Broken Boundaries: A Sweet Regency Romance Page 2

  She jumped to her feet, full of her usual boundless energy, then winced. “I forgot about my feet,” she said as she tucked her arm through his and they began to walk back into the sunshine. “I am so happy to see you today! You are always gone far too long.” Her words were sweet, but her voice was strained as though she was trying to create the levity they had always taken for granted in days gone by.

  “I am all too aware of that fact,” Nate agreed, a wry little smile playing at the corners of his mouth, saddened that two such good friends could be left feeling so awkward around one another. It was not fair.

  Chapter Two

  “And oh, my, it was so hot in the bakery today!” Christine declared as they settled back onto the bank. She had been desperately trying to distract Nate. He had become so uncharacteristically morose after she had foolishly asked about his father. She felt it was her job to cheer him up, to restore the mood, yet, she knew that something had changed irreparably between them, and it had little to do with His Grace, the Duke of Goldingshire.

  Trying not to notice how tense things felt between her and Nate, Christine pulled off her boots and stockings again, pulling up her skirts round her knees and dangled her feet into the water.

  “Baring one's feet is not something that a young lady should ever do,” Nate said absent-mindedly. He picked a strand of wild wheat and put it in his mouth, looking out over the river rather than at her.

  “Then it is a good thing I am no lady,” Christine said with a grin. Nate smiled too. Perhaps that made all the difference. She was the daughter of the bakers, Kenneth and Abigail Langdon. A different set of expectations entirely.

  “You are a dreadful hoyden,” Nathaniel teased but he followed her lead, hitching up his breeches. Christine could not help noticing that he could hardly keep his eyes from her bared legs as he placed his own feet into the water beside hers. His eyes were filled with an expression she had never seen before, at least not from Nate.

  Feeling a little disconcerted and trying to distract herself from the thought that Nate found her attractive, Christine tried to change the mood of the moment."I heard your mother is planning another of her balls next month,” she said lightly, moving her feet gracefully and smoothly, creating ripples and waves that splashed against their bare skin.

  For a moment, it was as if Nathaniel had forgotten that she had even spoken, he seemed so mesmerised by the pale whiteness of Christine’s shapely calves against the dark grey rocks and the glittering clarity of the water. Wrenching his eyes away and fixing them defiantly on the horizon he took a deep breath before he answered. “Oh, yes, of course. I am sure it will be a dreadfully dull affair,” he assured her.

  “She came to see my parents. Well, I say your mother came – she sent her lady in waiting of course. They want help with the cooking. It looks like we will be very busy indeed.”

  “I am glad they had the sense to come to you. I know Cook can be a little snooty about serving dishes she didn’t prepare herself but nobody can ever complain about the standards your mother and father keep,” Nathaniel said.

  The Langdon Bakery was well known throughout the county. The quality of their baked goods was superior to the products produced in many of the local gentry kitchens, although the highly paid cooks of the gentry would be loathe to admit it. Such an arrangement, to assist with the needs of one of the duchess’ grand balls would be a lot of work, but would also make the bakery a lot of money. Such events often saw many hundreds of people in attendance. Many of the attending couples stayed at the property for a week or more, putting a significant demand on the Goldington House kitchens and the bakery, too.

  “I will not say that I have no fears about whether we can do it or not,” Christine said cautiously, “but my parents seem quite pleased. In fact, Mother says she would like to make some changes. She keeps reminding my father that moving the ovens to the back of the shop will make more space. Because we are so busy she believes we need it. What she really wants is a bigger kitchen but there is not anything in the village available – and who knows whether your father would agree to us moving anyway."

  “But that is good news, is it not, that things are going well?” Nate asked, carefully avoiding the difficult subject, Christine noted, of tenant leases that he could do nothing about. Christine wondered if things would change when Nate became the duke, if he would be more open to the idea of families and businesses moving around more, should need arise.

  Nate’s father was a firm believer that no man should attempt to change his station, and so cottages and workspaces had remained in the same families’ hands for generations whether or not they actually fit the needs of their occupants. Old Mrs Jenkins had one of the largest houses in town and was a lonely widow, whilst the Garvey family with their four children and growing carpentry business had one of the smallest. Both parties had expressed a desire to swap, to make the most of the resources available, yet the duke had resolutely refused them both.

  “I suppose so,” she agreed, wishing she could speak up about the matters that affected her life – but she did not wish to seem ungrateful, or to cause trouble for her family, not even with Nate. He did not want to get involved with any of it, after all, and Christine doubted that even his voice would hold any sway with his father. So, why ruin a good friendship over such nonsense? It was better to do the best with what was there and to be thankful for it.

  “It seems as though more people are moving into the town every day,” she said. “The community is growing, and everyone buys their loaves from us. My sisters are beginning to spend more time helping in the kitchen as well, to ease some of the load, though they are still young.”

  “I am pleased to hear that your family is doing well,” Nathaniel said earnestly, “My father reminds me all the time that he wants to do all he can to help his tenants in Goldington, be they gentry, tenant farmer, miller, baker, or labourer. If they are doing well, then we are doing well. It is why they try to offer any extra work to people like your family and not to fancy London merchants.”

