by Quinn, Paula
Annie sent Matilda a quizzical look and lifted her brow slightly. She could hardly say anything, since Trensom was sitting in between Delphi and Dorcas on the other side of the table. Matilda had Dorcas on one side, and Damaris’ husband, Glenbreck, on the other, an arrangement that would normally please her. Despite a deep and abiding love for Damaris, Glenbreck never forgot his manners, and Annie could look forward to a pleasant dinner.
The servants had already set the first course in place, and they sat before a goodly array of dishes. “The servants will eat well tonight,” their hostess remarked caustically. She lifted the silver lid of the dish nearest to her, releasing the delicious aroma of lamb fricassée.
At the head of the table, Lord Comyn was slicing into a joint of beef. He was generous with his portions and gave the servants full plates to hand around.
The meal was convivial and plentiful. Matilda didn’t eat much, only enough to stop Annie wondering at her loss of appetite. At the other side of the table, Trensom was chatting animatedly to the sisters, but mostly to Delphi.
Apparently, they had something in common, something Matilda had little interest in, namely the classics. Merrily they quoted pieces of Cicero and Plautus at each other. Matilda wasn’t sure what she discussed, only that it wasn’t the classics. She was very happy that Delphi and Trensom were getting along so well.
True, he was twenty years or so older than Delphi, but marriages, especially at this level of society, were often made with those age differences. Peers of the realm needed heirs. If they did not get one from their first wives, then their second wives might prove more fruitful. And Trensom’s first wife had only given him daughters.
Matilda wouldn’t give him heirs.
She would lock away the memory of that kiss, keep it to herself and store it with the other remembrances of what could have been. There were a few of those to keep it company. At her age, she could expect nothing more. No romance, no suitors, and she had reconciled herself to that. Or she thought she had. Damn Trensom for bringing those foolish dreams back to her, damn him to hell and back.
His head jerked around, as if he read her thoughts, and he looked directly at her, right into her soul. Matilda stared back, forcing her lips into a polite smile; one that showed nothing.
He turned away again after a stately nod.
Matilda let her heart break and then smiled as if nothing were happening. She’d always been too romantic for her own nature. Her mother had told her so and she’d been right. Matilda had passed over two perfectly eligible suitors, in favor of waiting for love. But when love had come, it had betrayed her. She’d have been better off marrying her father’s apprentice.
Too late now. Far too late.
*
After a convivial meal and evening discussing the classics, Matilda took a seat at the harpsichord and trilled a few tunes. Easy ones, not made to attract attention, but to provide a comfortable accompaniment. She preferred to make herself useful. The one thing she hated was to be nothing but an ornament, living off the charity of her niece-by-marriage and her new husband.
But Annie would need her while she was pregnant. After the child came, Matilda had plans. She would live her own life, be herself. Find out what the rest of her life held.
Dorcas retired first. She wanted to get to the hothouses first thing in the morning, since Lady Comyn had given her permission to explore. She gloried in them. That gave Matilda the excuse to leave.
“I’ll come upstairs with you,” she said, getting to her feet as smoothly as she could. “Today has been an unusual one, and I’m tired out.” The sanctuary of her room seemed particularly welcoming tonight. She would leave the lovebirds and the incipient couple to their evening.
But Trensom got to his feet, after a quiet word with Delphi. “Permit me to escort you. I feel responsible for your exhaustion.”
Matilda laughed. “If not for you, I’d be much more exhausted. Please don’t let me spoil your evening. I’ll be fine with Dorcas.”
“I saw you when you stood,” he said, approaching her with a single-mindedness that worried Matilda. “You are not recovered, are you?”
“Only a twinge,” she faltered. “Nothing to speak of.”
“As your rescuer, I insist on ensuring you continue to recover from your ordeal.”
What did that mean? Spoken in his dark, velvet voice, the words held mountains of meaning, none of which Matilda understood. So her torture must go on a little longer. She could bear it. She’d borne worse.
