That was something he was still figuring out.
Chapter Nineteen
Although she had been Duchess of Tyndale for a week, Isabel still had a hard time answering when someone called her Your Grace. That was someone else, wasn’t it? Someone raised to take that role, someone born understanding the expectations that went along with it.
She was slower to understand, though Matthew’s servants had been kind and patient. And so had he. More than kind, actually. She had expected him to pull away after those first few nights they spent as man and wife. To go back to his duties, and distance would settle between them.
But he hadn’t.
In the week since their marriage, he had spent time with her. Together, they were carefully navigating what a marriage between them meant. And the result was…wonderful. They spoke of books and read together, he played the pianoforte while she sang, they took walks in the gardens and in the park. All of it felt…easy. The only tension between them was of a sexual nature.
And that tension was combustible when it finally exploded in a frenzy of hungry mouths and tearing clothes and writhing bodies. For hours, they could explore each other, pleasure each other and then fall right back into the friendship she felt growing between them.
He was trying. Trying to make a marriage with her, despite their bad beginning. And she appreciated that more than she ever could have said.
And yet it still wasn’t enough. In her heart, she still knew she wasn’t his choice. That Angelica hung in the middle of their life, just as her portrait hung in their hall.
She sighed as she stirred her tea and stared out at the garden behind the house. “Why do you want so damned much?” she muttered to herself. “Why not just be satisfied with the comfort of what you have?”
She didn’t get to continue the troubling conversation with herself when Matthew raced into the parlor. She leapt to her feet, for his expression was pale and wild as he looked at her.
“What is it?” Her mind immediately jumped to her uncle and a thousand horrible things he could do to them. Even if Matthew didn’t believe he would hurt them, she wasn’t so certain.
“Charlotte,” he gasped, his breath short. “The baby is coming—I just received word.”
Isabel clasped her hands together as her terror made way for joy. Although she felt lingering hesitation from Matthew’s friends, they were not unkind to her. And she knew how thrilled Charlotte and Ewan were to welcome their son or daughter.
“What are we waiting for?” she said, grabbing his hand and tugging him to the foyer. “Ewan will need his friends there. Portman, have the carriage brought round right away!”
The butler hustled off to call for the vehicle and Isabel smiled up at Matthew with a tilt of her head. “Are you nervous?”
He nodded. “Of course. Anything can go wrong in these situations, though Lucas’s wife Diana will attend to Charlotte and there is no better healer or midwife to be found. I think Meg will also be assisting. Charlotte is in good hands, but I still know what it would do to my cousin if he lost his wife.”
She pursed her lips at the desperate expression in his eyes. “Of course you do,” she said softly. “More than any other. But we mustn’t think the worst. Yes, childbirth is dangerous, but most women come through very well.”
The carriage arrived and she drew him toward it. He helped her up and called out to the driver to take them just a half a mile up the lane to Ewan and Charlotte’s home. Any other day, she might have suggested they walk, but Matthew gripped his hands open and shut so nervously that she wasn’t certain he would survive the walk.
She smiled at him, moved by his concern for his beloved cousin. And his nervousness on Charlotte’s behalf. This was why she loved this man so very much.
She swallowed hard as that errant thought made its way through her mind. Love him. Love Matthew. It was the emotion she had tried to subvert any time it fluttered along the edges of her consciousness. Something she had fought back against with all her might, since she knew it could never be an emotion he returned.
Only there it was. Clear and lovely, perfect and true as she stared at him looking out the window, his hands shaking in his lap. She loved him. Deeply and truly, madly and sweetly. There was no doubt she always would, despite…just despite.
They pulled up short in front of the estate and Matthew climbed down, offering her a hand to help her. He was obviously distracted as he took her up the stairs and smiled at the pale servant who immediately took them to a parlor up the stairs and into the private quarters of the home.
As they entered the room, Isabel couldn’t help but be pleased. Already the group of these dukes and their wives were milling about. Meg and Diana were just down the hall with Charlotte. Isabel could hear the Duchess of Donburrow’s cries as she fought to bring that precious life into the world.
Simon, James, Emma, Helena, Graham and Adelaide stood at the sideboard. The women were preparing tea for the group as a whole and everyone was smiling. Of course, two of them, as well as Meg, had gone through this ordeal that Charlotte now faced, and had come out healthy and with happy babies in their arms. Hugh and Robert stood to one side, both looking entirely uncomfortable.
And in the middle was Ewan, pacing the length of the room, his hands shaking and his brow sweaty. Baldwin walked with him, saying soft words of comfort. Immediately, Isabel released Matthew and gave him a gentle push.
“Go,” she said softly. “He needs no one in this room more than you.”
He gave her a glance of thanks and then headed straight for his cousin. Ewan embraced him and she watched the two men interact, silent but as connected as the closest of brothers. Ewan didn’t even pull out his little notebook. He and Matthew just held gazes and she could see they understood each other perfectly.
Tears filled her eyes as she moved to the place along the wall to wait with the others. After a moment, Helena slipped up beside her. Isabel stiffened, for the Duchess of Sheffield had been the only one to confront her directly, and Isabel wasn’t certain what the woman would say now.
