Page 63 of The Secret Identity of the Lord's Aide
Nathaniel recognised he was an anxious mess. He simply couldn’t banish Lady Elizabeth from his mind. Every conversation, he yearned to interject with the wisdom he’d learned from Lady Elizabeth. He wanted to dissect the reasons for why she’d had to open up the homeless shelter for children in her neighbourhood; he wanted to curse the fine foods they were eating, as it meant that so much of the rest of England hadn’t such luck.
But he found himself grinning, laughing at the proper times, “working the system” in a way that his mother appreciated. By the time the second course came, he was in the midst of listening to Lord Waldron speak about how he’d saved several thousand pounds twenty years before, after he’d found himself in the midst of someone attempting to swindle him.
At this, Lord Linfield lowered his head towards Lord Waldron, peering at him, incredulous. “Twenty years ago, you say?”
For the story rang so close to the one he’d heard regarding Lady Elizabeth, her father, and her ex-fiancé, he couldn’t help questioning it.
“Yes, twenty years,” Lord Waldron said. He scoffed. “Although, perhaps you heard about the little situation I found myself caught up in a few years ago. My goodness, that was nasty business, wasn’t it Lord Binford?”
Nathaniel’s eyes swept toward Everett’s. Their eyes burned. Lord Waldron cackled, making his stomach shake.
“Although, I can assure you. Whatever it was that swindler took from me, I made sure that I got it back. Lord what’s his name—what was his name again, Lord Binford?” Lord Waldron asked.
“Wasn’t it Byrd?” Lord Binford asked, arching his brow. “It must have been Byrd. Thomas Byrd. The 8th Baron Conway.” He chortled, making his stomach shake.
Nathaniel was conscious that as Lord Binford’s belly quaked, it showed the stain from the gravy of the first course over and over again just above the table. The image was horrendous. He blinked several times, waiting for Lord Binford to stop laughing.
“That’s right,” Lord Waldron said, snapping his fingers. “That idiot and his future son-in-law. You know, I watched him hang. Gorgeous occasion. The sun was shining over us all.”
Immediately, Nathaniel shot up from his chair. It rolled back behind him, toppling against the wooden floorboards. He coughed, unable to believe the ridiculous nature with which they spoke about other people’s lives—other people’s deaths. He huffed, breathing heavily. Everyone turned their faces towards him, gaping. Lady Eloise looked particularly worried.
“Darling,” she murmured, dabbing her napkin across her lips. “What’s gotten into you? Are you quite all right?”
Nathaniel’s hands were in obvious fists. He looked raucous and strange, every bit the part of an angry schoolboy. He was conscious that he wasn’t representing his father well at this moment, but he wasn’t entirely sure he cared.
If both Lord Linfields believed in anything, it had to be love. It had to be the greater good. It couldn’t be joking about someone’s murder and someone’s abandonment over the second and third courses of an immaculate dinner. Nathaniel didn’t feel overzealous for it just for Lady Elizabeth’s benefit; rather, he felt sure that his own father wouldn’t have stood for such talk.
“Goodness, I couldn’t have imagined men like you at Parliament,” Nathaniel blurted, unable to halt the speed of his tongue. “Speaking of Lord Thomas Byrd and his ex-son-in-law. I must tell you. There is a sincere hypocrisy of the peer-privilege system. There is a sincere problem at the heart of the judgemental sphere, one that ensures that people like Sir Thomas Byrd run away from their crimes—and one that ensures people like Conner Graves hang for them. If you can’t possibly see that joking—joking!—about something like this is wrong, in its own right, then I don’t know who you think you are. These are and were men who wronged you. I understand that. But if we don’t fix the system right now, these men will continue to get away with their wrongs, yes. But also, men who do very little wrong will continue to hang for it. How can you sit back in those chairs and imbibe MY wine, take in MY food, and feel that you’re so high and mighty? Why on earth have you allowed so much wrong to exist in this world, without fixing it?”
Nathaniel hadn’t caught himself before tossing himself forward, telling these people precisely what he thought of them. And in response, they all gaped at him, completely aghast.
“Excuse me, son, but I’m afraid I’m not in the habit of receiving such pompous description of my actions …” Lord Waldron began, his voice scratchy and deep.
Nathaniel huffed, searching for his breath. He brought his massive hand across his chest, bowed his chin. His tongue tipped along his teeth, hunting for an apology. But he wasn’t sure it was entirely worth it.
It was his mother’s quick burst to the right, her quick rise from her chair that pulled Nathaniel from his reverie.
“Darling, excuse me … What on earth are you doing here?” his mother said. Her eyes peered somewhere beyond Nathaniel’s shoulder.
At this, Nathaniel whirled around. He gaped at the image of Lady Elizabeth Byrd, standing in the doorway of the dining room. She wore a gorgeous dark-green gown, a black cape swept across her shoulders. Her eyes glittered with questions, with fear, with intrigue. They stared at him hungrily, marvelling at him.
It was then that Nathaniel realised: she’d heard everything. She’d come into the foyer, listened to the old blustery men and their opinions of her father and her ex-fiancé.
And beyond that, she’d heard Nathaniel as he’d reared back, poised to stand up for her.
Her eyes were heavy with love for him. Her lips were thick, quivering slightly as if she was on the verge of saying everything she’d always wanted to say. Every person at the table looked first at Nathaniel, then at Lady Elizabeth, a zillion questions in the air above them. Nathaniel stretched his arm out towards Lady Elizabeth, sensing he needed to make some sort of introduction.
“Presenting the daughter of Sir Thomas Byrd, the 8th Baron Conway,” he began.
He felt the air dissipate from the room.
“Lady Elizabeth Byrd. She’s one of the most remarkable women I’ve met in my entire life. A woman I hired to write my speeches months ago. And a woman who published her first incredible essay in The Rising Sun just today.”
Lady Elizabeth still didn’t speak. Nathaniel was incredulous that she’d even found her way to him. He took a firm step towards her, his heart bursting against his ribcage. He longed to hold her against him. Her eyelashes flashed. Everything about her seemed provocative, womanly—the dark curls around her face, her cheeks, so bright pink from the chill.
“Are you all right?” he asked her, his voice low.
Elizabeth stepped closer. She reached for him, drawing her fingers across his cheek. His eyes closed at the tender motion. It felt as though she pumped electricity through his every muscle. They’d touched so rarely and yet it had been everything he’d thought about for months. He took a closer step before wrapping his thick, muscular arms all the way around her. She dropped her forehead against his chest, inhaling his scent.
