Chapter 23

Her husband looked exhausted. Dark circles lingered beneath his eyes, and he stifled a yawn as he endeavoured to eat breakfast across from her. Tabitha said nothing, sipping her tea to avoid conversation. Matthew made no attempt to coax her into speaking either. The meal was nearly finished when Matthew cleared his throat. Tabitha paused, her teacup pressed against her lips.

“We should discuss our conversation last night,” Matthew said.

Tabitha lowered her tea. “Are you certain this is how you wish to begin our morning, Matthew?”

“Yes. Lord Fatherton is a liar, and I want you to know that,” he said. “There are some things I need to look into, but nothing he said is remotely true. It cannot be.”

Tabitha slowly nodded. She felt as though she ought to be relieved by Matthew’s declaration. This was proof that he did not believe Her Grace would return. Maybe she and Matthew could return to the semblance of peace they had before.

Still, even with the news that he did not believe Cassius, Tabitha could not quite make herself believe that all would be well between them. She felt as though she and Matthew quarrelled more often than they ought, and it was impossible to ignore that if Her Grace did return, as unlikely as it seemed, Matthew would surely prefer his long-lost wife to her.

“I am glad to hear that,” Tabitha said, unsure what else to say.

“He will bother you no longer,” Matthew added.

Tabitha’s gaze drifted to Matthew’s hands, noting the bruising across his torn knuckles. She had not asked where he had gone that night but knew he had left the townhouse. After he stormed out, Tabitha had cried before falling into a restless sleep. When she awakened around midnight, she had searched for Matthew and found him gone. She had wondered if that might be the one time he left and did not return, but by morning, he had.

She hoped Matthew had not done something regretful that night, but she knew there was evidence he had. Tabitha sipped her tea. “I am glad,” she said honestly. “I would prefer that he never speak to me again.”

Matthew nodded. Tabitha waited to see if he would add anything further, but he did not. Instead, he seemed suddenly fascinated with his food and drink.

“Is there something I should know?” Tabitha asked at last.

“Only that I spoke with Lord Fatherton.” He paused, seeming to consider something for a long moment. “There were some strong words exchanged.”

Tabitha’s eyes snapped to his hands. “Strong words,” she echoed. “Is that all?”

“Mostly.”

Tabitha furrowed her brow, unsure how to respond to the surge of emotions that rose inside her. She was distraught that he had potentially fought Cassius; that was true. But Tabitha also felt that if Matthew had fought Cassius to defend her honour, she might have been charmed by the gesture. It was more likely that he had fought Cassius for Her Grace’s sake, though. No matter how hard she tried, Tabitha doubted she would ever earn such devotion from her husband.

“I see,” Tabitha said.

“I did not hurt him badly if that is what you fear,” Matthew said. “I merely made certain that he knew I would not tolerate disrespect towards my wife.”

Which wife?

Tabitha wanted to ask but feared she would not like the answer.

“I managed to retrieve my watch,” Matthew said.

“So, it is yours.”

Matthew nodded. “I am uncertain how it came into Lord Fatherton’s possession, but I intend to learn that. I am sure there is a rational explanation.”

“Of course,” Tabitha said.

“There are dozens of reasons why Lord Fatherton may have come into possession of my watch,” Matthew said.

Tabitha could not be certain if Matthew were trying to reassure her or himself more, but regardless, it seemed as though they were no longer enemies.

“Your Grace.” The butler spoke from the entrance of the room. “You have a guest.”

Matthew’s butler was a pale, spindly man, but at the moment, he looked somehow even paler than usual. It was as if he had seen a ghost, or some terrible misfortune unfold before his very eyes.

“A guest?” Matthew asked.

“It is Her Grace, the Duchess of Hillsburgh,” the butler said, casting Tabitha a look that was equally horrified and sympathetic.

Tabitha felt her blood turn to ice in her veins. Surely, it could not be, but the coincidence seemed too great. She turned her head, her gaze fixed on the room entrance.

“Rosemary?” asked Matthew, sounding strangled. “That cannot be.”

But a woman entered all the same. Tabitha’s breath caught in her throat. She was beautiful. Her hair and eyes were as dark and flawless as the finest piece of polished jet, and her skin was pale with roses of colour over her cheeks. Her lilac gown revealed a slender, well-formed figure. Tabitha knew, just looking at this woman, that she must be the fabled Duchess of Hillsburgh. She was impossibly even more beautiful than everyone had said.

“Rosemary,” Matthew said.

He stood and walked to her, and with a brilliant smile, Her Grace launched herself into his arms. Their lips met in a long, lingering kiss, and Tabitha swallowed hard. There did not seem to be enough air in the room, or if there was, she could not draw it into her lungs.

“How is this possible?” Matthew asked once they broke the kiss. “How can you really be here?”

Could Cassius’s story be true? Tabitha stared at Her Grace and remembered everything that Lady Miriam had said about the former Duchess of Hillsburgh—no, the current Duchess of Hillsburgh—and it all made horrible sense. With creeping dread, Tabitha also remembered that Matthew had not believed any of the rumours about Her Grace.