“Good afternoon, Isabel,” Helena said, smiling at her with a true friendliness.
Isabel inclined her head. “Helena.”
To her surprise, Helena slipped an arm through hers, and together they watched Baldwin, Ewan and Matthew for a moment. Ewan already seemed more relaxed with his friends at his side. His pacing was less manic, less fearful, though he continued to look toward the door every time even a peep came from Charlotte.
“They have been best friends since they were boys,” Helena mused. “When I see them together, I am never unmoved by their connection.”
Isabel nodded as she watched Matthew’s face. He was Ewan’s strength in that moment. The rock that allowed Ewan to buckle in his fear if he needed to do so.
“It is powerful,” she whispered. “And rare.”
“It is rare.” Helena turned toward her. “And I would never do anything to interfere in it. I know I approached you before your marriage and spoke to you…rather harshly.”
Isabel shook her head. “You were direct. I cannot fault you for that, nor for your protectiveness of Matthew.”
Helena’s expression softened and she gently squeezed Isabel’s arm. “A protectiveness I now realize you share, I think. After all, you stood up for him in front of all his friends and family against your own uncle on your wedding day.”
Isabel blushed. “He never should have been put in a position where he’d have to be defended from my uncle.”
Helena tilted her head. “But this is the position he is in, and you. I just wanted to say that I saw how fervently you defended him. It meant a great deal to me, to all of us, that you would do so. I hope that you and I can be friends. Truly friends, since I know we will see each other often thanks to the bond our husbands share. And I know that if Charlotte weren’t cursing the heavens just down the hall, she would say the same thing.”
Isabel smiled and
covered Helena’s hand with her own. Relief flowed through her and a comfort at the idea that this woman, all these women, could accept and care for her.
“Yes,” she said softly. “Of course I would be very happy to be your friend.”
Suddenly there was another cry that cut through the air, but it wasn’t Charlotte’s. This time it was the keening wail of a baby. Isabel jolted, and both she and Helena turned their attention to the men. Ewan buckled at the sound of the baby. Matthew and Baldwin each caught his arms to keep him from collapse. Then the three moved in together, in a circle of brotherly love and relief.
When Ewan pulled away, it was clear from the tears streaming down his face that the voice of his healthy child had changed all his fear to joy.
Within a moment, Meg stepped into the room. She was beaming as she wiped her hands dry on a towel. “A boy,” she declared to the cheers of the group. She moved to Ewan and touched his cheek. “A strong, wailing boy who is making himself very known at this moment. Mama and baby are right as rain.”
Matthew shoved Ewan toward the door. “Go!” he declared. “Go see your little family.”
Ewan did not have to be told twice. He rushed out as Meg crossed the room and fell into Simon’s arms. Helena pulled away to go to Baldwin, and for a moment Isabel was alone. She watched from a distance as this group of friends, this club of dukes, this band of brothers, celebrating the addition of a new family member to their tight fold. She reveled in their tears and their smiles. In their celebration.
And she bathed in the warm realization that she would be some small part of this circle of love. That her children would grow up in it. That it would always be there to be depended upon and nourished. Perhaps she’d never be as accepted as the others, but Helena had made an overture, and that gave her hope that she wouldn’t forever be an outsider.
Joy swelled in Matthew, but it was incomplete as he turned away from Baldwin and Helena. Along the wall, he found Isabel, standing away from the others, watching him. Just watching him.
In that moment, he wanted to share this happiness and relief with her more than any other person in that room. He came toward her, closing the distance in three long strides. She straightened at his approach, her expression both wary and open. There was nothing to say. He simply wrapped his arms around her and drew her hard against his chest as tears began to stream down his cheeks.
She pulled back a fraction and wiped at them. She was smiling, understanding that these were tears of happiness.
“I watched my cousin grow up so uncertain of his value,” Matthew choked out. “Not even my father and mother’s love, my love and acceptance, could make him forget the cruelty he suffered because of his lack of ability to speak.”
She nodded slowly. “It must have been so hard for him.”
“It was.” Matthew shook his head. “Tonight, when his son cried out and it was clear the boy will not suffer the same affliction, I saw all my cousin…my brother’s fears fade away. I saw hope in him that I’ve never seen before.”
“Not that the baby would have been any less loved were he unable to speak.”
“Of course not. We could say that until we were blue in the face, though. None of us has walked Ewan’s path or felt his terror of his child suffering as he did.”
“But now that child will not,” she said, touching his cheek once more. “The fact that you are so happy for him speaks volumes about you, Matthew. Your character and your capacity for love.”
He stiffened at her use of that word. Love. It was something he’d cut away for so long. Something he’d told himself he could not and would not feel ever again after the loss that had dragged him to the depths of despair.
But today he felt it, powerful and beautiful and changing in the very best of ways. He felt it and sank into it as the men and women in the room around them shared in the joy of this happiest of days.
