Page 31 of The Ones Left Behind
Besides his father, Matthias had only himself to blame. Naïvely, he had thought his father would accept Kitty into the family since she had been brought up under his own roof. Instead, the old Earl had behaved as if such an idea was preposterous and bordering on incestuous. He had threatened to disown Matthias if he defied him.
Matthias had been studying law at the time and knew he could not be disinherited, but had not wanted to sever the connexion with his father, his only remaining parent.
The incident had ruined their relationship anyway.
It had all happened so fast. Matthias had still been convinced he could change the Earl’s mind when he had heard the shocking news. But Kitty had not waited for him to make things right. Matthias’s heart had been broken, but Peter had come to the rescue. He had purchased a commission and was leaving for the Peninsula; he had at once offered to take Kitty with him.
In a fit of anger, Matthias had bought his own commission and followed them. He had not known what he expected to find, but by the time he had reached them, they were already married. What could he have done but congratulate them? It was not as though he could have called his best friend out for being a gentleman. Instead, he had acted as though nothing had happened.
Peter had never said a word to him about the matter, though he must have known.
Yet the doubts lingered still. Had Kitty ever loved Peter as more than a friend? She proclaimed to love them both, but what did that mean? Did she have any feelings left for himself—beyond those of a brotherly kind—after all these years and all that had happened? These were the thoughts which always tormented him when he sat alone in silence.
“Matthias?” He heard her voice, but was it real or just a dream?
He did not wish to open his eyes, but he felt a hand shaking him and, reluctantly, forced himself to look.
Her amber eyes searched his. She was so close he could feel her breath. “Kitty,” he whispered, “I—”
“You are drunk!” she growled angrily.
He shrugged, the movement making his head spin. “Your herbs didn’t work,” he explained, the alcohol loosening his tongue. Normally, he would have attempted to use a modicum of tact.
Her eyes filled with disappointment—a look he recognized, having seen it just now in his mind’s eye. It felt like a knife to his chest. Instead of lashing out at him in anger, she helped him to his feet and settled him on the bed, a closeness he would have appreciated more had he not just hurt her.
Tight-lipped, she helped him lift his broken leg up on to the bed. Then, thrusting a decanter of brandy from a nearby tray into his hand, she exited the room without a backwards glance.
* * *
Kitty soughtsolace in the garden. It was the only place she felt she belonged. The servants were still uncomfortable in her presence, yet neither was she the lady of the house. Why had she thought she could be friends with Matthias again, that five years of hurt could be erased?
Matthias was very different from Peter. Peter had been much simpler in his thoughts and emotions. That had been a small blessing, not having to guess what he was thinking. He was a soldier and hunting enthusiast, and as long as he could do one or the other he was happy. He had treated Kitty as well as he was able. Mostly, she reflected, he had not thought much about her at all. For herself, being married to a friend out of pity had been awkward and she had done everything she could to show her appreciation by learning to cook and having a clean place for him to come home to at night. They had managed to rub along well enough, although there had never been any romance. It had comfortable enough, and she still mourned him.
Matthias, on the other hand, was a much quieter, more deliberate person who thought deeply about things. He took his responsibilities seriously, and felt the weight of his duties on his shoulders.
Things had never been the same between any of them once she’d had to marry Peter, and that had hurt the most. The loss of her best friend, and what she had thought was her love, had been hard to bear. She had not recovered yet. Loving someone did not mean it was reciprocated, but she still wanted to try her best for him.
Truly, she had no right to tell Matthias what to do, or to be angry that he had found refuge from his pain in a bottle. It simply meant her remedies were not working; at least, not immediately. She knew most remedies took weeks at best, and she’d expected him to stop the one thing that worked for him.
It was hard not to feel defeated, but the work had just begun.
With a heavy sigh, she tended the garden, absently cutting off dead flowers and pulling up weeds, refusing to believe some of the remedies she had given Matthias would not work. But would he continue to use them?
“Miss Kitty?” called Thomas, the footman, disturbing the dangerous pathway of her thoughts.
“I am here,” she said, rising from where she had knelt to attend the lavender.
“Mr. Bailey has delivered another crutch, ma’am. He begs your pardon but he was not able to stay to deliver it into your hands.” The young man held out the polished wooden stick.
“That is quite understandable. Thank you, Thomas.” She accepted the crutch and held it to her chest. She should take it to Matthias, but she did not know if she wanted to see him again so soon, not when they had parted on such bad terms.
Reluctantly, she knew could no more hold back something which would enable him to be mobile than she could withhold fresh milk from a new-born babe.
As she entered the house, part of her hoped she would find Hornsby along the way to do the errand for her, but fortune did not favour her. He was nowhere to be seen, doubtless attending to his duties, and she had no good reason—other than pride—to take him away from them.
She knocked on the door, partly hoping Matthias was sleeping off his potations.
“Enter,” a gruff voice replied.
