Chapter 20

Tabitha stared at him with wide, gray eyes. Beside her, Lord Fatherton smiled. Matthew suspected that the man was trying to appear disarmingly charming, but Matthew had seen the man at clubs, boasting about all the virgins he had deflowered and ladies that he had seduced. If there was a more notorious rake in all of London, Matthew did not know of him. “Your Grace,” Lord Fatherton said, “if she is your wife, I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“Yours are unneeded,” Matthew said.

Some nameless emotion rose hotly and fiercely inside him. He seized Tabitha’s wrist, nearly pulling her away from the repulsive man.

“I wish to dance,” Matthew said brusquely. “Enjoy your evening.”

Matthew set a brisk pace towards the dance floor, his movements so quick that Tabitha stumbled over her gown. He clenched his jaw. Did she know how the meeting between Cassius and Tabitha had appeared? His young wife with that notorious rake! Surely, Tabitha had known how inappropriate the scene would appear, but perhaps she had not cared.

Matthew clenched his jaw, his mind fixating on how Tabitha and Lord Fatherton had looked when he had found them. The pair had stood so close to one another, Lord Fatherton near enough to kiss Tabitha if he had wanted. Everything inside Matthew tightened at that revolting image.

Tabitha had married him to avoid scandal. He had known that and accepted it, and it had not even particularly bothered him. But he had not considered that his wife might continue to pursue other men once they were wed. It was vexing.

“Matthew,” Tabitha said.

He said nothing, pulling her seamlessly into the crowd of twirling dancers. Her expression hardened.

“I know what you must be thinking, and I can assure you it was nothing.”

Why did it even bother him anyway? Had he not resolved to make this a marriage of convenience? Matthew grimaced. He knew that this was not a marriage of convenience, not anymore. It had stopped being that when he learned about Rosemary’s death and chose to find his comfort in Tabitha’s arms.

“Say something!” Tabitha said.

Matthew drew her closer, saying nothing as he moved through the familiar steps of the dance. If he spoke, he just knew that he would say something he regretted.

“You are angry with me,” she said flatly.

“Oh, you are clever. How ever did you guess?” Matthew asked.

Tabitha pressed her lips into a thin line. The dance drew them close together, and Matthew felt himself grasping her waist a little more tightly than he otherwise might have. He did not normally behave like this. These possessive actions and thoughts were those of a much younger man, but he still silently hoped that Lord Fatherton saw them dancing together. Matthew hoped that the man was slowly going mad with envy.

“You do not even understand the situation,” Tabitha said, “yet you have resolved to be angry at me for it.”

“I understand well enough,” Matthew retorted. “There are only so many reasons for that rake to be standing so near a married woman, and you did not seem particularly displeased with his presence. I did not hear a word of protest from you.”

“Oh?” Tabitha asked. “Did you listen to the entire conversation or just swoop in and find the worst possible conclusion?”

She twirled, and Matthew loathed how beautiful she was. In the flickering light of the candles, Tabitha was enchanting. Her hair shined gold, and her eyes gleamed like the moon. Even her pale blue gown looked as though it were touched by some strange magic as if it had been crafted from the sky itself. Matthew hated that he noticed how beautiful she was and that he had—

What was the word? Had he grown attached to her? Matthew scowled as he struggled to untangle all the conflicting feelings within himself. He was hurt, he decided. Despite his inconsistent resolve not to have any real affection for this woman, somehow the threat of losing her—of her affections being held by another—brought out something angry and jealous within him.

“I did not seek out Cassius.”

“Cassius?”

The informal address made Matthew want to abandon the dance at once and storm across the ballroom to demand satisfaction from Lord Fatherton. But perhaps Matthew’s anger was displaced. Lord Fatherton was a notorious rakehell and always had been.

His behaviour was predictably despicable, but Matthew had expected better of his wife. He had thought that Tabitha would treat their marriage seriously, especially since things had been going so well between them. Perhaps she had only pretended that all was well between them, though.

“We were friends once,” Tabitha said.

But Matthew was no fool. He caught how her voice quavered with the merest hint of hesitance, and he knew that Tabitha and Lord Fatherton had been far more than simply friends. “He was your situation, was he not?” Matthew asked sharply.

Tabitha drew in a sharp breath. She looked stricken.

The dance ended, and for a heartbeat, Matthew only stared at her. He was torn somewhere between anger and despair. “I would guess that you enjoyed his attention,” he said, lowering his voice. “Was that why you agreed to this marriage? So you could return to him the moment you were wed to a respectable man?”

“How dare you?” she hissed.

“Oh, how dare I?” Matthew asked.

“You know nothing about which you speak,” Tabitha said, “and you do not seem inclined to let me explain.”

“There is nothing to explain.”

“Then, I shall spend the rest of my evening with Bridgette, a reasonable human being,” Tabitha replied. “Excuse me.”

“I do not know if I believe you,” Matthew said.

Tabitha gave no reply. Her face reddened, and she turned so quickly that her skirts spun around her. She stormed across the ballroom floor and joined her friend Bridgette, who stood against the wall.