  “Yes,” Christine agreed vaguely, a rogue thought ploughing through her head, that if the duke truly wished to help the villagers then he should listen to them a little more. “Yes, I suppose that is so.”

  “But I did not come down here to talk about any of that,” Nate said hurriedly, clearly sensing that she was less than happy with the topic of conversation.

  For just one moment it had seemed as though the shifting sands beneath their feet had become solid ground. Now, it felt as though Nate had unwittingly dragged them straight into a quagmire once more. She hated that their easy friendship had come to this. To be so on edge, around the one person she had always relied upon to accept her just as she was felt devastatingly unfair.

  Why could not life be simple? Why could Nate not be the miller’s son, or the village carpenter’s? Why did he have to be an earl? What would become of them when he became a duke? It broke her heart to admit it, but she wondered if this may be one of the last times she was ever able to be with Nate this way – and that it was going so badly that their memories would be tainted forever.

  Sitting quietly, not knowing what to say next, knowing he had made things impossible again, Nate realised that telling her such things just widened the vast chasm between them. He never wanted her to think that he thought less of her because she lived in a few rooms above a bakery, when he lived up at Goldington Manor. She was the most real and wonderful person he had ever known. He never wanted her to feel small, or unimportant – or for her to think that he believed himself to be better in any way than her, because he was an idiot and she was the sweetest, kindest and best person he knew.

  Yet, more and more often as of late, he had begun to speak as if he were already taking on the responsibilities of the duchy, despite constantly stating that he was not ready to take on such an arduous responsibility. Even so, and regardless of how uncomfortable it might make either himself or Christine to think about it, it was true that one day
everything that the eye could see would all belong to him.

  Something, maybe a number of things, had changed irreparably since he and Christine had last been together, and the atmosphere between them seemed suddenly tense and almost cold, despite the warm weather. Nate watched as Christine pulled her feet out of the water and started to put her stockings on. She yanked on her boots and laced them loosely, mindful of her scratched feet. She did not look at him, kept her head down and her eyes upon her task.

  He frowned and followed suit, unsure if she was unhappy with him because he had been too high-handed, or if it was because she simply did not want to talk about work. Nate watched her, wondering if she wanted him to be there at all. He desperately wanted everything to return to the way it had once been.

  “Come with me for a walk along the river,” he said impulsively, longing to make up for his mistakes. “The day is spectacular, after all. There was no fog today, did you notice? A rare thing indeed. And there are no clouds for a change!” He could have kicked himself for being so very English, resorting to talking of the weather – as if that could save this dreadful afternoon.

  Instead of giving an answer Christine took off, running like the wind downstream. Nate paused for a moment. He did not know if she would want him to chase her, or if she was fleeing his ridiculous company. But, thankfully she turned and looked over her shoulder. She was smiling again, and with a teasing finger she beckoned him forth.

  He needed no second invitation, and with a sigh of relief, Nate chased after her with a cry of exuberance. The pace they ran at, no words needed seemed to break the tense atmosphere completely. It was such a relief, to just be running, to be free, to forget everything. Christine giggled, as she upped her pace, glancing over her shoulder to see how close he was, then suddenly stumbled over an exposed tree root, giving a tiny yelp as she tumbled to the ground in a heap.

  “Christine! Are you all right?” he cried, racing to her side, concerned at how quiet she was. She was clutching at her left ankle, rocking just a little as silent tears poured down her cheeks. Nate did not stop to think of propriety, he just leaned down to check her ankle. Christine grimaced and gave a tiny whimper as he gently lifted the offending limb.

  “Christine, you should be more careful,” he chided, sounding every bit like his father and yet incapable of sounding any other way. His heart had been in his mouth as he had watched her fall, and he had been so frightened when she had been so still and quiet as he raced to her side. But, it was clear that she had not done any lasting damage, and though she was in a lot of pain she was being so very brave.

  “I am sure it is just a sprain,” he said in a softer tone. “But I think we are best to keep your boots on until we can get you home. Boots will give it some support if there is anything more serious that we cannot see. I can check it over when we get there.”

  “You are a doctor now, are you?” she said, trying to keep her tone light, but it was clear that she was trying to hide how much discomfort she was in. She was pale, and a thin sheen of sweat was beginning to form on her brow. “It is throbbing a bit,” she conceded. “I imagine I have twisted it. Silly of me, not paying attention.”

  “Ah, well, I am sure you will live, though I am not sure you will be able to walk on it,” Nate said decisively.

  “Oh, I am sure I can walk. I have had injuries far worse than this,” she said stoically. “Anyway, I have to get back to the bakery, whether I am injured or not. Mother and Father are expecting me to help them, and we have very demanding customers to please,” she grinned at him, and he knew she was talking about his mother. “Please, if you would help me up, though, I would be rather grateful.”

  Nate reached out a hand to her and she took it. He could not help noticing how small her hand looked in his, and how the short, ragged nails and callused skin were so different to his own. It did not seem right that a woman should have rougher hands than a man.