“It is really terrible,” Her Grace said.

She and Matthew still clung to one another, and Tabitha felt like she was an intruder, witnessing their private moment.

“Oh! You cannot even imagine the terrors I have endured over these long years!” the Duchess of Hillsburgh exclaimed. “It has been so dreadful! I was abducted and taken from you with our dear Elaine. I have languished for so long, thinking of nothing else save for returning to you, my beloved Matthew!”

Her Grace’s eyes were suspiciously bright, and Tabitha could see that the woman was trying to fight away the gathering tears.

“Abducted?” Matthew asked.

The Duchess nodded. “Yes, and I tried so hard to return to you. But I only recently managed to escape my captors. I know it has been so long, but I never stopped trying to find my way back to you! I only hoped that you would still want me after all this time.”

“Of course,” Matthew said softly. “Rosemary, how could you think otherwise?”

The words were like a knife to Tabitha’s heart. She felt shattered, gutted. Her Grace had returned and seemed genuinely distraught, as though she really had endured some great trauma and had wanted nothing more than to return to her loving husband. If that were the case, Tabitha was a monster, was she not? She had hoped that this woman was dead, had assumed that she was, and even when Cassius raised the possibility of Her Grace’s return, Tabitha had hoped with her whole being that it was not true.

She could bear looking upon Matthew and Her Grace no longer. Seeing them reunited and so deeply in love after so much time only made her feel wretched. Tabitha rolled her shoulders back and forced her best smile. She knew that she needed to be gracious. She needed to be sympathetic to Her Grace’s situation and Matthew’s surely conflicted feelings about having his beloved returned to him after such a long absence.

“Excuse me,” Tabitha said. “I should leave so you may have a more private reunion. I am certain there is much you wish to say to one another.”

Her Grace’s smile was kind and gentle, as if in silent apology for Tabitha’s discomfort. “You do not have to leave.”

“No, I should,” Tabitha replied. “You have been away for so long. We can always talk later. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace. I am glad you have returned at last.”

“Thank you, Tabitha,” Matthew said.

Tabitha forced a smile and left the room. She stood in the foyer, only glancing behind her once. Matthew and Her Grace sat beside one another, gazing at the other as if they were the only people in the world. A lump formed in Tabitha’s throat. What was she to do? When upset, her bedroom was often her refuge, but could she even say it was hers anymore? Was anything here hers anymore? Had it ever been?

Tabitha wanted to cry, but no tears were forthcoming. She could sense the butler watching her; he remained close to the dining hall, doubtlessly waiting in case either Matthew or the Duchess of Hillsburgh needed his services. Tabitha had been utterly forgotten with the arrival of Her Grace. She curled her fingers into the skirts of her gown and quietly slipped into the kitchen and out the side entrance. The morning air was warm and pleasant, and the sun shined golden in a cloudless sky. It was a beautiful day upon which to have one’s heart completely shattered.

“Farewell, Matthew,” she murmured.

An ache curled inside her chest. She felt as if she could not breathe again, but Tabitha forced herself to keep walking. A proper lady would have been escorted; she noticed her deviation in behaviour with a dry sort of amusement. What sense was there in thinking of such things as proper behaviour when she had just seen her husband’s wife, his lost beloved, return from the dead?

She supposed an annulment would come swiftly, and she would return to living with her parents. Tabitha tried to tell herself there were worse fates for a young lady in her position. She was not disgraced, and her parents would still accept her. Still, she shivered, thinking of Cassius. What was she to make of him? He had tried to warn her about Her Grace’s return, and she had assumed he was a liar.

But if he had not lied about the Duchess of Hillsburgh’s return, he would likely not have lied about their affair either. Or had he? Tabitha sighed, her thoughts wandering in a dozen directions as she returned to her parents’ townhouse.

She did not know what to think or believe, but she knew that she had lost both her former lover and her husband now. Perhaps being disgraced would not be so terrible; she could become a spinster and live a single life. Given her luck with suitors, that suddenly did not seem to be such a terrible fate.

A carriage halted by her. “Your Grace?”

Tabitha was so consumed by her grief that it took her a long moment to realize she knew the man who had spoken; it was Thomas Meadows, her parents’ driver. The carriage door opened, and her father emerged. “Tabby Cat! Why are you here? Are you alone?”

Tabitha could no longer keep her tears away. A sob tore from her throat. Her father asked no more questions. He merely descended from the carriage and enveloped her in his arms, like when she was a child needing comfort from the darkness or sounds in the night.

“Are you hurt?” her father asked.

Tabitha gazed at her father through a cloud of tears. “No,” she rasped.

“Tabitha!” Her mother’s voice came from inside the carriage. “Oh, my dearest!”

“Tabby, you must tell us everything.” That was Bridgette.

Everyone important in Tabitha’s life was there, except for Matthew, but she did not know if he had ever really been hers. She swallowed around the thick lump in her throat. “Take me home. Please.”