*
What was it about this infuriating woman? Despite his conversation with Lady Delphi, Harry had kept an eye on Matilda. Her laughter and the way she started conversations, then listened to the responses with every indication of being fascinated evoked his admiration. She would make someone a gracious and elegant wife. She might still do that. She wasn’t as aged as she seemed to assume. Not nearly as much.
But if she stumbled on the stairs, he’d damned well pick her up again, servants or no, hooped gown or not. She’d favored her other ankle all evening, and it had been as much as he could do to ignore it, or pretend to. When she’d played the harpsichord after dinner, she’d sat in an awkward position, presumably to ease the pressure on her ankle.
Escorting both ladies gave them the veneer of respectability. He recalled his study of Plutarch’s Lives, to give Lady Delphi something to talk about. Which she did, but not for long. Gazing wistfully out of the window at the snow-covered landscape, she murmured, “I’ll be glad when spring comes. Travel is so difficult in this weather. I’ve been at Gerald this age to allow me to go to Rome, but he always says no. Even though Matilda has taken my side.”
Lady Dorcas’ room was the first they reached, so they bade her goodnight. She smiled at them sweetly and went into her room.
He gazed after her. He liked Dorcas, but he felt no compunction to further the acquaintance. In his experience, either a spark flared between him and another person, or it did not. With Dorcas, it did not. While a spark couldn’t be a reliable guide to a long-term connection, no spark meant there would probably be none in the future.
Besides, sparks were fun. He enjoyed the hell out of sparks.
When Matilda tried to do the same, he said, “No you don’t,” as firmly as he could, then switched sides, to give her the opportunity to lean on him. When she showed no inclination to do so, he said, “Don’t hold back. I know it’s still bothering you.”
With a sigh of what sounded like relief, she subsided, and he braced his arm to accept what weight she cared to grant him. “You should not indulge me. I’ll be fine.”
“Why should I not?” he demanded. “It was entirely my fault, after all.”
She snorted, an inelegant sound he reveled in. Her naturalness made him smile. “I overestimated my ability to climb the tree in the snow and then the ladder fell. You were my rescuer. I could have been up there for hours. I could have frozen to death.” She shuddered dramatically.
Her reaction made him laugh. “I doubt that. You’re essential to your family, are you not?”
She looked away, pretending to study a landscape hanging on the wall, so old it was a brown, dark mess. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s only that at this stage of her pregnancy, Annie is easily tired. In a few weeks, she’ll be back to her old self. I will stay with her until the baby comes.”
Her reply stopped him in his tracks. As she tugged at his arm, he stopped cold, forcing her to turn into him. While he hadn’t intended that to happen, he wasn’t sorry for it. She carried a faint scent of oranges. He’d always liked oranges.
“I thought you were permanently settled here. Is your nephew-by-marriage forcing you out?”
“Oh, no!” She gave a soft laugh. “He treats me as a member of the family, even though, strictly speaking, I am not. I’m the boys’ great-aunt, that is all. I don’t want to live as a poor relation, however kind they are to me.” She gazed up into his eyes. He couldn’t look away. Or perhaps, he simply didn’t want to.
“I have some money of my own. I’m not entirely destitute.”
“I see.” Probably her dowry. It couldn’t be much. Matilda came from the City. “Is it enough for you to live in comfort?”
“Oh, yes,” she said airily. “More than enough.”
He wouldn’t press further; it wouldn’t be gentlemanly. All the same, he’d like to know. He didn’t want to think of Matilda living in genteel poverty. She was much too lively for that to happen. Or perhaps he meant lovely.
Without actually thinking about it, he bent and brought his lips to hers.
She jerked, but then came back. Good, because he wanted more. Matilda tasted even better when her lips were warm. He couldn’t imagine tiring of her anytime soon.
Or ever.
No, he was thinking that way because her kisses were sweet, and they fit together as if they really worked. As if they’d been doing this for a long time. And yet not, because the thrill of the new and fresh sent sparkles of awareness through his veins.
