Page 31 of The Wicked Duke's Convenient Bride
Tabitha flushed. Lady Miriam would probably be appalled by what Tabitha had nearly let happen in the theatre. “I see,” she said, trying for a neutral tone.
“She was a flirt,” Lady Miriam continued, seeming oblivious to Tabitha’s plight. “I do not know that Rosemary was even really capable of love. She liked attention; that was all. The men of the ton showered her with praise and offered her more proposals than any other woman. From how they behaved with her, you would have thought that Helen of Troy herself had come back from the grave.”
“And I suppose your brother loved her very much,” Tabitha said. “She chose him.”
Lady Miriam nodded. “Mother and I both tried to dissuade him. We could see Rosemary for what she was, and we both feared she would break his heart. She wanted to marry for an advantage, and I did not begrudge her that. But I always suspected that eventually she would tire of being a dutiful wife and participate in something utterly shameful.”
“I see.”
“All was well at first,” Lady Miriam said. “I even began to suspect that my mother and I were mistaken. Rosemary produced a daughter, and my brother was happy. You had never seen a husband so devoted. And then, she and their daughter Elaine disappeared. They have not been seen since, which you probably know. With my brother emerging from his self-induced exile, I am sure the ton is dredging up all the old gossip.”
Tabitha slowly nodded. She said nothing, taking a long moment to mull over the new information. If she thought of him as a man still grieving his wife, many of his actions made sense. It was small wonder that he was so strange around her. She discomforted him. He did not know whether he ought to treat her like a wife or an interloper.
“What do you think happened to her?” Tabitha asked.
Lady Miriam picked at her nails. Her brow furrowed, and she looked about them again as if she anticipated someone jumping from the walls and revealing that their entire conversation had been overheard. “I have no evidence. You must realize that.”
“Of course, not. No one has any evidence.”
Lady Miriam nodded. “Well. Based on her behaviour, I have often thought that—perhaps—she fled with a lover. But sometimes, I wonder if I tell myself that only to alleviate the guilt I would feel if she were truly dead.”
“I am so sorry that you must live with that uncertainty,” Tabitha said softly.
“As am I.” Lady Miriam paused, looking suddenly stricken. “You must not tell him. I know I asked you to promise me already, but please, do not tell him that I have said these things to you. I only share them because I feel you ought to know them. That is the marriage you have entered, and I am sorry that we did not warn you beforehand. I suppose my mother and I both hoped that marriage to a young, lively woman might thaw his icy heart.”
Tabitha could not decide how she felt about that. Perhaps there ought to be some anger, but looking at Lady Miriam’s sorrowful face, she felt only pity for this poor woman, who had tried to help her brother and been forced to watch as he made every mistake.
“You tried to help your brother,” Tabitha said kindly. “You must love him so very much, and he is fortunate to have such a devoted sister and mother. I hope he knows how lucky he is.”
Lady Miriam smiled just a little. “He had better.”
“But I promise I will not tell anyone what you have said,” Tabitha replied. “I appreciate you informing me, at last.”
Lady Miriam sighed in relief. “You are a kind woman.”
“Thank you,” Tabitha replied. “I try to be.”
Now, she understood why he seemed so eager to touch her and horrified by the thought in equal measure. Tabitha’s chest ached, her thoughts returning to what had nearly happened in the theatre. He had touched her, his caresses implying something far more, yet his thoughts always returned to Duchess Hillsburgh.
Even if Lady Miriam was right and Her Grace never returned, that did not mean all was well. Tabitha was being treated like the mistress; she would always be second to this man’s missing wife, and she did not think anything would ever change that. If ten years were not enough time to soothe the wounds he carried inside, how was she supposed to do it?
“We should return to our families,” Lady Miriam said. “I fear we have been gone for too long, and if we do not return soon, they may very well come search for us.”
“Right,” Tabitha said.
She still did not know why Lady Miriam had been away from the box for so long, but at the moment, Tabitha did not particularly care. She had other worries to attend to, such as her husband’s obvious affection for his missing wife. Tabitha wanted to be sympathetic, and she was. Truly, she was.
But there was another part of her that felt as if she had somehow suffered an injustice. He could have told her about Her Grace. She had been honest with him when he asked about her scandal with Cassius. Matthew could have at least mentioned the reason for his discomfort to her.
She and Lady Miriam returned to the box in silence. Tabitha paused only to murmur an apology to her parents as she briefly blocked their view of the stage. She seated herself beside Matthew. “Did you enjoy your air?” he murmured.
“Indeed.”
He put his hand on her knee, and Tabitha drew in a sharp breath of air. A hardness curled inside her chest, and she wanted to cry. None of this was fair, and even if she ached for his touch, Tabitha knew that it would soon be gone again. He would remember that she was not Rosemary, and he would become cold again.
She curled her fingers around his wrist and moved his hand from her. “No more,” she murmured under her breath. “I am trying to enjoy the play.”
“I see.”
