her mare toward the road. "Shall we be off then?" she asked coolly.
Nathaniel mounted Blunt and nudged him to follow the mare. Willa was right to distance herself from him. Cool and formal was definitely the appropriate manner.
So why wasn't he happier about it?
As the morning progressed, the landscape became more and more familiar to him. Gone were the utilitarian farms of Northamptonshire. They were now in the more fashionable Buckinghamshire, playground of the wealthy and useless. Just the way he used to be.
There was a pasture where he had ridden a race against his host's thoroughbred. There, a small lake known for its good shooting. Soon they would pass through Wakefield, a town where his family had often stopped on the way from Reardon to London for the Season. It was a sizable place, grown prosperous as the best place to halt before the last leg of the journey to London.
With a deep breath, Nathaniel decided it was time to come out of hiding. There was no doubt in his mind that someone in this town would recognize him. If he and Willa were lucky, things wouldn't get too ugly before they managed to get back on the road. Lord Treason's presence anywhere tended to create scenes. After all, his purpose was to ferret out the slippery Sir Foster. He couldn't do that hiding in the hedgerows.
However, it would not be fair to Willa to take her into London unprepared. When they stopped at midday to water the horses, he would tell her everything.
8
« ^ »
Silently Willa cut the bread and portioned out the meal of cheese and cold meat that Nathaniel had purchased this morning from the inn. She felt prickly and off-center, her nerves tightening by the moment. The morning had passed in silence but for the clopping of the horses' hooves. Would he never speak?
When he did, would she want to hear what he had to say? She had offered herself to him twice now, and he had refused her.
"Willa…" began Nathaniel, but he stopped when she raised her eyes to his. She was astonished to see that he appeared to be as ill at ease and unsure as she was.
"I—" He stopped, then began again, more firmly. "There are some particulars about me that you remain ignorant of."
That was an understatement. She didn't say anything, however. He seemed to be having enough trouble finishing a sentence without interruption.
"My name, as you know, is Nathaniel Stonewell." He raised his gaze to hers, his green eyes boring into her blue. "What you don't know is my title. I am the Earl of Reardon."
Willa blinked. She certainly couldn't have predicted that revelation.
Nathaniel rushed on. "I wasn't born to it, since my father—who died when I was but a few years old—was only the nephew of the Earl and he was a much younger son at that. Through a serious of rather freakish events, the other heirs died off in quick succession and I became Lord Reardon when I was but a boy."
"I see," she said slowly, since he seemed to be waiting for a response. "How… nice."
"You shouldn't feel intimidated by my title, now that you know," he assured her.
She didn't smile, given that he was being so sincere with his permission. "I won't," she promised with equal gravity.
"So you see wherein lies our problem," he said, spreading his hands. "We aren't actually wed."
Willa thought about it for a long moment. "My apologies, but no. I don't see."
"Peers cannot legally marry in spontaneous country ceremonies like a blacksmith or a farmer," he explained gently. "There are laws requiring that we post our intention for three Sundays first, to allow anyone with property or title claims, or even previous marriages, to come forward." He shrugged. "There are dowries to be discussed, lines of maternal inheritance to be assured, endless negotiations…"
Oh, heavens—was that all he was worried about? Willa sat forward, her chin on her hands. "Do I get another proposal of marriage? The first one wasn't really up to snuff."
Nathaniel took a deep breath. "Yes, well. I
Nathaniel mounted Blunt and nudged him to follow the mare. Willa was right to distance herself from him. Cool and formal was definitely the appropriate manner.
So why wasn't he happier about it?
As the morning progressed, the landscape became more and more familiar to him. Gone were the utilitarian farms of Northamptonshire. They were now in the more fashionable Buckinghamshire, playground of the wealthy and useless. Just the way he used to be.
There was a pasture where he had ridden a race against his host's thoroughbred. There, a small lake known for its good shooting. Soon they would pass through Wakefield, a town where his family had often stopped on the way from Reardon to London for the Season. It was a sizable place, grown prosperous as the best place to halt before the last leg of the journey to London.
With a deep breath, Nathaniel decided it was time to come out of hiding. There was no doubt in his mind that someone in this town would recognize him. If he and Willa were lucky, things wouldn't get too ugly before they managed to get back on the road. Lord Treason's presence anywhere tended to create scenes. After all, his purpose was to ferret out the slippery Sir Foster. He couldn't do that hiding in the hedgerows.
However, it would not be fair to Willa to take her into London unprepared. When they stopped at midday to water the horses, he would tell her everything.
8
« ^ »
Silently Willa cut the bread and portioned out the meal of cheese and cold meat that Nathaniel had purchased this morning from the inn. She felt prickly and off-center, her nerves tightening by the moment. The morning had passed in silence but for the clopping of the horses' hooves. Would he never speak?
When he did, would she want to hear what he had to say? She had offered herself to him twice now, and he had refused her.
"Willa…" began Nathaniel, but he stopped when she raised her eyes to his. She was astonished to see that he appeared to be as ill at ease and unsure as she was.
"I—" He stopped, then began again, more firmly. "There are some particulars about me that you remain ignorant of."
That was an understatement. She didn't say anything, however. He seemed to be having enough trouble finishing a sentence without interruption.
"My name, as you know, is Nathaniel Stonewell." He raised his gaze to hers, his green eyes boring into her blue. "What you don't know is my title. I am the Earl of Reardon."
Willa blinked. She certainly couldn't have predicted that revelation.
Nathaniel rushed on. "I wasn't born to it, since my father—who died when I was but a few years old—was only the nephew of the Earl and he was a much younger son at that. Through a serious of rather freakish events, the other heirs died off in quick succession and I became Lord Reardon when I was but a boy."
"I see," she said slowly, since he seemed to be waiting for a response. "How… nice."
"You shouldn't feel intimidated by my title, now that you know," he assured her.
She didn't smile, given that he was being so sincere with his permission. "I won't," she promised with equal gravity.
"So you see wherein lies our problem," he said, spreading his hands. "We aren't actually wed."
Willa thought about it for a long moment. "My apologies, but no. I don't see."
"Peers cannot legally marry in spontaneous country ceremonies like a blacksmith or a farmer," he explained gently. "There are laws requiring that we post our intention for three Sundays first, to allow anyone with property or title claims, or even previous marriages, to come forward." He shrugged. "There are dowries to be discussed, lines of maternal inheritance to be assured, endless negotiations…"
Oh, heavens—was that all he was worried about? Willa sat forward, her chin on her hands. "Do I get another proposal of marriage? The first one wasn't really up to snuff."
Nathaniel took a deep breath. "Yes, well. I
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