by Holly Bush
Thornsby smiled smugly. He took Alice and Jonah’s bag and spoke to Athena and Andrew. “If you’re coming, hurry along. The children are tired, and we can all ride in the carriage together.”
Thornsby had had enough of Andrew’s chortling by the time they arrived at Winterbourne. Mrs. Plumsbly took the children by the hand, fussing and crooning. Thornsby ate dinner with them and settled them into bed.
“I know I said I would read this evening, but you must be satisfied with Withrow. I’ve got some business to take care of that won’t wait,” Thornsby said.
Jonah was pouting. Alice looked at him solemnly.
“You’re going to see the lady?” she asked.
“Yes, Alice. I’m going to see Miss Marsh,” Thornsby replied. He feared using lady to describe Millicent Marsh would tarnish the word.
“Settle down then, Jonah,” Alice said. “The Duke’s got ‘portant business.”
Withrow crossed his legs, adjusted his spectacles and opened the book in his hands. Thornsby retreated down the hall with a certainty the children would be asleep soon. Withrow’s droning would lull them certainly. And, of course, the butler would not affect silly voices for characters nor wear one of the maid’s caps when the miss in the story spoke. Andrew was right. Thornsby had become a sentimental sap when it came to Jonah and Alice. He couldn’t say he minded the description.
It seemed he was meant to have children, he thought as he rode to Millicent’s home. Jonah and Alice had helped, rather forced him to drop some of his lordly ways. They did not respond or were not comforted when he bellowed or scowled. They far preferred the silly chap he was on occasion when he was a child. Over the years, clowning or even smiling for that matter had seemed out of character with the Duke he was to become. He had become careful and insulated and isolated as well. Other than with Athena or Andrew, he’d become a toplofty bore. Thornsby’s coach clattered up to the front of Millicent’s home.
“Thornsby! I wasn’t expecting you this evening. What a pleasant surprise,” Millicent said. “Come and see the vellum I’ve chosen for the invitations.”
He stood and stared at her. Whatever had he seen in her, even just to bed her? Her artful ways with clothes and styles were all meant to seduce. Nothing subtle in the least.
“We must talk, Millicent, and not about the invitations,” Thornsby said.
“Whatever is the matter? You look terribly distracted. Let me fetch you a brandy. Wilson?” Millicent called for her butler.
“No need to disturb Wilson.” Thornsby said. He turned from her, repulsed and intended to get this business done quickly. He opened the door to the first room in the large hallway and entered.
“We could sit in the drawing room, my dear. There’s not even been a fire laid in this room,” Millicent said.
“No mind. I’ll be on my way quickly, Millicent.”
“But there’s no need to hurry. . .”
“Yes, actually there is. I want to be home to check on the children. We’ve had a trying few days,” Thornsby said. He watched Millicent closely for any telltale signs of guilt. She was quite an actress.
“I realize it’s late, but we could go out for a while, Thornsby. A little company or dancing always restores . . .”
“I’ve no need of company, Millicent.” He’d wasted enough time on her games. She had completely ignored his mention of the children. “I’m breaking our engagement, Millicent. Tell whomever you want whatever you wish. I will take the blame.”
“Breaking the engagement?” Millicent whispered. She wilted into a chair and stared at him.
“You’ve dismissed staff who have worked for the Wilcox family for years and threatened two children who have never troubled you for a moment or a farthing. I’ve made a terrible mistake in thinking you and I could live together peaceable,” Thornsby said.
“But Thornsby, I . . . I love you. I only did those things with your happiness in mind,” Millicent said as she drew a lace kerchief to her face.
She was more accomplished than a Covent Garden actress, Thornsby thought. And he was quickly becoming as angry as he’d ever been in his life. Angry at Millicent, at himself, at what he’d let himself become.
“And what of Jonah and Alice’s happiness, Millicent? They spent the night huddled outside of Miss Sheldon’s orphanage. Anything could have happened to them.”
“I never told them to leave, Thornsby. You must believe me. Whatever they have told you is a lie,” Millicent said as large tears tumbled down her subtly rouged cheeks.
