Page 55 of The Wicked Duke's Convenient Bride
He withdrew the watch from his jacket and placed it on the table between them. Rosemary’s eyes snapped to it, and colour rose to her cheeks. It was not the pretty flush she so naturally exuded but something red and ugly, like an open wound. “I was never happy with you!” she exclaimed. “That is why I did it! I wanted to be happy, and I do not think you ought to judge me so callously for that! You are a man, and you have every opportunity left to you. And what do I have? A chance for an arranged, loveless marriage, where my only task is to bear you an heir?”
“Loveless?”
“Yes, loveless,” she said. “I tried to love you, but I could not. So I sought my love elsewhere after Elaine was born, and you never even suspected. Do you see how little attention you paid to me? I had a string of affairs under your own roof, and you did not even notice!”
Matthew inhaled sharply. He had not, but suddenly, so many early parts of their marriage made sense. Rosemary had liked to travel, and he had always indulged her. He had let her go wherever she liked, admiring his wife’s adventurous spirit and zeal for seeing different places in Britain. But now, he understood that Rosemary had been an adventuress of an entirely different sort.
“Why are you even here?” Matthew asked. “Why return after all these years?”
And why had Lord Fatherton known about it? Were he and Rosemary still lovers after all this time? Was it something to do with Tabitha?
Rosemary curled her fingers into the skirts of her fine gown. “I received word that you had married another, and I could not risk losing my future.”
“Your future?”
She inhaled sharply, the sound wet and raspy. “Princes are fickle,” she said. “I knew there was always the chance that mine would find another woman, one who was prettier and younger. I had not thought too much about it because I knew that if I returned, I would still be the Duchess of Hillsburgh. Even if you died, I knew I would be taken care of.”
Matthew clenched his jaw, too angry to speak.
“You refused to believe that I was truly dead,” Rosemary said. “You would have never left me penniless. You would have always kept something set aside for Elaine and me in the will. With a new duchess, however—”
“Tabitha,” Matthew said sharply. “My wife.”
“She can be your wife no longer,” Rosemary said. “I know I have erred, and I hope you will forgive my youthful indiscretion.”
He nearly laughed. “Youthful indiscretions do not last for over a decade, Rosemary,” he said. “No, you will leave my townhouse before I have you arrested.”
“Arrested?” she asked, looking mortified. “You could not possibly have me arrested! I have committed no crime.”
“Oh, I am sure there is something,” Matthew said. “Now, leave! I am serious, Rosemary.”
“I told you that I have nowhere to go!”
“Maybe you should ask your dearest Lord Fatherton to tend to you!” Matthew snapped. “At least he cannot ruin a woman who has already torn apart her own life!”
Rosemary looked stricken. She took a faltering step back. Then, another. “You cannot do this!”
“I can,” he said. “Do not force my hand, or I will have you dragged from here.”
She looked, for an instant, defiant. Then, with a twirl of her skirts, she turned and left. Matthew’s stomach lurched. He felt as though he might vomit and lowered himself into his chair. Matthew ran his hands through his hair and took a series of deep, shuddering breaths. It was done. After twelve years, he had found Rosemary again and sent her away just as quickly as she had come.
Chapter 25
Tabitha leaned her head against the arm of the settee. She had taken up the position hours before and had scarcely moved since while tearfully recounting the awful truth to her parents and Bridgette.
Tabitha’s mother sat beside her, as proper and prim as ever, but her expression was flat with fury. She looked as though she were ready to march to Matthew’s townhouse and drag him or Her Grace into the streets and demand satisfaction.
Bridgette sat across from Tabitha; her hands curled so tightly over the arms of her chair that Tabitha somewhat suspected that her friend’s nails might be leaving indents in the polished wood. Tabitha’s father, ever a man of action, paced the floor before them.
He went over the fine Persian rug, back and forth, as if the answer to their dilemma might magically appear if he just walked enough. Tabitha sighed and rubbed her eyes, which were sore and wet. Her tears had finally stopped flowing, and instead, she just felt empty inside.
“It will not be the worst thing in the world,” her father said. “No one could have feasibly expected Her Grace to return.”
“Cassius did,” Tabitha said.
Her father grimaced. “He said that to distress you. Even if he believed it to be true, he hoped to upset you with the knowledge of Her Grace. No one would expect you to believe that rake.”
Tabitha said nothing.
