Page 40 of The Wicked Duke's Convenient Bride
“But I will be well. It may take some time,” he said, “but I will be. And I will have you. You are my wife now—my only wife.”
Tabitha pressed her forehead against his shoulder, drawing a shuddering breath as he stroked her hair. She knew that she could not understand the depth of his grief, but still, she thought she might know something about complicated emotions. Tabitha would not be happy that Matthew had learned his wife and child were dead, especially in such a horrible way. A very small and selfish part of her dared to hope that this could be a turning point for them, a chance for their marriage to feel a little more real.
“I am here if you want to talk about it,” she said sincerely. “I know I cannot be her and would never try to be. But if I can offer you any comfort, I will.”
“I know,” he murmured against her hair. “You are enough. You will be enough.”
Tabitha fell quiet as he ran his fingers through her hair. After a few minutes, she closed her eyes and listened to his breathing. She felt a little sore and terribly tired, but it was a pleasant sort of tired. Matthew hummed softly, and after a while, his hand stopped moving. Tabitha remained in his arms, though. She heard the faint sounds of him snoring and nestled more closely against him.
This was how she had imagined her wedding night, and he had been so gentle that she could almost pretend he loved her. This was not love, though. It was some strange meeting of grief and desire, and in the morning, she still feared he might regret this decision. But at the moment, she was sleepy and satisfied, intertwined in her husband’s arms. It was not yet morning, and her husband was fast asleep and momentarily content.
He had not yet thought through his decision; she was certain of that. As Tabitha closed her eyes and slowly drifted to sleep, her last conscious thought was a desperate and silent wish that her husband would not regret this in the morning.
Chapter 18
It was four days since that dreadful day when Matthew was forced to accept that Rosemary and Elaine were dead. He had lost his wife and daughter. It left him feeling strange. Matthew had expected to deny the news, but he had not. He wondered alternately if he had reacted too harshly or not reacted enough, and somehow, his days had fallen into a familiar pattern.
“James Heywood?” Tabitha asked. “There are so many worthier men you could have quoted from.”
The teasing criticism drew him from his thoughts towards the young woman seated at the opposite end of the table. They were having breakfast together, as they had all the previous mornings. Despite his former insistence that they live separate lives, Tabitha had eagerly intertwined hers with his the moment he learned of Rosemary’s death. It was not unpleasant, although he sometimes felt that it ought to be.
“Name one,” he said.
“Thomas Clarkson,” she replied smugly.
He scowled. “Mr Clarkson is a man of impeccable moral character. I will grant you that, but being of a superior moral character does not make a man an effective rhetorician.”
“I disagree. It gives him a sense of ethos that I find most compelling,” she argued. “Why, I might have married him if my parents had not already arranged things with your mother.”
“I believe Mr Clarkson is already wed.”
“Details,” Tabitha replied, waving a dismissive hand.
Matthew shook his head and sipped his coffee. “That is a terrible rebuttal, and you know it. Besides, have you read his work? It is terribly average.”
Tabitha shook her head. “Impeccable,” she said. “You simply refuse to admit it because you enjoy being contrary.”
“I think you enjoy being contrary,” Matthew argued. “I would almost be willing to wager that you disagree simply because you delight in making me defend my position all the more strongly.”
“I do not! I only argue with you because you have disagreeable opinions on the quality of men’s writing. It is a most unfortunate character flaw, Matthew. I can scarcely imagine how dreadful your life must be.”
“Oh, ad hominem!”
“Spoken like a man who has no good rebuttal for my claims,” Tabitha said smugly. “Besides, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for speaking Latin. You know that most ladies are not allowed to learn that language.”
“Clearly, you have.”
“I am not most ladies!” she declared, sweeping her hand to accentuate the point.
Matthew realized her error a second before Tabitha’s hand collided with her coffee. The cup tipped over, and Tabitha exclaimed in surprise. She jolted to her feet, too late for the dark stain already spread over her pale blue gown.
“Your Grace!” The staff descended on her at once, futilely trying to remove the coffee from her skirts and the table.
Matthew stood. “Leave! I wish to speak to Her Grace in private!”
For a moment, everyone froze, but then, his staff sprang into motion. All five of them were gone instantly, making haste to the servants’ quarters or the housekeeper. He did not care to wonder about the specifics.
Tabitha cast him a puzzled look. “Why did you send them away?”