Thornsby shook his head. “Jonah and Alice did not lie. Neither did Mrs. Plumsbly or Withrow.”
Millicent rushed to him and threw her arms about his neck. “Whatever it is you think I have done or said I will make up to you Thornsby. I . . . I don’t believe I can live without you.”
Thornsby separated Millicent’s hands from the death grip they held behind his neck. “You must learn then, Millicent. Good night.”
She rushed after him as he opened the door to the drawing room. “Another woman, Thornsby? I have been faithful to you. Who is she?”
Millicent had been faithful for two weeks. Probably a record of sorts for her. “There is no other woman,” Thornsby said as he strode down the darkened hall to the front door. Although that statement was not quite true. He never turned as he continued. “Your dealings with my staff and the children are reason aplenty to never see you again. Let alone marry you.”
“Certainly not one of Bisset’s chits.”
The air around him was thick and cloying. He longed for the clean, clear aura of one woman. Matilda would never lie like this. Never put herself before anyone weaker than she. She had in fact invited ridicule on herself. Matilda saw clearly the games and inanity of polite society and had set her own course without a moment’s thought to what others said. She must certainly think he was the most foolish of them all, Thornsby realized.
“Matilda Sheldon’s opened an orphanage and set about to do what she can for the suffering of others. She is far out of our league for either of us to mention,” Thornsby said.
Millicent slapped his face.
“That silly, ugly girl has hypnotized you. You will be sorry, Thornsby. Very sorry. I am not some ridiculous person to be made a fool of. You will never clear this scandal. Do you hear me? Never. Matilda Sheldon? We will see what becomes of her,” Millicent shouted to Thornsby’s back as he made his way down the steps.
Thornsby stopped, turned and stared. “Say or do whatever you wish concerning me, Millicent. But do not suppose to threaten Matilda Sheldon in any fashion. I will not permit it.”
Had Millicent Marsh been fully sane at that moment, she would have undoubtedly been frightened. “We will see about that,” she whispered as Thornsby climbed into his carriage.
Chapter Eleven
Matilda was sitting with her mother in the morning room when Ethel arrived. Alexandra and Juliet were busy in their rooms reworking fairy tales to be shown as plays at the orphanage. Fitz had firmly refused to play the part of a wolf, and Juliet had decided to make the villain a dashing, affable swordsman. Alexandra was learning her lines wearing a blue cape. It did not seem to bother either of her sisters that the name of the story did preclude that the color of the cape must indeed be red. Alexandra did not care for red or what that color did for her complexion.
“Good morning, Mother Sheldon,” Frances said.
“Frances. Matilda,” Ethel said as she took a chair between the two. “Quite a bit of excitement at the orphanage yesterday, I’m told.”
“Where did you hear that?” Matilda asked.
“Mrs. Brewer is sister-in-law to Effie,” Ethel said referring to her long-employed maid.
Matilda was not surprised. Ethel had her spies everywhere. “It is all settled,” Matilda said.
“I hear Thornsby’s sister suggested you marry the Duke,” Ethel said as Frances handed her a cup of tea. Frances’s eyes opened wide, and Ethel nodded. “I imagine Mrs. Smithly has quite a bit of
influence over her brother.”
“But none over me,” Matilda said.
“Really the thing though, Matilda, for a Duke’s family to court you,” Frances said. “Quite a compliment.”
“What did she say to you, Matilda?” Ethel queried.
Matilda could easily repeat what Athena had said to Ethel, if she wanted her grandmother to know. But she hated telling her mother. This would give fuel to the proverbial fire and would require her to explain to her mother the nuances of the word charming.
“Just that it would solve both of our plights. I hardly see myself in any dire straits, though. The Duke must be a duller nitwit than previously imagined to engage himself to Millicent Marsh,” Matilda said.
“Millicent Marsh?” Frances said.
“That bit of trash?” Ethel seconded.
“When did he offer for her, Matilda?” Frances asked.
“According to the children, just two weeks ago,” Matilda replied.
“Shortly after your refusal at the Hollingberry ball,” Frances said.
