Chapter 35

CHAPTER 35

" M y lord, you have visitors."

Matthew looked up from his sketchbook at his butler. Harris was standing in the doorway of the room he had been using as a personal retreat since coming to live here. This estate was smaller than his home in the city and lacked a private study or a library, but there was a sitting room on the second floor. He had no need of it when it came to entertaining guests, for there would be no guests out here—or so he had thought.

"I have visitors?" he repeated. "Multiple visitors?"

"Indeed. Shall I show them in?"

"I suppose you had better." He put the sketchbook down beside him, ensuring that it was closed first. What could this be all about?

Harris disappeared. Moments later, Matthew heard the sound of voices echoing in the foyer. His heart sank as he made the realization—he knew who was here to see him.

If he was honest with himself, it was a surprise this hadn't happened sooner. He should have known to expect it eventually. Now he was going to have to confront it. Well, he might as well get it over with, he supposed.

Predictably, Edwina was first through the door, and she didn't bother to announce herself or wait to be greeted. She burst in and hurried over to him. "Matthew," she exclaimed, "you did not even tell us that you were leaving the city! Didn't you think that would matter to us? Didn't you think that we would want to know? How could you keep it to yourself?"

Lavinia followed behind her, and even his more steady, placid sister looked agitated. She came to him and took him by the arm. "Matthew," she said, "you shouldn't have just left without talking to us. How could you do that?"

"He shouldn't have left at all," Edwina said hotly.

"How did you find out?" Matthew asked them as all three took seats.

"How do you think?" Lavinia asked. "We came to visit you, and you weren't there. Only Cressida was. We tried to find out from her what had happened, but she wasn't telling. She just said you weren't at home. The poor thing—I don't know when I've seen anyone so upset."

Matthew felt as if he had swallowed a rock. He had been doing his best not to think about Cressida. It hurt to think of her, to remember what he had left behind. It was impossible not to dwell on the last day they had spent together and the last conversation they'd had with one another.

Now he was thinking about her. He imagined his sisters arriving at his house and finding her there. He imagined her telling them everything.

Telling them everything . A weight settled in the pit of his stomach.

What would she have told them? She would have needed to come up with an explanation for his absence, and what could explain it better than the truth? She'd told him, when he had found her looking at his drawing, that she wouldn't reveal the truth of his ancestry to anyone. But would that remain true now that he had left her alone in the city?

Would she have told them?

He studied Edwina and Lavinia closely. Neither one of them looked as if they had discovered a life-altering secret—but he couldn't be sure. They did look shocked and upset. That could be just because he had fled the city, of course—but it could also be something more.

"What did Cressida say?" he asked.

"She tried to cover up for you," Lavinia said. "You don't deserve such a good wife, Matthew. She said you were simply out of the house. She told us that she would let you know we had come by—she did all she could to lie for you."

They wouldn't be talking about this if Cressida had told the real secret. She hadn't done it, then. She hadn't told his sisters about their father's affair, about Matthew's real mother. They didn't know.

He let out a sigh of relief.

But the truth was that he didn't feel relieved. Not exactly. The secret about his mother had lived in the back of his mind all his life—his father had never kept it from him, so he had always known. It had always felt like something that made him different, something that separated him from Lavinia and Edwina. He didn't want to be different from them, but he was, and there was nothing to be done about it.

Now he realized that there was a part of him that genuinely wished they'd found out. At least if they had he would be able to stop pretending with them. He would be able to admit to the truth, and they could finally talk about it, even if it did mean that they would forever look at him differently.

But it wasn't true. They hadn't found out.

It made it more difficult to be angry with Cressida, too. If she had let that secret out, he would have had a very good reason for anger. As it was, though, he had to acknowledge that the only thing she had done wrong had been to look through a sketchbook he had already agreed she could see. She probably shouldn't have looked at it, but she certainly didn't deserve the level of outrage with which he had met her, and he regretted the fact that he had treated her the way he had.

And at the same time…he could never go back. He couldn't let himself trust her again. Not now. Not now that she knew . He wouldn't even be able to look her in the eye. He had been keeping this secret all his life. There wasn't a soul alive who knew…until now.

Now Cressida knew. The one person whose opinion meant more to him than any other. And because she knew, he didn't think that he would ever be able to face her again.

