Page 46 of The Wicked Duke's Convenient Bride
“Apologies, Mother. Tabitha and I just had a disagreement.”
He turned away from his mother, not caring to continue the conversation any longer than was necessary. Matthew walked towards the table of refreshments, but his mother regrettably followed. He clenched his jaw, knowing she would endeavour to force some semblance of truth from him.
“You should tend to your other guests,” he said. “I only want a moment of solitude to calm myself.”
“Calm yourself?”
Matthew sighed and shook his head. “It is nothing,” he said, seizing a glass of brandy. “I promise. Enjoy your ball.”
Her brow furrowed, her face creasing with worry. Matthew finished his glass in a single gulp, an impulsive action that he realized belatedly would only make his mother worry more. “A marital matter,” he said. “That is all.”
“Well—”
“I received word that Rosemary and Elaine’s deaths were recorded in France,” Matthew added. “It has been a tiring week, Mother.”
The Dowager Duchess sighed softly. “My dear son,” she murmured. “I am so sorry.”
Matthew felt a small spark of guilt for attributing his foul mood to learning of Rosemary’s death, but the sentiment was true enough. Her death had affected him in so many ways. Thinking about it then, he could not understand why his response to Rosemary’s death had been to consummate his marriage with Tabitha.
It had been a strange and terrible error, and with a creeping dread, Matthew began to wonder if he had committed a greater error still. If he was this upset at Tabitha’s betrayal of their marriage vows, it meant that he truly liked her.
Maybe even loved her. He had looked at his future with Tabitha, and rather than seeing the dull drudgery of a convenient marriage, he had seen a glimpse of something bright and wonderful. Now, that dream was in ashes scarcely before he had even recognized it for what it was.
“I will be fine,” Matthew said, grabbing another glass of brandy. “I will settle the affair with Tabitha soon.”
He had not the faintest idea how. Matthew did not want to be the sort of gentleman who quietly bore his wife’s affairs and infidelity, but he also could not imagine himself annulling the marriage with Tabitha. He did not want to imagine his life without her, even if she had returned so eagerly to her former lover.
But she said it was nothing, he thought. What if it truly was?
“Do not let your grief blind you to all that you have,” his mother said gently, “a loving wife and sister. A good wife.”
“My good wife,” Matthew said. “What did you know of her situation when she married me?”
His mother did not look surprised by the question, and with a twinge of guilt, Matthew realized that he had hoped to startle her. Perhaps some small part of him blamed her for his current situation. If she had not insisted on his marrying Tabitha, he would not be presently hurting from his wife’s potential betrayal.
“Nothing happened,” his mother said. “Tabitha was placed in a compromising position by—”
“By Lord Fatherton,” he said. “I gathered, and you knew.”
“Evidently you knew something of the matter, too,” his mother argued. “Otherwise, you would not be asking me about it.”
“You might have warned me before I married her,” Matthew said, sipping his brandy.
“You might have shown at least a little interest in the woman you agreed to wed,” his mother countered, glancing around. “What has happened?”
“Nothing,” he lied.
His mother looked predictably unconvinced. “I know that marrying again has been difficult for you, but that is no reason to be cruel to Tabitha. She has tried to be a good wife to you.”
Perhaps, not hard enough. Matthew sighed and shook his head. “I am not being cruel to her.”
He was, and he knew it.
“It is only a small disagreement,” he added. “I am certain that we will settle the matter soon enough. Now, please, give me my peace.”
“So you can brood?” she asked dryly. “Well, I—oh, I wonder what is vexing Miriam.”
Matthew followed his mother’s gaze and saw his pale-faced sister enter the room, her brow furrowed in apparent distress. It seemed as though her night was going as terribly as his own.