“Possibly, Mother. I don’t know,” Matilda said. Her grandmother was staring at her. “What Ethel?”
“And then the Marsh woman scares the pants off two children in his household. Fires servants under his nose. The Duke may be a man who has seen the error of his ways,” Ethel concluded.
Matilda continued her book. How Ethel had access to this much information was astounding. Odd the feeling, though, she had. It was as if her mother and grandmother were in accord.
“Never thought Athena Wilcox would marry. That cold fish,” Ethel said.
“She is not a cold fish,” Matilda said more sharply than she intended.
“Mr. and Mrs. Smithly took a grand tour of the continent for their honeymoon trip. Terribly romantic. And from what I’m hearing they are besotted with each other,” Frances said as she stitched.
“That’s what a good coupling will do for a dried-up old maid like Athena Wilcox,” Ethel said.
“Mother Sheldon!” Frances said. “I can hardly believe you said that.”
“It’s true, Frances. Don’t deny it. I see the way you and my son look at each other. Miracle the chandelier in the room under your bed hasn’t fallen from its holding,” Ethel said and sampled a treat on the tray the maid had set out.
Frances Sheldon’s face was as red as a cherry. Probably more obvious with her gleaming blond hair. She could not look at Matilda.
“Matilda is unmarried if you remember, Ethel,” Frances said. “And this avenue of conversation is quite unconventional, and well, unacceptable.”
“Quite forward of you, Frances, to challenge me in this way. I’m most proud of you,” Ethel said with a nod. “But as you well know, I’ve never found this nonsense of denying woman even the most rudimentary understanding of the marriage bed to be a useless rule. Dangerous in fact.”
“Grandmother has told me that, ah, . . . intimacies between a husband and his wife are sometimes the thing that binds together two people who are quite different. Although, Mrs. Smithly admitted she was in love with her husband and that makes those intimacies wonderful for women like her and me. Is that true, Mother?” Matilda asked.
Matilda was in a unique situation. She may, in fact, gain some insight to a most troubling dilemma. Matilda found herself thinking about Thornsby all the time. About his kiss and how he handled the children. About what it would be like to crawl into bed with him. Her mother was sputtering. Ethel’s brows were raised but not in surprise.
Frances swallowed. “This is all highly disturbing.”
“Would be disturbing as well if one of your daughters ended up hating her husband with no way out of the mess,” Ethel said.
Frances sat quietly and looked out the window. “Marriage is a legal and moral binding, Matilda. But what happens in the . . . boudoir, I believe, is what ultimately binds husband and wife together. If a husband treats his wife with respect and compassion, love, to be precise, when they are intimate, I believe that those feelings rule outside of the bedroom as well.” Frances took a deep breath. “Not that those intimacies are everything, dear. How he conducts himself. How a man treats his children, his mother, his family and servants are telling as well.”
“Well said, Frances,” Ethel added. “I promise not to ruin your buffets in the future. But one thing I must add.” She turned in her seat to Matilda. “You must fancy the man as much as he fancies you. He should be able to turn your stomach to mush with one look.” Ethel narrowed her eyes. “And what did you mean when you said Mrs. Smithly said ‘women like you’.”
“Mrs. Smithly and I are not beautiful. Plain and possibly shrill on occasion.” Matilda let out a sigh. “I believe she meant she feels beautiful when she is with her husband.”
“And you are wondering if the Duke will make you feel beautiful?” Ethel asked. “Is that the reason you’ve been so quiet?”
Matilda shrugged. “I told Mrs. Smithly I would consider his court.”
Frances edged on her seat. Ethel leaned forward.
“Did you, dear?” Frances said with a look to her mother-in-law.
“Good. I believe you two are suited. The two of you will be fighting mad and arguing all the while dragging each other to the bedroom,” Ethel said.
“Mother Sheldon, really,” Frances said.
Ethel pulled her shawl about her. “High time you had this conversation with your other two daughters, Frances. Juliet will undoubtedly tie a bow about her husband’s rod the first time she sees it.”
