by Locke, Laura
Matilda felt her heart melt. She squeezed his hand. He took hers. They looked at each other.
“Thank you,” she murmured again.
“You must stop thanking me,” he laughed a little recklessly. “Or I shall have to thank you for letting me rescue you, and then we shall never just stop.”
She laughed. “Oh, Henry! Thank me, indeed. You silly dear.”
He smiled, his eyes warm. “Well, I ought to thank you,” he said quietly.
“Why?”
“Because if you hadn't been there, you would not be here now, and I would not have this unique opportunity to tell you how I feel for you.”
Matilda flushed and swallowed the lump blocking her throat.
“Oh, Henry.”
It was all she could think of to say. It was, it seemed, enough. They could say more without words. He leaned in and they kissed.
After what seemed like forever, she opened her eyes and drew back. She sat back, gasping.
“Oh, Henry,” she murmured.
“Matilda,” he said, his voice a growl. “My dear, dear...” he did not finish the sentence, but bent forward and kissed her hair.
Matilda leaned back, sighing, as his lips stroked gently against her head. She closed her eyes.
“If only I could stay here forever,” she murmured.
“Do stay,” Henry whispered. “Stay. We shall be wed, right here in this chamber.
Matilda let out a laugh. It was a slightly hysterical laugh, but she could not hold it back. He looked startled.
“Sorry, Henry,” she murmured, managing to stifle the giggles that grew inside her. “It's just...Oh! How I would love to do that. To tell Mama I was here and not coming out...” she laughed again, then caught herself, her face tight again.
“I wish we could, sweetheart,” Henry murmured. “But I mean it. Stay here. We will send word to your family. I want you as my wife.”
Matilda felt as if her heart had melted. She leaned back on the pillows, teeth clamped in her lip so as not to sob.
“Oh, Henry,” she murmured. She took his hands. “I love you. I would give anything to do as you ask.”
“Then why not, sweet Matilda?”
“Because I can't,” Matilda said miserably. “Not yet. I need to wait.”
“For what?”
“Until I know what's happening.”
He frowned her a question. She told him. Piece by piece. Her father's illness. The time she saw Alexander on the road, coming from her home. The carriage. Her father's accident that could have been fatal, if things had been even a little different.
When she had finished telling him, he looked into her eyes.
“Matilda,” he said softly. “I cannot stop you from returning home. But right now I wish I could. With all my heart.”
Matilda felt her face split into a big smile. “Oh, Henry,” she said. She was beyond words.
“Promise me something,” he murmured, taking her hand.
“If I can.”
“Promise me that if anything happens, even something little...any little danger, any threat, no matter how small, you will get me word?”
“I promise.”
He let out a ragged sigh and they sat together, side by side, in the darkness of the room. The fire crackled and rain dripped from the eaves and he held her hands.
They sat like that for ages – at least it felt as if it was. At length, Matilda leaned forward. She kissed him on the lips. He held her face cupped in his palm and kissed her back.
When they moved apart, sighing, Matilda sat fully up.
“I should go,” she whispered. She did not want to say it, but she had to.
“I know,” Henry whispered back.
He stood and took her hand then slowly let it go.
“Farewell, my dear Matilda, he said, turning away. “But not for long. Remember. Any smallest thing...”
“...and I'll call on you. I know.”
“Good.”
As he walked away on down the stairs, Matilda lay back, listening as his footsteps slowly grew fainter and fainter and then fell back to silence.
She closed her eyes.
She had hope, now. She had allies. And she had a plan. She had to solve this mystery.
Her future, her family, and her future with Henry, depended on it.
And she cared intensely about all three.
Chapter 17
It was late that afternoon when Matilda returned to Braxton Manor. She was still very weak, and Henry sent the carriage to take her home. She stumbled out of the doors and into Pauline's welcoming arms.
“Sister!” Pauline said, her face tight with concern. “We were so worried...”