  Nathaniel hauled her to her feet, and she made to put her foot down. “Ow!” she squealed, tears coming to her eyes.

  “I am going to carry you back to the bakery,” Nathaniel said decisively. “We can call the doctor if necessary once we have returned.”

  “Lord Nathaniel Sheffield, you cannot carry me all the way back to the bakery. Just think of what people would say! It is too far. I can walk. I just need to get used to it a little,” Christine answered indignantly. “And not everyone can afford the doctor for such a little thing as a tender ankle.”

  Nate ignored Christine's pleas, and lifted her into his arms, tolerating the beating across his chest and around his head that she gave him. "You are light as a feather. Well, as long as you stay still and do not wriggle like an eel,” he said with a chuckle. “And it is the gentlemanly thing to do. So if any tongues should wag, they can think on that. I am no cad, so carry you is what I will do."

  He paused to adjust her weight a little so he was more balanced, and encouraged her to put her arms around his neck. And he carried her all the way to her door without complaint or any signs that doing so was a burden.

  As they reached the High Street, she looked so wan that Nate was truly worried for her. “No more protests,” he said softly as he took her round the back of the bakery. “I am more than happy to pay for the doctor, as your injury is my fault. If nothing else he can give you something for the pain. I will not take no for an answer.”

  Chapter Three

  Unable to wait any longer to hear any news of how Christine was faring, even though barely two days had passed, Nate rode into the village and knocked on the door of the Langdon house. Christine’s mother looked surprised as she opened the door, but she bobbed a shallow curtsey in deference to his rank.

  “How can I help you, My Lord?” she asked him politely. Nathaniel could see she was wary. It was not often a member of his family appeared on the doorstep of one of their tenants. He hoped that she would at least be sure that if there were any problems that it would be the family bailiff who would be calling on them – and not him directly.

  “Hello, Mrs Langdon,” Nathaniel said brightly, doing his best to ease the poor woman’s understandable, though unspoken, concerns. “Might I come in?”

  Mrs Langdon nodded and ushered him inside, indicating he should go up the stairs. He made his way up to the tiny apartment that the family lived in above the bakery, and waited for Mrs Langdon to reach him. She directed him to go into the larger front room that served as a parlour by day, and a bedroom by night. It was hard not to see just how frugal their living conditions were, and how differently they lived to himself. He had not really noticed when he brought Christine home, he had been far too worried about her to see anything but her pale face and the tears she had been trying so hard not to shed.

  Trying to school his face not to notice now, Nathaniel turned to Mrs Langdon with a charming smile. “How does Christine fare today?” he asked. “Might I see her?”

  “Lord Sheffield, she is abed, but it is good of you to come calling on us, and to be so concerned for Christine’s welfare. The pain is subsiding a little and she is doing well.”

  “And how is the swelling? When we took off her boot, her ankle was the size of an apple,” Nate said.

  “It is much less today than it was before. I daresay things would have been far worse if you had not carried her all that way.” Mrs Langdon was not being unfriendly, but it was clear to Nate that she was uncomfortable in his presence. He supposed that made sense, but he wished it was not so.

  “It would have been most ungallant to leave her. It was the least I could do,” he assured Mrs Langdon. “And, I doubt she would have made it home had I not stepped in.”

  “And, I cannot thank you enough for sending Dr Harris.” Mrs Langdon wrung her hands as she said this. It was clear that she was as proud as her daughter, and was unhappy to have accepted charity. “He gave us some laudanum to ease the pain and help Christine sleep.”

  Nate wanted to tell her that he would do anything for Christine, that it
was not charity, but self-interest, really. He could not have lived with himself if he had not sent the doctor and made sure that Christine truly had done nothing more than sprain her ankle.

  He knew just how badly an ill-set, or unset break could be – and that the Langdons could not afford to have a member of their family unable to walk, or work. But, he also knew that he must not let Christine’s mother know how close he and Christine’s friendship was. There was a chance she would not care, but it was more likely that Christine would get a thorough tongue lashing and be warned against seeing him so casually again.

  “She is growing quite grumpy with all the bed-rest,” her mother said with an unexpectedly conspiratorial smile. “Everything I have learned from being her mother says that means she is ready to get out of this house. But she must rest a few days more, the doctor was most insistent on that instruction.”

  “Of course,” Nate said smiling back at her. He could only imagine just how unhappy the wild and rebellious Christine must be feeling at being cooped up indoors for such a long time. It was like caging a big cat – unfair and unkind. “I will not disturb her, or you any further, Mrs Langdon. But, I have brought some books I thought she might like to read. A book of poetry by Lord Byron, and a romance novel the bookseller assured me would be of keen interest to young women.”

  Nate blushed at the admission of purchasing a book specifically for women, hoping fervently that the baker’s wife did not notice his sudden discomfiture. He had blushed when he bought it, too, come to think of it. Still, it had been quite important to him to bring her something she would enjoy and that was worth a bit of discomfort on his part.