Chapter 39
“He—you know what happens to people when they die, don’t you?”
Jack’s eyes widened and he nodded.
“For months I couldn’t get the smell out of my nose, but couldn’t remember exactly what it was. I knew it wasn’t truly there all around me, but I could conjure it up just the same. I hate myself for the ungrateful coward I was that day, alive but so useless. Afraid. I couldn’t help that man, no matter how much I shrieked.”
Nicola shuddered, the memory as fresh now as the day it happened. When she had stopped making noise, the man himself had…vanished. So had a part of her.
Jack leaned over and squeezed her hand. “Don’t speak of yourself so. You were—are—brave.”
“Am I? I retreated into my safe little silent world, making all those around me unhappy. I didn’t—couldn’t speak, for that way when no one came to help, it wouldn’t be a disappointment. I hadn’t asked and been denied.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“I don’t think I do either. I’d just…given up, exactly as I accused you of doing. No one came to save me, no matter how much noise I made. No one came to save that poor man. There was no point in talking anymore.” She plucked at her skirt, chosen so carefully today to make one last lasting impression on Jack. “I don’t even know his name.”
“Harry Prentiss. He was a jeweler. His son has taken over the business, and is doing well.”
“I suppose you gave the family a fortune.”
Jack left his chair and went to the window, the weak sunlight limning his profile. “Not enough. How can money replace a life? Do you see, Nicola? Nothing I ever do will be enough.” He traced a frosted pane with a fingertip.
The exasperation rose within her. Did the man not listen? “Maybe it was his time, Jack. Written in some book somewhere: Harry Prentiss dies on the train to Bath, The End. You must stop blaming yourself, or you’ll never get out of Puddling. Get on with your life.”
“I’m not sure I want to now. Look at all that damn snow out there. I might get frostbite. Much better to stay in and have Mrs. Feather poison me. If she ever comes back.” He attempted a joke, but wasn’t smiling.
“Forget the snow. They need your cottage for some other unfortunate soul, and you are malingering. So am I, when it comes to it. I need to find a place to live.”
He turned to her, his expression uncertain. “You’ll not go back to your parents’ house?”
Nicola shook her head. “I can’t. I’m not their dutiful daughter anymore. The thought of running into Richard at every turn is another strike against Bath as well.”
“He wants to marry you. I heard him. Until I put my fingers in my ears.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want to marry him. Not if he was the very last man on earth,” she said with vehemence.
A crooked grin appeared. “Good. Then you can marry me. I’ll reinstate my original offer.”
Nicola stared into his eyes. They seemed free of the drugs, but he was still ill. “I can’t marry you, Jack. I’d never know if you offered because you love me, or if you were sorry for me now that you know who I am. And you don’t trust me.”
“I asked you yesterday when I didn’t know,” Jack reminded her. “And I can learn to trust you again.”
She hadn’t said yes when he’d asked, and had been surprised at the piercing sting she felt when he’d withdrawn his offer in his anger last night. She’d manipulated her way right into his arms and had been awfully proud of herself—who knew she had wanted more?
“Who was the one who hit his head on a tree here?” he continued. “Of course, I love you, Nicola! Haven’t I shown you again and again? Right since Christmas, I’ve done everything to convince you my intentions were honorable.
“I proposed last night, I’ve proposed today, and I suppose if I have to I can propose tomorrow until you say yes. Look, remember all those times when you threw yourself at me and I pretended I couldn’t catch you? I didn’t want to saddle you with my problems, but then I saw a ray of light. Of hope. You made me see it, Nicola. All your nagging—the Puddling Rehabilitation Foundation should hire you.
“But then—to find out who you were—that you lied—it seemed pretty impossible. I was furious. With you and with myself. I caused your affliction. Your unhappiness. I can’t cause you more, I swear it. I won’t. I was even resolved to stand aside and let that wretch Richard take you away from here this morning.”
“Never. Ever.”
“That is excellent news. I don’t know why you didn’t say so sooner in this conversation.”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
He blinked. “I shall never understand women.”
“For a rake, you are somewhat obtuse, it’s true. It was only through my devious methods that I lost my virginity.” And the peaches.
