Page 35 of Rescued from Betrayal
He only grunted and placed a bite into his mouth. Carefully, she did the same. She was not one for large amounts of spirits so she could only eat a few bites, the rich strong taste making her stomach a bit queasy. She set her fork down.
“Is it not to your liking?”
“No… I mean yes, I like it. It is only that I find I am quite full.” She was quiet for a moment. “Thank you,” she said softly.
He watched her as he ate. It was the most he’d looked at her all day, save for when they’d stood before the vicar. The attention made her conscious of every imperfection in her appearance.
The redness was most likely still evident below her nose and eyes. The simple hair style she’d asked the maid to do and the way the pink gown covered everything on her except that dratted wide square about her neck and chest that she’d asked her seamstress to expand.
“You appear fatigued. Perhaps you would like to retire early as well.”
“I—” What did he mean by retire? Her mother’s lecture from the night before filled her heart with dread. It was the duty of every young woman, at least according to her mother. Melior strangled the serviette in her hands. “I am tired. Very tired. I think Iwillretire.”
Perhaps he would let her be tonight. She stood and he stood, both staring awkwardly at each other. Then she curtsied and rushed from the room.
Chapter 13
Nathaniel stared at the connecting door between his room and Melior’s. He would not pass through it, not tonight, or tomorrow, or possibly ever.
What had he done?
He’d sentenced himself to a life of pure torture, that’s what he’d done. Everything he’d ever imagined physically in a wife awaited him beyond those doors, and yet it was not what he had imagined at all. There was supposed to be excitement and love, not dread and remorse.
He slumped into the overstuffed chair near the fire and pulled at his cravat until it loosened. The flames in the hearth jumped and flickered but all he could see was Melior's tear-filled eyes as she gazed at the wedding cake he’d requested. Her gratitude over such a simple token was astonishing.
He’d expected her to scoff and ask why their meal was nothing more than roasted beef and boiled potatoes. Of course, there had been a nice white soup and the bread had been pleasantly fluffy with a perfectly crispy crust, something his cook had never beenable to manage before, but that was nothing to the meals his new wife had been accustomed to. Yet she ate without complaint, even seeming interested in the conversation with his mother, however inappropriate and awkward.
Everything had been going in the right direction until she’d gotten that horrified look when he’d suggested she retire early. It took little imagination to understand why. The idea of being husband and wife repulsed her. He was repulsive to her.
He laid his head along the back of the chair and stared at the white plaster ceiling, reminding himself that he’d planned to give her space and time anyway. But now it seemed theirs would be a marriage in name only, and it broke his heart. Gone were the dreams of a warm hand to hold on cold winter nights. There would be no shared smiles over the dinner table, no laughter in the privacy of their room, and no one to share his deepest fears and most treasured hopes… and no children.
A fissure opened in his heart. He wanted children, lots of them.
He and his sister Mary had been the only children to fill Havencrest’s echoing rooms. They’d been incredibly close, talking of the large families they’d raise together on neighboring estates. But when she’d died during the same epidemic that had taken his father, everything in his life had turned cold and hollow. In his pain he’d clung to the hope of one day having that large family they had always imagined.
And his mother knew that. It was the basis for her pointed conversation. He could not blame her. She’d never imagined she’d live to see grandchildren. Now it was within both their grasps, and yet not. Melior did not want him.
He’d witnessed her distress after Mr. Fairchild’s unwanted advances. If he passed through that door, he’d be just as bad.
The fire crackled as he gazed into the flames, seeing only a long, lonely existence. His wife slept in the next room, but thedoor between them might as well have been a stone wall and the space between them a chasm. There would be no crossing the threshold.
Nathaniel made his way to breakfast that first morning at a much later hour than was his habit. He’d been up far too late grieving all the things he’d lost, falling into a fitful sleep somewhere after midnight.
When he’d found the breakfast room empty, he’d waited and waited, but Melior never came. That evening, though, she had been prompt to dinner. An awkward affair as it was only the two of them, but it was what he’d expected as most days his mother took her meals in bed.
The next morning he’d waited again on Melior, only to finally make his way to the study where he lost himself in ledgers, the recent periodical, a book on agriculture, anything that would keep his attention so he did not reflect on his disastrous marriage.
A week went by in this manner, only Nathaniel made sure to avoid the breakfast parlor. There was no use eating there alone.
Why he had not broached the topic of Melior’s absence over their brief dinners, he did not know. Perhaps because it might upset the tenuous balance that had settled between them.
Other than dinner, they avoided each other. At least he assumed Melior was avoiding him because he did not see her, not even for Sunday services.
Then again, when had he ever seen any of the Kendall family, other than the duke and late duchess attend services? He supposed he should not have expected it.
Even Melior’s absence at breakfast could simply be a difference in town and country hours, so Nathaniel tried to give her grace.
On the eighth day after their marriage he found a letter on his desk, the Newhurst seal adorning the back of the cream-colored paper. He broke it and began to read.
