Authors: Jessica Nelson
“Perhaps you should consider your own words.” Miles pushed out of his seat and strode around the table until he was face-to-face with his snarling betrothed. It wasn't fair that she looked beautiful when angry. He knew of no other who managed such a feat. Even her birthmark, the shape of a heart, he'd often thought, was beautiful because it was a part of Elizabeth. “There is no other woman I would even consider giving my name to, ruination or no. And yet you act as though I am a dumb, unworthy man.”
Shock crossed her face, paling her skin, widening her eyes. “I never said such a thing.”
“You implied it,” he said flatly.
Her lips tightened. She threw her napkin on the table. He hadn't even seen it balled in her fist. “If I were not in such a predicament, you would be the last man I'd ever marry.”
She stalked off, leaving Miles to wonder how things had turned so horribly sour so very quickly.
Chapter Eleven
M
en were dastardly creatures.
Elizabeth muttered to herself as she awaited a horse to be saddled. After mailing off her article on telescopes and astronomy to the Society of Scientific Minds, she'd spent the rest of the morning writing invitations for a betrothal house party. Grandmother had kindly agreed to allow the party to be held at Windermar one month from now. Though it would be during the height of the Season, she supposed some members of the ton might enjoy a respite from London's flurry of activities.
A house party was best, she'd decided, because it gave all the guests time to know one another and relax before the main event, the ball. It also provided Elizabeth the means to work up her nerve toward such an event. Being surrounded by the same people might defuse the nerves that so often plagued her in social settings.
That was her hope, at least.
Though many of the names on the list Miles provided had been unknown to her. Business associates, perhaps? That ought to be interesting, mingling the haut ton with people who worked for a living. Perhaps her parents might refuse attendance on such a basis.
Biting back a smile, Elizabeth acknowledged to herself that if such a thing happened, she would not be disappointed.
The groom brought the horse to where she waited outside. It was a lovely day for a ride. A cool breeze gusted across the land, riding waves of sunshine and scents of summer flowers. The land sloped in emerald hills all around her and after being cooped up for so many hours in the office, she'd decided that paying a visit to the housekeeper's son would not be uncalled for.
“Thank you,” she told the groom. He doffed his cap, and a twinge grabbed hold of her. She should say more. Care more. She set her shoulders back. “What is your name?”
A look of surprise crossed the young man's face. He shuffled his feet in the grass. “William, my lady.”
“William,” she said, tasting the name, determining to remember it. If Miles could remember names, then so could she. Thinking of him brought a gouging hurt to her chest. She mustered a smile for the young man before her. “And the horse's name?”
“Silver Lightning, my lady.”
“A sweet name. Have you been with us long?”
His head tilted. “I was born here. Sally is my mother.”
Sally? She had no idea who he meant. Managing a tight smile and completely convinced of her absolute lack of skills in social etiquette, she thanked him. He helped her onto Silver Lightning and then hooked the basket of goodies she'd brought onto the back of the saddle.
It was a relief to canter off toward the housekeeper's house on the estate, to feel the warm sun on her hands and the breeze playing with her riding habit. It was a new one, straight from Paris, she supposed, since her grandmother had done the ordering. All in preparation of a Season, to find a husband.
And all she'd managed to accomplish thus far was an almost ruination and the discovery that after fifteen years at Windermar, she knew no one.
What kind of person paid no attention to others? Perhaps Miles was right about her, after all?
Last night had been terrible. She'd gone to bed upset and agitated. She'd tossed and turned, the look on Miles's face at dinner plaguing her all night long. His words, oh, how they stung! And he'd had the audacity to accuse her of calling him dumb.
Just the memory brought a betraying sting to her eyelids. She blinked hard. Never mind Miles and his wretched opinions. He'd always been this way. Challenging her and making her feel as though she couldn't measure up.
She frowned. Perhaps that wasn't completely true. It was because of Miles that she'd climbed her first tree. A harrowing experience, to be sure, and it ended with him scurrying up to rescue her from a branch. But...he'd had confidence in her. He'd encouraged her to try something new.
