Chapter 4

Lady Tabitha’s confusion was so obvious that it was comical. Matthew refrained from chuckling as he left her with Lord and Lady Mayhew. She had stared at him with wide gray eyes, her lips slightly parted as if in some sort of silent protest, and her brow furrowed in utter bemusement. And as she had stared at him, colour rose to her face until she looked like a rose in full bloom.

If he were a better man, he might have explained himself. After all, he knew well that most men would have reacted with scorn and surprise. Lady Tabitha’s confession made everything better, though. She was marrying him out of desperation and cared not if he had affection for her. They could have a marriage where she produced an heir for him, and that was all. He did not need to befriend her or worry about her happiness.

His sister Miriam was suddenly at his side. “What did you do to her?” she asked, her voice low. “The poor thing looks so flustered!”

Matthew could not help smirking as he looked over his shoulder and confirmed that Lady Tabitha did look flustered. Her friend—the dark-haired young lady she had arrived with—stood at Lady Tabitha’s side. The pair appeared to be in a deep conversation, Lady Tabitha gesturing broadly with her hands. Her face was still that deep, obvious red.

“I did not do anything to her,” Matthew said.

“You did,” Miriam insisted. “I know what that expression means. Did you need to embarrass the poor girl?”

“She does not need my help to be embarrassed,” Matthew replied. “She has tripped twice in my presence. I am beginning to wonder if she knows how to walk.”

They reached the edge of the ballroom, and Matthew turned, letting his shoulder blades rest against the wall. Miriam gave him a reproachful glance. “Do not be cruel. You are an intimidating man and have not mingled with the ton for at least a decade. She is nervous.”

“She is the one who agreed to marry me.”

“You do not need to be cruel to her,” Miriam insisted. “How could you even bear to be callous to her? She looks so sweet and innocent.”

“She is not as innocent as she looks.”

“What do you mean?”

Matthew quickly recounted what Lady Tabitha had told him about her threatened reputation and the meeting in the darkened parlour. She had claimed that nothing had happened that night, and Matthew decided he believed her. Just because nothing happened did not mean she had not wanted it to, though.

“And so, this seems to be the perfect arrangement,” he concluded. “She is desperate to spare her reputation, and I am desperate to please Mother by producing an heir. Neither of us have any illusions about what we are agreeing to do.”

“How very romantic,” Miriam said dryly.

“What would you know of romance?” Matthew asked.

Miriam pressed her lips into a thin line. “I know enough,” she said. “There was still no need to be unkind to her. You did not even assuage her fears and assure her that you meant no ill will. The poor lady might, at this very moment, be worrying that you no longer wish to wed her. She may be afraid that she has ruined everything while you stand across the room and bask in your own cruel cleverness.”

“Cruel cleverness,” he echoed. “That is a good turn of phrase. Mother would be proud.”

“Rather than insisting on both of you having a loveless marriage, you should be making efforts to gain her affection,” Miriam said. “I know that it is not a love match, but sometimes, there is still happiness in an arranged marriage. You deserve to find love.”

“I had love.”

“You may yet find it again,” Miriam said, her voice suggesting that she was choosing her words with the utmost care. “You are allowed to find love more than once in a lifetime, you know. It is not as if there is a limit.”

“With her?” he scoffed. “What do you expect that I would even have in common with a chit of twenty years?”

Miriam crossed her arms. “Do you even intend to marry her, or have you decided against it now that you have embarrassed her so thoroughly?”

“Of course, I will marry her. It is not as if I have any choice in the matter,” Matthew said. “The dukedom needs an heir, and I do not appear to have one. She is young and from a decent family. She can give me the child I need, which will ease our mother’s mind. You know that she has become insufferable in the recent years.”

“You do not mean that.”

“I do.”

He really did not. While his mother had become increasingly insistent on his producing an heir in recent years, Matthew did not really begrudge her for being concerned. The dukedom needed an heir, meaning he needed a duchess with whom to produce one. As much as he wanted to insist that his mother did not understand him or the depth of his grief, he knew that she did.

It was only that her fortitude was so great. When faced with adversity, his mother always did what needed to be done. Matthew wished he could be the same, but beneath his cold exterior, he was a sentimental man. A nostalgic man whose thoughts always brought him back to the past.

“Oh, Matthew,” his sister murmured. “My dear brother.”

Her face softened, and she placed a comforting hand on his arm. Matthew forced a smile for her and squeezed her hand, tracing his thumb in small circles over her gloved hand. “Do not worry about me. I will be content with my loveless marriage. I am eight-and-thirty years, after all. It is not as if I am young and unaware of what I am doing.”