Matthew crossed his arms, watching through narrowed eyes as the two women conversed with one another. He had no doubt that Tabitha was telling the story to present herself as an innocent victim rather than what she clearly was—a woman who had chosen to entangle herself with a rake and former lover!

He felt an unexpected surge of guilt. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to follow her and apologize for his refusal to listen. But would he have believed any explanation? Matthew did not know, and hearing even more lies would just be worse. He would want them so desperately to be true. Matthew raked a hand through his hair. He had been so foolish for thinking that he could find any semblance of peace or normalcy! No, he seemed doomed forever to find himself torn between the past and present and between his own conflicting emotions.

“Dear?” His mother’s voice came gently. When he looked over his shoulder, he found her eyes soft and concerned. “Are you well? You look … upset.”

“Apologies, Mother. Tabitha and I just had a disagreement.”

He turned away from his mother, not caring to continue the conversation any longer than was necessary. Matthew walked towards the table of refreshments, but his mother regrettably followed. He clenched his jaw, knowing she would endeavour to force some semblance of truth from him.

“You should tend to your other guests,” he said. “I only want a moment of solitude to calm myself.”

“Calm yourself?”

Matthew sighed and shook his head. “It is nothing,” he said, seizing a glass of brandy. “I promise. Enjoy your ball.”

Her brow furrowed, her face creasing with worry. Matthew finished his glass in a single gulp, an impulsive action that he realized belatedly would only make his mother worry more. “A marital matter,” he said. “That is all.”

“Well—”

“I received word that Rosemary and Elaine’s deaths were recorded in France,” Matthew added. “It has been a tiring week, Mother.”

The Dowager Duchess sighed softly. “My dear son,” she murmured. “I am so sorry.”

Matthew felt a small spark of guilt for attributing his foul mood to learning of Rosemary’s death, but the sentiment was true enough. Her death had affected him in so many ways. Thinking about it then, he could not understand why his response to Rosemary’s death had been to consummate his marriage with Tabitha.

It had been a strange and terrible error, and with a creeping dread, Matthew began to wonder if he had committed a greater error still. If he was this upset at Tabitha’s betrayal of their marriage vows, it meant that he truly liked her.

Maybe even loved her. He had looked at his future with Tabitha, and rather than seeing the dull drudgery of a convenient marriage, he had seen a glimpse of something bright and wonderful. Now, that dream was in ashes scarcely before he had even recognized it for what it was.

“I will be fine,” Matthew said, grabbing another glass of brandy. “I will settle the affair with Tabitha soon.”

He had not the faintest idea how. Matthew did not want to be the sort of gentleman who quietly bore his wife’s affairs and infidelity, but he also could not imagine himself annulling the marriage with Tabitha. He did not want to imagine his life without her, even if she had returned so eagerly to her former lover.

But she said it was nothing, he thought. What if it truly was?

“Do not let your grief blind you to all that you have,” his mother said gently, “a loving wife and sister. A good wife.”

“My good wife,” Matthew said. “What did you know of her situation when she married me?”

His mother did not look surprised by the question, and with a twinge of guilt, Matthew realized that he had hoped to startle her. Perhaps some small part of him blamed her for his current situation. If she had not insisted on his marrying Tabitha, he would not be presently hurting from his wife’s potential betrayal.

“Nothing happened,” his mother said. “Tabitha was placed in a compromising position by—”

“By Lord Fatherton,” he said. “I gathered, and you knew.”

“Evidently you knew something of the matter, too,” his mother argued. “Otherwise, you would not be asking me about it.”

“You might have warned me before I married her,” Matthew said, sipping his brandy.

“You might have shown at least a little interest in the woman you agreed to wed,” his mother countered, glancing around. “What has happened?”

“Nothing,” he lied.

His mother looked predictably unconvinced. “I know that marrying again has been difficult for you, but that is no reason to be cruel to Tabitha. She has tried to be a good wife to you.”

Perhaps, not hard enough. Matthew sighed and shook his head. “I am not being cruel to her.”

He was, and he knew it.

“It is only a small disagreement,” he added. “I am certain that we will settle the matter soon enough. Now, please, give me my peace.”

“So you can brood?” she asked dryly. “Well, I—oh, I wonder what is vexing Miriam.”

Matthew followed his mother’s gaze and saw his pale-faced sister enter the room, her brow furrowed in apparent distress. It seemed as though her night was going as terribly as his own.

“Perhaps you ought to ask,” Matthew suggested, finishing his second glass of brandy.

He was beginning to feel a little better, the world taking on a soft and pleasant veneer. His mother sighed. “As you wish,” she said, “but do talk to her. Please.”

“I will.”

And he would. No, it would probably not be that night, but she was his wife, after all. He could not avoid her forever, so eventually, they would need to talk and discuss what had transpired between them. It would probably be a very unpleasant conversation when it happened.

Matthew reached for another glass as his mother swept across the room to comfort—or confront—Miriam. He felt, through the slowly drifting fog of the drink, like his life was far more complicated and contradictory than any man’s had a right to be.