Page 33 of The Wondrous Life and Loves of Nella Carter
“All right ... it is paining me.”
I leaped up, glad that I could help him in some way. I grabbed the medical kit Jacques kept in his office.
When I returned, William unknotted the bandage, and the bloodied linen fell loose. An angry slash snaked up his arm. I used the lightest touch, though William hissed in pain when I got too near the wound.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, the shame overwhelming. I quickly applied the salve and wrapped the wound in the softer bandages.
“Better?” I asked.
He sighed. “Thank you.”
“It’s I who should thank you.”
“Please, let’s put it past us.” He nodded, his eyes meeting mine. I froze, and the same feeling from last night rose. I shivered, though the day wasn’t that cold. I wanted to lay my head against his chest and listen to his heart, the way he always listened to me. I wanted him to hold me with those hands of his, making me feel like I could never fall.
He took my hand and squeezed it. “He’s going to come as soon as he’s able. Don’t worry.”
I fought away tears and nodded. “I know he will. I do.”
“Mistress Boudreaux?” came Sarah’s voice.
William dropped my hand. “We shouldn’t ...”
“Coming!” I called to Sarah before turning back to William. “I know ... I ...” At a loss for words for the first time, I couldn’t make sense of what to say about our kiss. “I’ll leave you to your work.” I retreated back into the house.
I spent the rest of the day locked up in Jacques’s study, unable to concentrate on my book, watching for Silas as I thought about William, the feel of his strong hand in mine as he guided me to safety, as the strikes of his hammer rang through the house.
The dusk came and the moon rose and still no sighting of Silas. William had waited around to sneak him into the stables. My heart sank as I pushed my dinner around on my plate, wishing for an alternate endingto my evening and instead listening to Jacques drone on about his plans for Paris.
“Is that your dream?” I interrupted.
“My what?” he replied mid-chew.
“Your dream for your life?”
He thought for a moment. “I suppose it is. Making and managing money. Traveling abroad. With you at my side, always.” He nodded self-assuredly and continued cutting his potatoes.
“Aren’t you going to ask me?”
“Ask you what?” He stopped before taking another bite, brow furrowed.
“What is my dream?”
He rested his knife and fork on the edge of the plate. “To be a mother ... yes?”
I swallowed. “What if I can’t have children? It’s been months, and it hasn’t happened.”
He shrugged good-naturedly. “Sometimes these things take time.” He popped another potato in his mouth.
“I told you I want to be a writer.”
“But, my dear, don’t you want to focus on our home and the possibility of a family? What kind of life do writers have? There aren’t any woman writers, and certainly none who ...”
I pushed the plate away and folded my arms. “None who what?”
He shook his head. “A determined person can do anything their heart desires, but you must be rational. Besides, there is no need for you to work. It’s unseemly.”
“I was working when you met me,” I reminded him. “And your wife works.”