“I do not want you to be a martyr, sacrificing your happiness for the dukedom,” she murmured.

“Sometimes, you must make sacrifices for the greater good,” he said. “Our tenants deserve an uninterrupted succession and a strong heir to care for them once I am gone. I have a duty to give them that.”

“But would it not be better if you could give them that with someone you love?” Miriam asked gently. “Maybe it is impossible, but I think it would be wise to, at least, try to befriend Lady Tabitha. You might grow to love one another. Such things are not, after all, unheard of.”

“She has already decided that she does not love me, and she seems to have no illusions of me ever trying to love her,” Matthew replied. “I see no useful reason to change the state of things.”

Miriam opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but she seemed to think better of it and closed her mouth without uttering a word.

“What?” Matthew asked wearily. “I know you well enough to realize that you are judging me and holding your tongue because you fear that what you say will displease me.”

“Then, why should I say it?”

“Because you want to,” Matthew said. “I have always enjoyed your candour, even when it was not always kind.”

“Rosemary would not want this loveless marriage for you,” Miriam said. “She would want you to find love again and be happy.”

“You speak like she is gone,” Matthew said, clenching his jaw. “She is not.”

He deliberately turned his head so he would not have to see that doubtful expression on her face. Even without looking at her, though, he felt her judgement. It had been twelve years, and like their mother, Miriam believed it was time for him to heal and look to the future.

“She would not want me to give up on her,” Matthew argued. “She would want me to remain constant and faithful. She does want that for me.”

Miriam sighed. “I know that she would want you to be happy, and you have not been happy for many years. That is the best way to honour her.”

Matthew shook his head. “You know nothing about Rosemary or what she would want.”

“You do not mean that. You are speaking so coldly to me because you are hurt, but deep down, I think you know that I am right.”

He drew his arm away from her grasp and glared reproachfully at her. “I should not have encouraged you,” he said. “You were right to hesitate.”

“Think about what I have said.”

Matthew shook his head. “There is no purpose to that. Excuse me, Sister. I need some air.”

“Matthew—”

He turned away, taking advantage of the starting music to dart behind a couple as they moved through the first steps of the dance. Matthew caught sight of Lady Tabitha. Some of the colour had faded from her face, but her eyes were still wide and startled. He moved past her, forcing his way through the crowd and offering only curt nods to the guests who vied for his attention.

It was a chorus of Your Grace’s as he swept through the ballroom. He reached the foyer and turned, heading towards the gardens. Matthew threw open the doors with far more force than was necessary and stormed into the gardens, drawing in deep breaths of the night air. The scent of flowers and the recent rain filled his nostrils. Rosemary had loved it here.

“Still loves it here,” he said fiercely.

Matthew set a brisk pace along the pathway, framed by sweeping grass and brightly coloured flowers. He slowed once he could no longer hear the music and laughter from the party. All was quiet, save for the wind whispering and the frogs croaking. Matthew sank onto a nearby bench and sighed.

Miriam had not wanted to hurt him. When he saw her hesitate, he should not have encouraged her to speak, especially not after she suggested that he try to be happily married to Lady Tabitha. He was not supposed to be happy with her. He was not even supposed to like the young lady, and perhaps he did not really like her. Not really.

But he was not supposed to enjoy the prospect of taking that lovely young woman to bed. He had a duty to produce an heir, but that did not mean he ought to enjoy the deed or even anticipate fulfilling such a task. But he thought about what Lady Tabitha had said. He imagined them together in a darkened parlour, her slight form pressed against his.

Matthew thought of pressing his manhood against the small of her back and kneading her full breasts beneath his hands as the young lady moaned. He imagined her body becoming soft and pliant against him, her eyes wide as he hitched up the skirts of her gown and showed her all the pleasures that might be obtained in a darkened parlour.

Matthew scowled, aware of his manhood twitching with interest and straining against the fabric of his clothing. He tried to tell himself that it meant nothing. Any man who had denied himself female companionship for twelve years would react like him. There was nothing shameful in it, yet he could not make himself believe that for even an instant. He felt as if he were committing the profoundest betrayal just by enjoying the prospect of a wedding night with Lady Tabitha.

Matthew lowered a hand, tempted to stroke himself, but he did not. He clenched his jaw. He need only have a dalliance with Lady Tabitha on the wedding night. If he were fortunate, she would produce a suitable heir, and he would not need to touch her ever again.

God, he hoped they managed it the first time. Otherwise, that young chit might just drive him mad.