Matilda smiled, breathing in the scent of violets that clung to her elder sister, a smell that never failed to calm her.
“You should not have been,” she whispered. “I am well...”
“You don't look well!” Lady Braxton said impulsively. “Now, upstairs with you! Or I'll send to the village for Doctor Jarrow.”
Matilda smiled pallidly. Her mother always used the threaten them with the doctor's visits when they were children. It was nice to see her more her old self, when there were no weddings or wavering finances to worry her.
“I'll be fine without sleep,” she whispered to her mother as she walked past, annoyed that her voice would not go above a croak.
“I'm sure you will,” her mother sniffed dryly. “As fine as catching your death of cold. On with you!”
She shooed her up the stairs and Matilda and Pauline were both laughing by the time they collapsed in over the threshold, clinging to each other, but both laughing a little hysterically with relief.
How could I have suspected Mother?
Looking at her now, her firm, authoritative mother as she always was before, it seemed impossible to believe she had ever thought her capable of murder. She might be a dragon sometimes, she thought wryly, but her heart is a heart of gold.
“Let me help you,” Pauline said, letting Matilda lean on her as they walked slowly up the stairs together.
“Where's Lucas?” Matilda whispered.
“Upstairs with Father,” Pauline explained. “Oh, it's so good you're back!”
“I'm glad to be back,” Matilda said, squeezing her hand. They reached her bedchamber and went in together. Stella had laid out fresh nightclothes and stoked the fire; a brick warmed the bottom of the bed. Matilda looked at the bed, contemplating getting in and sleeping for the next few days. She was desperately tired.
“I'll call Stella,” Pauline said, standing. “She can help you disrobe and put on your night things...”
“No, Pauline – don't go,” Matilda said, seeing her sister ring the bell and then walk to the door. “I want to talk to you.”
“I'll wait in the dressing-room,” Pauline promised, stepping into the adjacent room when Stella bustled through the door.
“Well! Milady! Off with that dress. Into bed, the sooner the better!”
Matilda laughed a little shakily as Stella helped her into bed. The instant her head touched the pillow she felt her eyelids close.
“Matilda?”
“Pauline,” she smiled, taking her sister's hand. “I'm sorry about this,” she explained. “I should be well tomorrow...”
“Nonsense,” Pauline said sharply. “You must take as long as you need. Henry told us all about it. Dear Henry.”
Matilda opened her eyes and felt her heart warm when she saw the tender look on Pauline's face. Evidently, she was fond of Henry too. Oh, why was her mother so tiresome? If not for her, she could be free to marry the man she truly loved!
“Dear Henry,” Matilda echoed. “Who saved me.”
“I know,” Pauline said, her voice soft with care. “Oh, sister! I wish there was a way...there must be. You cannot be separated.”
Matilda chuckled. “Oh, Pauline, you are so good.”
“No, I'm not,” Pauline said briskly. “I'm sensible. Now, we shall think of somethi
ng. Perhaps you can elope.”
“Pauline!”
“What are you staring at me like that for?” Pauline asked, giggling and flapping a hand at her. “It is done, you know.”
“I know,” Matilda said, grinning. “But...but trust you to come out with something like that! So practical, at a time like this.”
“This is a time for being practical,” Pauline said firmly. She stuck out her lower lip in a pout, then laughed. “Well, we shall have to settle things, and it is time for practicality.”
“Yes,” Matilda agreed grimly. They did have to make their own plans, and soon. Before Mama mad them for them both. “But what of you?”
“Me?” Pauline raised those lovely eyelids charmingly. “Oh. Well, I suppose I'll end up with Cornelius, won't I?” She gave a sorrowful laugh.
“No!” Matilda said firmly. “No, you shan't! I won't let you.”
Pauline tipped back her head and laughed. “You needn't make it sound like my execution, dearest. I'm sure we would get along very well. All he thinks of is grouse season, which at least means he'd be out from underfoot for one month in a year.”