He wanted to kiss Matilda for a long time. She was the one who pulled away. “You’re very good to an old lady,” she said with a smile.
He gave her a little shake. “Stop it. Don’t keep saying things like that, Matilda. You’re lovely, stylish and old ladies don’t kiss like you do.”
She lifted her brows. “Am I your first, then?”
“No…yes. You’re not an old lady. How old are you?”
She swallowed. Every time she said it, she could barely believe it. How had the time flown by like this? “Forty-three.”
“So I’ve been kissing an older woman? And before you ask, I’m forty-two. A veritable youth, or so my admirers keep telling me.”
“You’re in your prime,” she said. “I’m a dried-up old maid, and although I didn’t hear that from my admirers, I’ve heard it often enough to believe it.”
Fury simmered inside him to hear her described that way. Mixed with a little incredulity. “They’re all lying. Every one of them.” Unable to resist the temptation of those soft, pillowed lips, he kissed them again. Soft, luscious. He finished his thought aloud. “Not dried-up at all.”
“When you do it, they don’t feel that way,” she murmured.
“Keep thinking that. And believe me. Don’t believe them.”
Footsteps sounded behind them. By the time their owner had rounded the corner, he was standing a foot away from her, giving her a punctilious bow. “I’m glad to hear your ankle is better, but don’t try to do too much for a day or two.”
The footman walked past them. Neither of them acknowledged his presence, so he didn’t stop to bow. Perfectly trained.
Without looking back at Matilda, Harry walked away, ensuring he followed the servant and he was seen. He headed to his own chambers. His mind was still with Matilda and the people cruel enough to discuss her as if she couldn’t hear them. He would find out who they were and punish them, because they deserved to learn better. And so did she.
If not for that footman, he might have persuaded her to let him into her room. What would have happened there remained to be seen. Harry was no ruthless seducer, exerting all the skills at his command to take what he shouldn’t. No, he preferred a woman to be perfectly in harmony with him, to want what he wanted, as much as he wanted it.
Unfortunately, he had yet to find that ideal. His wife had been compliant, but she had never asked him or initiated their lovemaking. She’d enjoyed what they did, or she told him so, but preferred him to take to his own bed afterwards. The other women he’d taken had been few, but enjoyable. He didn’t number his conquests. What was the point in that?
He was smiling when he went into his bedroom. Although his valet didn’t question it, Harry suspected he knew what he was smiling about.
He was still smiling as he fell asleep.
*
The next day witnessed a rush of arrivals. Matilda enjoyed the flush of enjoyment marking Annie’s cheeks at her acceptance into society but watched her carefully and sent her upstairs for a rest in the early afternoon. In the drawing room before dinner, she quietly took her place at Gerald’s side as he greeted the guests. He was doing well, but the strain of greeting the guests was telling on him. His nostrils were pinched and he was standing rigidly, as if at attention.
The Duke of Blackridge, dark and glowering, had arrived and studiously ignored Dorcas. Something was going on between those two, but Matilda didn’t know what it was.
Undeterred by his forbidding appearance, Matilda greeted him warmly. He met her gaze and his lips twitched as if threatening to break into a smile. Matilda liked him. Unlike many of his kind, he did not despise her for her origins. Neither did he treat her like a servant or paid companion, as many others did.
“I remember this place as terribly daunting,” Blackridge commented, gazing around him. The drawing room was magnificently arranged, but Matilda privately considered it could use a personal touch, some family pieces. And the furniture need not be so rigidly arranged. Once Advent was over, sprigs of holly from the trees on the estate would give the room a festive touch. Formality would take another step back.
One day, a new mistress would take hold of the place and turn it into whatever she wanted. Matilda wouldn’t be here to see it. She’d make sure of it.