“Who said I was a rake?”
“Your secretary, Mr. Clarke. When he walked me home, he was most informative.”
“The blighter. I’ll fire him.”
“Oh, don’t do that. He was your champion, admonishing me not to believe the worst of you. He seems to be a capable young man. And you need someone to organize you.”
“A wife could do that.” He slipped ungracefully to one knee and took her hand. “Marry me.”
“This is a really dreadful proposal, Jack. Worse than Richard’s, and on the same rug. One doesn’t want to be asked to organize.”
“There are no flowers available—it’s the dead of winter, you know. Come with me to Ashburn. I have a glasshouse there. I’m sure someone is keeping it stocked with roses or some such.” He was circling her palm again, causing her to shiver.
He was pure temptation. And impossible. “I can’t go to Oxfordshire with you.”
“Why not? It’s only the next county over. Won’t take any time at all, even with bad roads in all this weather. You can examine the house and see if you want to be mistress of it. Be my mistress until you decide.” He sprang up like a child’s spring-toy and sat next to her, practically in her lap.
Nicola knew her face was flaming. Two proposals in one day, three in as many days if you counted yesterday. “Worse and worse! First you ask me to marry you, then instead I’m to be your mistress! Despite the fact I am a fallen woman, I have not fallen so far as to…as to…” Her newly acquired voice failed her.
A woman did not simply visit a gentleman’s house without a chaperone. She saw herself being looked down upon by a wealthy baron’s servants, who would be much more aware of their own consequence than her mother’s small staff.
And a solicitor’s daughter was not really proper baroness material. She reminded herself that she’d come here to explain and say good-bye.
He kissed her knuckles, one after the other, despite her trying to pull her hand away. “Stop being so silly! Of course, I want you to be my wife! Old Fitzmartin can marry us. When Ezra Clarke came, he brought me a special license.”
“He what?”
“Apparently when I was off my head, I asked him to get a special license. And bring the family ring. I didn’t get the chance to give it to you yesterday. We rakes are sure of ourselves, Nicola, even when we have spiked a fever. I won’t take no for an answer. I never take no for an answer. Or at least I didn’t until the train accident. You might say I was derailed myself these past ten months. But I know what I want now. I want you, and I’m pretty sure you want me even if you think you don’t.”
Jack was becoming harder and harder to resist. Nicola was forgetting why she felt she had to.
He had such an overdeveloped conscience, which in some ways was admirable. Look at what he’d done for the victims of the accident—she was set for life financially thanks to him. But did he really love her, or just feel obligated? She might never know for sure.
And there was the additional complication that she had given herself to him. Was he feeling duty-bound to offer her the protection of his name? Even if he had wanted to marry her before, it was different now. He was such a gentleman, after all.
Nicola didn’t feel much like a lady. With him so close, she was swept away by the scent of his shaving soap and the starch in his collar. She could count his long eyelashes if she chose. Admire his teeth. Feel his breath against her forehead. Tip her head back so he could steal a kiss.
No, not steal. It would be freely given. Nicola needed someone to talk some sense into her, but Jack was an unlikely candidate.
“Don’t overthink it. That’s what you’ve accused me of doing, isn’t it? Just say yes.”
Was it that simple? Nicola had been an overthinking sort of person her whole life.
“I can’t. We hardly know one another.”
Jack chortled. “I’d say I know you very well. You are kind. And beautiful.”
“Saying I’m beautiful—which I’m not, by the way—isn’t knowing me.”
“All right. You cannot draw. You are willing to give up peaches with abandon, so I suppose you like other fruit better—I’ll find out which ones eventually when I watch you over the breakfast table. You can make raisin sauce. You miss your dog, whose name is Tiptoe. Uh, that’s not right. Tiptop?”
“Tippy.”
“Exactly. You cannot skate. You play the piano like a virtuoso. You have a keen sense of justice and sympathy for those less fortunate. You enjoy reading romantic novels, although you doubted their veracity until you met me.” He leered at her, winking, and she had to laugh.
“We can get to know each other, Nicola. We have our whole lives ahead of us, as you keep telling me. Say yes.”
So she did.