“Pauline, no!” Matilda protested, horrified. “He's horrid!”
Pauline looked at her hands, a little sadly. “He's handsome, and rich, and titled. Very important point, this last one.”
“I know,” Matilda said. They both pulled bitter faces.
“Could have been worse – there's a chance of us running away, which we couldn't do, had we not means.”
“True,” Matilda nodded, thinking about that.
They sat silently for a while, the silence between them broken only by the crackle of the fire.
“I suppose I should check on Lucas,” Pauline said, yawning. “His shift is almost over. I'll go in and then Stella.”
“Let me take a shift,” Matilda said, then stifled a yawn. Pauline smiled.
“Tomorrow, sister. Which reminds me.”
“Reminds you?”
Pauline looked at her hands. “Mother wants...no...she compels...us to attend the ball at Lady Terence's tomorrow.”
“What?” The word rasped from Matilda unbidden.
“Well, yes,” Pauline pulled a face. “That's what I thought.”
Matilda looked up at her, distressed. “Now how are we to keep an eye on Father?”
“Well, I've been thinking about that,” Pauline said, leaning back, fingers pressed together like a steeple. “And I was thinking that perhaps it would be best to call in help. We can't keep this up forever, you know,” she said, stretching out the knots in her spine. “We should find someone to nurse him properly.”
“True,” Matilda said, biting her lip. “But where..?”
“Mrs. Marwell has a cousin who is a nurse,” Pauline said slowly. “She could take it in turns with others from her fellows. We would have to pay them,” she added, frowning.
“Well, I have the sovereign Papa gave me at Christmas,” Matilda said hesitantly. “We could use that.”
“Of course!” Pauline said, face lighting up. “Matilda, you're so clever.”
Matilda blushed. “Thank you, dear.”
“Not at all.” Pauline grinned at her. “Now, we should think about dresses.”
“I want to wear blue,” Matilda said firmly.
Pauline grinned. “And I'm wearing lavender.”
“Good.”
As defiance went, it was a small one. But it felt good.
The conversation ran out. Matilda paused, considering talking to her sister about her suspicions. She was fairly sure, now, that something odd was afoot with Lord Epworth. Fairly sure that Alexander Dartmoor was behind some plot to murder her father. But how could she possibly put that all in words? Even to her, it sounded preposterous. Why would he be?
“Tildie?”
“Mm?” Matilda blinked, surprised out of her reverie by her sister's inquiry.
“What ever is the matter? You look worried.”
“Oh. Sorry, dear...I was miles away. I'm fine. Truly. I just...”
“Just what?”
Matilda sighed. “I don't know how to say it, sister. I just think...is there something odd about Alexander, Lord Epworth?”
“Odd? In what sense?”
Matilda wondered how best to put that. “In the sense that...Pauline, I have to be plain. Don't you think it strange that he offered us his carriage, and then, suddenly, Papa has a dangerous accident? One that compelled him to stay, when going could have helped him recover?”
Pauline's lovely face rearranged into a picture of horror. “Matilda? What do you mean? You don't think...”
“I don't know what to think,” Matilda replied grimly. “It sounds wild, I know. But...but isn't it just possible...”
“Possible he wants to kill Papa? But...but why? And how..?”
“I don't know,” Matilda admitted, feeling frustrated. “But as for the why – he is poor, did you know that?”
“Poor?” Pauline's dark brows shot up. “But his father is duke of Warrington! Surely they are wealthy?”
“Not according to local gossip,” Matilda replied dryly. “Admittedly, local gossip could be quite inaccurate.”
“Agreed,” Pauline nodded. She frowned again. “But Tildie. This all sounds quite wild. Surely this isn't possible? It's too odd.”
“I agree,” Matilda nodded.
“Mayhap we should set this idea aside for now,” Pauline said carefully. “Or ask Lucas..?”
“We could try,” Matilda agreed. “The more people who know, the better. As far as I am concerned, he has a motive, and he has means. We just need proof.”