And yet, she hadn't told. In spite of everything, she had not told his secret.

Should he have trusted her more?

"If she didn't tell you where I had gone, how is it that you found me?" he asked his sisters.

"She told us eventually," Lavinia said. "We got it out of her. We didn't think that we would at first! It was obvious that something was wrong. She couldn't even bring herself to smile at us. Her hands shook when she offered us tea, and she looked as if she was about to burst into tears at any moment. I've never seen her like that before, and if I hadn't known any better I might have thought some serious misfortune had befallen you."

"I did worry about that," Edwina chimed in. "I thought you might perhaps have come to harm, and that she was choosing not to let us know for some reason I couldn't understand."

"Eventually we made her see that we knew something was wrong and that she had to tell us the truth," Lavinia continued. "And she did. She told us that the two of you had argued, and that she had tried to make it right between you, but that you had run away to the country."

"And we came here to put things straight," Edwina concluded. "And here we are. What are you doing, Matthew? Why on Earth would you run away from your wife? She's a lovely young lady."

"Of course she is," Matthew agreed quietly. "I never claimed to think otherwise. Of course she's lovely." And they are right, too, when they say she deserves better than me. She does. I should never have accepted her offer of marriage. I should never have tried to marry anyone .

There was a reason he had tried to remain alone all these years. He had always known that his secret would make him unlovable—or at the very least, difficult to love. And he had accepted that. He had thought marrying for convenience would remove the difficulty, would allow him to have a wife for all practical purposes without worrying about his heart getting involved. And then, in spite of himself and in spite of the fact that he had known better, he had allowed himself to fall in love.

It had never been anything but a mistake, and a terrible one that had come at the expense of a person who had not deserved it.

"Did she tell you why we fought?" he asked his sisters. He needed to be sure that Cressida had kept the secret, but at the same time, he wondered what she had said. What reason could she have given?

"She told us that she had gotten into your private things and that you didn't like it," Edwina said.

"And we believe her," Lavinia said, "because that does sound like you, Matthew. That sounds like your compulsive need to control everything around you."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't pretend it isn't the truth," Lavinia said. "Of course it would bother you if she touched your things. To be frank, I've been rather surprised this whole time that you've managed to share your home with another person at all. Have you made rules for her, telling her what rooms she is and is not allowed to enter?"

"I haven't done anything like that," Matthew said, but his stomach churned as he said it, for he knew he wasn't being altogether honest. He had made rules like that for her. And he couldn't deny that Cressida had given his sisters the truest version of the argument between them that didn't take into account the secret she'd promised not to tell.

"She looked at my sketchbook," he said. "Did she tell you that?"

"Oh," Edwina said dryly. "I can see why you left her and fled to the country then. I'm surprised you didn't call the constables for such a heinous crime."

"She disrespected my privacy."

"Matthew, stop," Edwina said. "She's a kind and lovely person, and you know that. If she was looking at your drawings, it wasn't because she didn't respect you. It was because she admires you. And you know that too. She probably thought they were very good, and she only wanted to see them. I've seen the two of you together. I know how she feels about you. It's obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes."

Matthew let out a sigh. "I don't think you know what you're talking about."

"I do know what I'm talking about. And you need to learn to relax and let people in a little bit," Edwina said.

"Edwina is right," Lavinia agreed. "Cressida is your wife, Matthew. We all saw the way things were between the two of you on the night of the dinner party. She cares for you. You're pushing her away, and you're hurting both her and yourself by doing it."

A crash of thunder boomed outside, sounding incredibly close and rather ominous. Matthew closed his eyes.

"She is my wife," he said. "But how can I accept this sort of incursion into my private life?"

"Do you love her?" Edwina asked quietly.

Matthew couldn't answer.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to answer that," Edwina said. "But at the end of the day, Matthew, it's very simple. You must decide whether you love Cressida or not. If you do, then it can't possibly matter what she has done. Nothing can be more important than the way you feel about her. Based on what I have seen of the two of you when you're together, I think your feelings for her are very real. But in the end, you're the one who has to decide. You're the only one who knows what you feel in your heart. So really think about it. But if you love your wife, I think it's time for you to move beyond whatever is holding you back and return home to her, because I can tell you without a doubt that she misses you, and all she wants is to have you back."