Frances jumped from her chair, red-faced and sputtering. She closed her mouth and squared her shoulders. “Good day, Mother Sheldon,” Frances said and hurried to the door.
Matilda could hear her mother’s laughter in the hallway. She looked at Ethel.
“I’ll leave it to Thornsby to explain what a rod is.” Ethel put her hand under Matilda’s chin. “All of this aside dear, find out if he is the one. You will know if you let yourself hear your heart. Some things cannot be explained by an account book or discussion. Some things are meant to be felt, Matilda.”
The morning following the enlightening discussion with her mother and grandmother, Matilda was tired. She’d hardly slept for tossing around the comments in her head, but she’d agreed to meet a woman she was considering as a housemother for the orphanage. Matilda had realized she’d never have the time to take care of all the children even with Mrs. Brewer and Mr. Small’s help. There were simply far too many administrative tasks to be handled. Just yesterday she’d bailed little Davey out of the local constable’s office.
When the doorbell of the orphanage rang near ten-o’clock, Matilda expected to see a Mrs. Bell. She was mistaken. The Duke of Thornsby stood on her step. Matilda cocked her head. Still as handsome as ever, but looking, well, unsure of himself in her estimation. He had mistaken her twice for a servant, spied on her and attempted to foist off two homeless children. Oddly, those things did not deter her increasing attraction to him.
Matilda opened the door and dropped a curtsy. “Your Grace. May I help you?” she asked.
* * *
It was easy to understand how Matilda Sheldon hid amongst the ferns, like the wren he’d often described her as. A man, anyone for that matter, needed to look beyond conventional wisdom to see her appeal. Very few people bothered to look beyond their own circle or what was currently fasionable. Matilda was not graceful. She was not coy or flirtatious. But she had her own brand of distinct beauty that started somewhere other than her face although it did end there. Her eyes were clear and intelligent, and her hair an attractive chestnut color. Her skin was rosy as if she was actively engaged or in the sun a great deal.
“Miss Sheldon. Matilda. You do give me leave to address you as Matilda? May I come in?” he asked.
“Hardly fitting not to,” Matilda said as she stepped aside to admit him. “You seem to stray from the formal to the informal as easily as you kiss me or shout at me.”
She was certainly not shy. “Tru
e enough,” Thornsby said.
“To what do I owe this visit, Your Grace? Or would you prefer me to call you ‘Freddy’?” Matilda said.
“Thornsby is what I’d prefer.” He pulled his hat from his head and shrugged off his cape. “Is there some place we may sit?”
Matilda walked through an open door. It appeared to be a combination office and sitting room. She indicated a chair to him and seated herself across from it.
Thornsby crossed his legs, hat on his knee, and looked around. This room was where Matilda ruled, he could tell. Sunlight washed in to a desk covered with papers. Books sat on shelves, the floor and a stool in the corner. The draperies were drab and the rug worn, but it seemed alive somehow and not shabby at all. A wooden barrel of dolls and toys sat near the hearth and a rocker with a worn plaid blanket over its back. He focused on Matilda’s face. She was waiting.
“I’ve come to talk to you,” Thornsby said by way of introduction. He resettled in the chair. “Mostly I wanted to reassure you that I have broken my engagement to Millicent Marsh. My solicitor is due tomorrow, and I intend to make Jonah and Alice my wards.”
“I need no reassurance as to your marital plans. Only in the context of your intended’s influence over the children,” Matilda said. “What are your plans for Jonah and Alice?”
“I have just told you. I mean to make them my legal wards,” Thornsby said.
Matilda rose and called to Mrs. Brewer to bring tea. “Children need more than legalities, Thornsby. They need love and stability.”
“These two need my protection and my money,” Thornsby replied.
“True. But I have found that often those who influence people the most in their lifetime are not necessarily their parents.”
“As your grandmother influences you,” Thornsby said.
Matilda’s brows rose. Mrs. Brewer arrived with the tea tray. The housekeeper gave the Duke a hard look.
“Hardly fitting for you to be here unmarried and all with this high falutin’ nob,” Mrs. Brewer said with no apparent intention of concealing her words.