Chapter Six
Perhaps Matilda should revive her youthful plans to travel. What was good for the Duke of Trensom was good enough for her. Matilda allowed herself a few minutes of vivid daydreams. That was why she’d agreed to accompany Delphi to Rome, but Gerald had turned the idea down flat. “We’re hardly established in society,” he said. “And it would take a great deal of planning, more than we can achieve in a few months. I cannot believe you would wish to go gallivanting off abroad, Matilda.”
Oh, but she had. Once, in her giddy youth, she’d seen engravings of people in Rome, all well-born and cultured, and read the stories of what those men got up to. Because it was almost always men. They had their portraits painted, spent fortunes on statues and relics that were, in fact, made yesterday, and squandered even more on the ladies offering their favors. Venice was notorious for that, but Delphi wasn’t interested in Venice. She wanted Rome, the cradle of civilization.
Reality had intervened, as it always did. Once the cost of such an adventure was pointed out to her, Matilda had put the notion aside. Even now, when she could consider the venture, she had thought of Delphi rather than herself.
But if Delphi married the Duke of Trensom, he would take her.
She tried to be happy for Delphi but she couldn’t. She’d never see Rome, or Venice for that matter. Neither would she know what it was like to be held by a man all night, or to dance under the stars in the Tuileries, or any of the other notions she’d had as a young woman, when everything had seemed possible.
But it wasn’t, and as things had turned out, she wasn’t entirely sorry about that. She had her health, her independence and people who loved her. What more could she ask for?
The evening passed slowly. The ladies went to the drawing room and gossiped over tea and wine. The gentlemen joined them, and they set up an informal dance. Matilda played for them, the old favorites, watching the company strip the willow and thread the needle. She even took part in one dance herself, capering to the Roger de Coverley, while Annie took over on the harpsichord.
She enjoyed herself hugely until she almost collided with her next partner; the Duke of Trensom.
He took her hand and twirled her, as the dance demanded. The touch of his cool hand on her skin gave her thoughts she should never be having, nor should ever consider, especially considering the interest he was paying Delphi.
“Allow me to say you are in fine looks tonight, ma’am,” he murmured, as he reeled her back. Again, as the dance demanded. Nothing to do with the way he’d kissed her.
Harry, resplendent in dark blue dull satin, flashed Matilda the smallest smile, so slight she could believe she’d imagined it. Perhaps she had. Perhaps she only wanted him to smile. Thei
r interest was like a deliciously guilty secret. She’d seen how stuffed-up he could be. Nobody would imagine how funny, kind and sympathetic he could be in private. Perhaps she imagined it herself.
“You’re very kind,” she said when they returned to each other in the dance. “But I can hardly believe you to be sincere. You are accounted a connoisseur, or so I’m told.”
“Who told you that?”
Aha, that had shaken him up. “I regret to inform you that I’m not too high to gossip. A certain lady was discussing you before you came in the room. Nothing to your detriment, I assure you.”
To her disappointment, he didn’t rise to the bait. “Ah. Yes, I believe I’m often discussed in drawing rooms.” He arched his arms, ready to allow the dancers to thread the needle. As people danced under their arms, he continued as if he were in the most decorous situation, “and in taverns, too. I cannot help what people say.”
That was disingenuous, but she couldn’t tell him so because they had to separate at that point and find new partners.
The dance concluded, he didn’t approach her again, but stayed talking to Annie and Gerald until Annie announced she was retiring for the night.
Matilda was surprised to discover the clocks were chiming ten o’ clock. She’d barely marked the time. Although ten was nothing in town, people rose earlier in the country, so they retired earlier.
“I’ll come with you,” she said, putting her hand on Gerald’s arm and giving it a little squeeze.
He hesitated, but nodded, and kissed Annie on the cheek. “I won’t be long.”
Such blatant displays of affection would never have done in town, but in their own home, it was a sweet gesture. Annie smiled and moved away with Matilda.
Their rooms were on the same floor. They walked together, enjoying each other’s company. “Almost like old times,” Annie commented.
“Apart from the gowns and the space and the business, yes,” Matilda answered with a smile.
“You look the same.”