“Very true,” Pauline nodded. She leaned back, a frown on her smooth brow. “We cannot do much without proof.”
“Besides keep an eye on our father.”
“And that. Yes.”
They both sat quietly for a while after that. Now that she had told Pauline, Matilda felt relieved. She could let her mind wander to other, more pleasant, things. Like the ball that evening. And the possibility, however slight, that Henry would be there. She let herself daydream a little. Imagining what it would be like to dance with Henry, carefree and excited as she was as a young girl, the first time they went to a ball together.
“Matilda?”
“Yes?”
“I have a confession to make.”
“Yes?”
“I don't know if I want to marry Cornelius.”
Matilda felt as if the sun had risen inside her. “I hoped you would at least consider that.”
Pauline smiled. “Thank you, dear. At least, of all my family members, someone does not wish me to be the sacrifice.”
Matilda laughed, a little bitterly. “True. We are rather sacrificial, are we not?”
“It sounds so dramatic!” Pauline grinned. “But unfortunately true.”
“Yes.”
On that sobering thought, they were both interrupted by Mrs. Marwell.
“Ladies?” she said, clearing her throat, “Mistress said I must call you. Seamstress is here for new fittings; up in the boudoir.”
Matilda and Pauline looked at each other. Then they burst out laughing.
“I forgot!” Pauline exclaimed.
“Me too!”
Laughing still, their spirits raised, they raced each other up the stairs to their mother's boudoir, where, as expected, Mrs. Pearson, the seamstress, was waiting with her latest creations.
Matilda, still feeling better after her conversation with Pauline, threw herself into the excitement with abandon. Pauline was right. They all but knew for certain what was happening. And that put them in a much better position than they had been before. With Henry and, soon, Lucas, on their side, it was only a matter of time before this problem was solved.
Chapter 18
The first strains of music drifted out of the hall on the evening air as Matilda walked up the steps towards the ballroom. She drew her shawl about her shoulders, pleased that the air had the first real warmth i
n it; augur of approaching summer.
Pauline walked up behind her, then clutched her hand, her silk glove sliding on Matilda's own.
“There he is,” she whispered.
Matilda nodded. There was Alexander; on the top step. She bit her lip and squared her shoulders.
We know who he is now. I do not need to be scared of him.
She decided she would not let him spoil her evening. Her spirits were light as she walked in through the vast marble entrance and smiled at their host.
“Lady Terence. A pleasure.”
“Welcome, Matilda, dear. Oh, and welcome, Pauline. Lovely to see you both here.”
Matilda drifted past, feet cold where they felt marble floor-tiles through her thin dancing shoes. She looked up at the brightly-painted roof, marveling at the intricate decorations.
“Good evening.”
She whipped round. There, looking incredibly handsome, eyes shining, was Henry Plowden.
“Henry!”
“My dear Matilda.” He bowed and lifted her hand to his lips. Her heart throbbed, feeling their warmth on her palm. His eyes met hers, teasing, as he kissed her knuckles warmly through the satin of her gloves.
Matilda sighed, feeling her breath quicken and heat fill her body as she looked into his teasing dark-blue eyes.
“I didn't know...I thought...you should have told me you'd be here!” Matilda said, smiling.
“Well, it's nice to know it was a surprise,” Henry said, his face mock-rueful.
“Oh, Henry,” Matilda said softly. “You know I'm glad you managed to come. It's a lovely surprise. But I would have been far more excited had I known for sure.”
His face brightened and his eyes kindled with warmth. “Well, I don't think anyone's ever said something nicer than that to me before,” he admitted with a grin.
“Oh, you silly dear,” Matilda dismissed his comment lightly. “Have the dances started?” she asked, looking about them. “I think we were a little late.”
“The dances are about to start,” Henry said. “I can hear the orchestra practicing the first waltz.”
“Oh, good,” Matilda said, smiling.
