"Will you bail water with me?" Nathaniel asked.
Nora's hands came up, resting flat against his chest. She felt the heavy, frantic thumping of his heart beneath his immaculate waistcoat.
"Yes," Nora whispered. "Give me a bucket."
Nathaniel let out a sound that was half laugh, half groan. He didn't hesitate. He kissed her. It wasn't polite, and it wasn't delicate. It was deep, possessive, and entirely desperate. A collision of two people who had spent their lives holding their breath. Nora kissed him back with equal ferocity, her hands tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.
The descent into the ballroom was a tactical operation. Nathaniel did not sneak her down the back stairs. He did not ask her to change into a ball gown. He waited while she put on her least ruined day dress, a simple navy blue wool, and then he took her hand, laced his fingers through hers, and walked her down the grand sweeping staircase in full view of 60 guests.
The string quartet stumbled, the cellist missing a note entirely as a horrific, screeching silence fell over the room. Fans stopped fluttering. Glasses of punch were lowered. Every eye in the room snapped to the staircase, locking onto the Duke of Aldridge and the plain, unadorned third daughter of the disgraced Montgomery family.
Lady Edith dropped her glass. It shattered on the parquet floor, crystal fragments spraying across the polished wood.
Nathaniel didn't flinch. He led Nora straight across the floor, the crowd parting before them like the Red Sea. They walked directly to Lady Edith and Rosalind.
Edith looked as though she were about to faint. Her face cycled through white, purple, and a terrifying shade of gray. "Your grace!" she choked out, staring at his hand firmly holding her youngest daughter's. "What... What is the meaning of this? Nora is ill. She is meant to be in bed."
"Nora is perfectly well, Lady Edith," Nathaniel said, his voice carrying effortlessly over the dead silent room. He reached into his coat and withdrew the folded parchment, holding it out to Edith. "I believe this belongs to you."
Edith took the paper with trembling hands. She unfolded it. Her eyes scanned the legal script, and Nora watched her mother physically deflate. The rigid posture collapsed. The frantic, terrified energy that had driven her for three years simply vanished.
Edith looked at Nathaniel, her eyes wide with shock. "You... You bought it," Edith whispered.
"The Yorkshire estate is free and clear. Your debts are settled," Nathaniel said smoothly. He did not smile. He was entirely business-like. "Consider it a bridal settlement. I have asked for Nora's hand in marriage, and she has accepted."
A collective gasp echoed through the room. Lady Shelby actually swooned, requiring a footman to catch her.
Rosalind, standing beside her mother, looked at Nora. For a terrifying second, Nora braced herself for hatred. She had stolen the prize. She had broken the unspoken rule. But Rosalind didn't look angry. She looked at the deed in her mother's hands, and then she looked at Nathaniel. Slowly, a genuine, completely uncalculated smile broke across Rosalind's beautiful face. The tension left her shoulders. The invisible corset she wore over her mind snapped.
"Thank you, your grace," Rosalind said quietly. She meant it. She didn't want him. She had never wanted him. She just wanted to stop being terrified of the future.
Nathaniel inclined his head to Rosalind with genuine respect. Then he looked down at Nora. The Duke of Aldridge, in front of the most judgmental, ruthless society gossips in the country, raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
"Shall we find a quiet corner, Miss Montgomery?" Nathaniel asked softly. "I believe there is a curtain in the drawing room with our names on it."
"Your grace," Nora replied, a small genuine smile curving her lips.
6 months later, the Somerset mud was still a problem. The spring thaw had turned the grounds of Aldridge Hall into a swamp. In the estate manager's office, the fire roared, fighting off the damp chill of April. Nora sat behind the massive oak desk, her hair pinned up in a haphazard knot that was slowly unraveling. She was wearing a simple, practical dress, and her fingers were stained with ink. In front of her sat the green leather ledger.
"If we delay the purchase of the new carriage," Nora said, running a finger down a column of numbers, "we can allocate the funds to purchase slate for the village of Lower Hingsby. That covers 20 cottages before the autumn rains."
Nathaniel stood by the window, his sleeves rolled up, looking out at the muddy fields. He turned and leaned back against the sill, a fond, amused smile playing on his lips. "I am the Duke of Aldridge," he pointed out mildly. "It is expected that I have a carriage that does not rattle when it goes over cobblestones."
"You have a horse," Nora countered without looking up. "You can ride. The tenants cannot sleep with buckets on their beds."
"Ruthless," Nathaniel murmured, walking across the room. He came up behind her chair, resting his hands on her shoulders. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck, right where her pulse beat. "Absolutely ruthless. I married a tyrant."
"You married an accountant," Nora corrected, leaning back into his warmth. She closed the ledger. The satisfying thud of the thick pages echoed in the quiet room.
"And you love it," Nathaniel chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest. He spun her chair around, framing her face with his hands. He looked at her, really looked at her, with the same intense, grounding focus he had shown her on that first night behind the velvet curtain. There were no ballgowns. There was no poetry. There was only the mud, the ledgers, and the quiet, unshakable certainty that they were holding the roof up together.
"I do," Nathaniel said softly. "God help me, I do."