husband’s study, not out of fear but out of apprehension and uncertainty. Taking a steadying breath, she knocked on his door. “Yes?” He called.
That was all the encouragement she needed to turn the door handle and step in. He set down the quill in his hand and looked up at her, not saying anything. “I thought you would give yourself several more days before you begin work again.” She said that more to ease the concentrated tension between them.
“I am well enough to work.” He linked his hands together, waiting for her to speak.
“Ernest is here,” she said.
“Yes, I saw him.”
“And it’s time for luncheon.”
He glanced at the clock. “I am aware.”