And there was the time a village child stole her book and tossed it into a creek. She clearly remembered bawling in her grandmother's sitting room, wrapped in a warm blanket and unable to sip her hot chocolate. And then Miles pranced into the study with her book. He was sopping wet, of course, and in the beginnings of autumn it was no small feat to jump into a creek just to fetch a novel.
The memory drained her ire.
Last night must have been an anomaly in their relationship. Though it was true that they did not always see eye to eye, he was as familiar and dear to her as a beloved novel. One whose ending she could not always guess, but did that not make for the most exciting stories?
As though her thoughts summoned him, she heard a call on the horizon and looked over to see Miles riding toward her. As he neared, a hitch drew her breath short.
She had no idea what he would say. An apology lay precariously on the tip of her tongue, but every ounce of her being resisted being the first one to apologize. Pride, she knew, yet it kept her back rigid as Miles drew his horse alongside her.
A playful smile edged his well-shaped lips, and the sunlight caused his eyes to twinkle. He tipped his head toward her. “My lady, how lovely your pursed mouth appears this morn.”
* * *
Miles read the annoyance on Bitt's features as easily as he read contracts.
“It takes a certain kind of man to appreciate irritation,” she snipped. Facing forward, she nudged her horse to keep moving. Miles easily kept up.
“Where are you off to this morning?” he asked.
The large basket behind her suggested a picnic but he found it hard to believe she'd be eating outside. Her riding habit fit her form well. She looked every inch a duchess's granddaughter. Once again he wondered why he thought a betrothal was a good idea. Last night had proved many things. Remembering scorched his good mood.
“I'm visiting the housekeeper's son.”
“Annie's son?”
She tossed him a disgruntled look, hardly discernible beneath the decorated hat she wore. And ruffles. Ruffles everywhere. “How can you see past all those trimmings?” he asked.
“How do you remember every person's name?”
“I pay attention,” he said drily.
He wasn't sure how it was possible for her back to stiffen further beneath the smooth fabric of her habit, but he was certain it did. He brought his mare closer to hers.
“Really, Miles.” She shot him a scowl, but he read the hesitation in her eyes.
“I'd like to join you,” he said simply. “I'm not happy with how our conversation ended last night, and a ride together leaves room for more discussion.”
“There is nothing to discuss. You have kindly agreed to marry me to save my family from bearing the consequences of my corrupt ways. I will do my utmost to honor your name.” Her formal tone echoed the duchess, causing another unwilling smile to form.
He did not recall her being so prickly, so difficult, in years past. Last night's barbs irritated but today, riding in the spring air, the scent of leather and horse perfuming their ride, he could only think of how he enjoyed her feisty words. They added spice to a bland day.
“Thank you for pointing out any errors in the ledgers,” he said. “Even though I pride myself on my mathematical skills, I have been reexamining the ledger per your advice but have yet to find your changes.”
“I did not write in your book, Miles. I wrote on a separate paper. Also, it is not the addition that is erroneous. It is the prices of products. The amounts. Although there may have been one or two mathematical errors.”
“I misunderstood you, then. For I thought the math was off.”
“It is the prices, Miles. But perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps I was looking for deception where there is none.”
“I shall look into it,” he said with finality. It might require more research, but he would get to the bottom of it. Even if only to set her mind at rest. Slow clouds crept across the sky, reminding him that they'd best hurry before they were caught in a rain shower.
“It looks like rain,” Elizabeth said, echoing his thoughts. She studied the sky, her profile arched upward, the line of her petite nose quite lovely. “The cottage is only a bit farther.”
“Are we agreed that our squabbling should cease?” asked Miles.
“This is not squabbling. It is communication, though perhaps a tad incomplete.” She pressed her heels into her mount and sprang forward.
When they arrived at the cottage, Elizabeth amazed him. In his mind, he had painted a picture of her that did not exist. With the tenants, she was gracious and courteous. Though soft-spoken and wont to say little, she listened to them, offering to help in different ways. She left a basket of goodies on their table. A surprising sense of pride undulated through him as he watched her act every inch the lady of the estate.
Who was this Elizabeth? How had he not known she existed? After promising Annie's son that she'd gather some of the other men together to patch his roof, Elizabeth said her goodbyes and followed Miles out of doors. Though the small cottage had smelled like spiced cider and yeast, the vastness of the outdoors brought relief from his aversion to closed spaces.