Looking at the woman beside him, he could not think of anyone else he’d rather share this day with. So he bent his head and kissed her. Not with passion, but something deeper. With the relief and joy that could flow so easily between them. He didn’t care who saw that connection. He didn’t care about how vulnerable it made him.
She pulled away at last and smiled, her cheeks bright with color. “I’m so happy for your family, Matthew.”
“Our family,” he corrected. “They’re our family.”
Her eyes went a little wider. And why not? Their marriage had been forced, their connection made tenuous by lies and misunderstanding. He’d offered her no glimpse at the future they would share, in part because he was having a hard time defining it for himself.
But in this moment, he knew that he would try. Try to make it happy. Try to make her happy. For the rest of their lives. Because she deserved it. And after all he’d lost, so did he.
The birth of his cousin’s child had signaled a new day for him. He intended to make the rest of their days even better.
Chapter Twenty
Isabel sat on the edge of a chair in her uncle’s parlor, staring nervously at the door he would soon enter through. After all the joy of the previous day, when Charlotte and Ewan’s baby had joined the world to such happy fanfare, she had returned to the house to find a message from Uncle Fenton.
He had not contacted her since the ugliness they had exchanged at her wedding. She’d considered his silence a good sign. Perhaps he was cooling off, coming back to the rational man that she had to believe still lived inside of him.
The hope for that made her hide the message from Matthew and come here, uncertain of what she’d find. If her husband had insisted on coming with her, she would guess it would not have been good. She had to be an example for them both, opening doors between them behind the scenes, or at least steering each man away from anger and revenge.
It was her duty as someone who loved them both.
The door to the parlor opened and she rose as her uncle entered. She jerked her hand to her mouth. He was completely undone. In the ten days since she’d seen him, he had lost nearly a stone. His clothing hung off his already slender shoulders and there were deep circles beneath his eyes. He was sloppy and untucked, and he swayed slightly as he entered the chamber and speared her with a glance.
“Hello, Isabel,” he slurred.
She flinched. “Uncle,” she said softly. “You are drunk.”
“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? Drunk or sober, life is the same.”
She frowned and came forward to take his arm. He allowed it and took the seat she guided him to. She smoothed a lock of hair away from his forehead and shook her head. “You must see you are out of control. You must see that you need some kind of…help.”
For a moment he met her eyes. There was desperation there. Longing, like he might agree that he’d gone too far. But then he blinked and the anger he used as a shield against his pain returned.
“I do want your help. No one is talking anymore.”
She sighed as she took a place on the settee. “Talking about what?”
He waved his hand at her wildly. “You. And him. At first it was all I’d hoped for. A scandal to bring him down a peg. But then you married and the talk faded.”
“Yes, didn’t the Countess of Longview leave her husband in some kind of public row in Hyde Park? I assume they are all atwitter about that.”
He scowled. “It’s as if what he did doesn’t matter.”
“Please listen to me,” she said, scooting to the front of the settee and reaching out to take his hands. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. She tilted her head to find his gaze and held it there. “Matthew didn’t do anything.”
“No,” he said.
“He didn’t,” she repeated softly. “I have heard what happened that night and I believe his story.”
“No!” he repeated, jumping to his feet. “But you are the only one who can reveal the truth now.”
She bent her head. His drive,
it had crossed into the realm of madness, and though she felt for him, pitied him, she was also tired of this argument and the accusations that went along with it.
“I’m telling you the truth.” She got up. “You just don’t want to listen.”
“You are close to him now. It is repugnant, but we can use it.” His eyes lit up.
Isabel stared. “Use it to what, exactly?”
“Spy on him. Force him to reveal his secrets.”
She turned away, pacing to the window, where she gripped her fists at her sides and tried to regain a fraction of control over herself. Emotions bubbled up in her: pain and empathy, anger and defensiveness, and loss. So much loss, because it felt like she would never have her uncle back again. This man left in the wake of his grief was…not him.
She slowly faced him. “I want you to hear me, Uncle Fenton. Truly hear me. I understand your drive to avenge your daughter. I understand you believe, in your deepest heart, in the very corners of your soul, that Matthew is at fault for her loss. But that does not mean it’s accurate. And I will not now, nor will I ever be party to causing him harm. Do I make myself clear?”
He stared at her, unspeaking, for what felt like an eternity. His gaze went blank at last and he got up. “Then you are of no use. I must only help myself. And I do not think we shall see each other again.”
She caught her breath as renewed pain ripped through her. She had loved her uncle all her life. Nothing he had done or said had erased the kindnesses he had once shown her, or eliminated the many things they had in common. But he looked at her now like she was a stranger. And in turn, he was a stranger to her, too.
“If you cannot see reason, then perhaps that is best,” she whispered. “I’ll leave you now. Goodbye.”
He hesitated, his frown deepening. Then he nodded. “Goodbye, Isabel. Goodbye.”
She threw her shoulders back, trying to keep her dignity as she walked from the room. But when she had climbed back into her carriage, when she had started on her way back home, she couldn’t help but slide down in the seat and cry.
The Duke of Hearts Page 18