It was not an overly bothersome paranoia, but at times he began to feel caged and longed for a wide-open space in which to breathe.
“Are you well, Miles?” Elizabeth asked after he'd helped her mount and they began the journey home.
“I was beginning to feel the press of the walls,” he admitted without thinking.
She was quiet for a moment.
The wind had picked up, carrying with it the sultry musk of impending rain. He thought of his mill workers, of the coughs that plagued those in the Littleshire factory, the fatigue. If the windows did not ease the burden, he might have to look into reconstructing the layout. Breathing in fibers every day posed a significant threat to their health.
“Is that why you avoid the library?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.
Startled, he glanced over to find her brow quizzical and her expression compassionate. He measured the comment, searching for traces of truth. “Perhaps when I have been confined too long is when I yearn for the openness of the outdoors.” He let out a short laugh as a memory surfaced. “I was locked in a trunk once, you see.”
Elizabeth gasped.
“Do not alarm yourself. It was only a few minutes but it felt like eternity. Thankfully your brother found me. We'd been playing hide and seek, and I had it in my head that a trunk was the perfect place to hide.”
“How terrible!”
“I remember the odor to this day. Rotting wood and mothballs.” He shrugged. “Ever since, too long in a room and I get itchy.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I am certainly glad John found you, else I would have no one to argue with.”
Her smile warmed him, as bright and cheerful as the day was not.
“That would be a sad loss indeed.”
“I owe you an apology. Not for anything I said,” she rushed on, “but for making you feel as though I think poorly of you. For making you feel as though you are deficient.”
He cringed. “An apology is unnecessary. My ego is intact despite your disapproval of my ways.”
“But that is just the thing, Miles...” And her lips curved in that dreamy way she had about her. “You are a lovely man, full of many fine qualities, and I shall be proud to be your wife.”
Was she jesting? “Just last night you said I was the last person you'd ever choose,” he pointed out carefully.
“I spoke hastily.” Her head bent. “Since I am being forced to marry, you are my best choice. Despite your overbearing, superficial ways, you have a sweet disposition and truly care about me.”
“Is this a compliment or an underhanded way of insulting me?” He could not even find the will to tease her. Not one person of his acquaintance had ever referred to him as overbearing. And superficial? He nudged his mare closer to her. “How is it that I'm superficial, Elizabeth Wayland?”
“It's not necessary to argue over trivial matters.” She picked her head up and stared straight ahead, toward the estate, which loomed before them.
“I am merely asking you to provide evidence for your suppositions.”
“And that is why you're overbearing.”
Miles clenched the reins. She was maddening, simply maddening. “If we are to have any kind of comfortable marriage, perhaps we should find a way to overcome this squabbling.”
She shot him a glare. “You may call this a squabble, but I feel that it is a fair indicator of our lack of compatibility in almost every way. If our marriage is to be a contractual agreement and nothing more, do you not feel that we should stop bothering with needless niceties? I have no desire to be a part of your world or to engage with you on a daily basis. The agreement is that I shall be available and able to play the part of hostess when you are in need. Other than that, I believed myself to be free to live how I want. Even if that means taking care of my grandmother. There is no reason to live with you after our marriage. I was truly shocked when you practically ordered me to do so last night.”
Forceful words, and they cut him to the bone. “I see my affection for you has blinded me to the coldness in your character.”
“Oh, yes, I'm well aware of how little you value my person. You are constantly reminding me of all the ways in which I am failing. Every time I see you, I must bear your unconscionable comments about my person and my hobbies.”
“That is not true.”
To his surprise, her chin quivered. She glanced away, drawing her reins closer as if to shield herself.
He set his jaw. “You cannot go around protecting yourself from life. You must be involved. You must reach out to others. I only say these things because of my deep affection for you. I only wish to see you happy.”
“Am I not happy with my books? My life is fulfilling as it is, and it is your incessant desire to change me that wears on me.”
“Change you?” Miles edged closer to her, ignoring her mare's nervous prancing. He grabbed Elizabeth's arm, gently yet firmly, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You are just right the way you are, and I regret ever making you feel as though you are not.”