Matilda's Freedom

by Téa Cooper

  ‘Christopher, I want nothing more than for you to honour and respect Barclay’s legacy, our inheritance and your sisters’ futures. Is that asking too much? You owe it to me, and you owe it to Barclay’s memory. Without him we would be …’ Her voice dwindled, as if it was too much to entertain the possibility of what might have happened if not for the timely intervention of his stepfather.

  ‘I understand, mother. Truly, I do.’ He patted her arm soothingly. She cleared her throat, dabbing at the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

  Oh, why did she have to do that?

  Kit hated when women cried because it made him feel inadequate. The memory of Matilda’s huge eyes, swimming with tears as he’d closed her door, filled his vision.

  That memory, however, contrasted with his current view from the sitting room window, through which he could see the instigator of his torment laughing and cavorting under the spreading mulberry tree.

  What was she doing?

  Kit absentmindedly dropped his hand from his mother’s arm and walked closer to the window. Matilda stood with one hand on her waist and her hip thrust out. She held a book and was reading something aloud. Why couldn’t she sit down and read quietly like a normal person? Why did she have to make such a spectacle of herself?

  All eyes were drawn to her. Even his mother had risen from her chair and now stood watching as Hannah and Beth leapt to their feet and cavorted in a circle with Matilda. Their chanting and cackling wafted through the open window.

  ‘What on earth are they playing at?’ he snapped.

  ‘I believe Matilda took my words of the other evening to heart and is introducing the girls to Shakespeare. I’m not sure if it is suitable, but I am impressed by her versatility. There’s more to the girl than I gave her credit for.’

  There was more to the girl than he had given her credit for, too. But a kiss—no matter how gut wrenching—hardly mattered, and they would be foolish to let it go any further. Not only would her reputation suffer if such news got out, but it could also end her chances of marrying another.

  He felt a stab of jealousy as he contemplated Matilda in another man’s arms.

  The charade continued a little longer until the circle of cavorting females slowed and made stirring motions with their hands.

  ‘I would hazard a guess that they are re-enacting Macbeth. It would appear she has more of an education than you had led me to believe.’

  Perplexed, Kit turned and gazed at his mother. Had he led her to believe anything about Matilda? Truth be told, he had very little information about her other than what the Bainbridges had relayed to him.

  At least today, she was dressed appropriately in a skirt and some sort of long-sleeved white blouse that nipped in at the waist. He stared, mesmerised, as she raised her arms above her head, and he imagined those slender arms once again wrapping around his neck.

  With a disgruntled sigh, he turned from the window.

  His sanity was diminishing daily. His ability to concentrate had been shot to pieces. How could he have just spent half-an-hour gazing out of a window, watching three young women re-enact the witch scene from Macbeth?

  Madness.

  If nothing else, the choice of play was appropriate. Indeed, Matilda was a witch; she had bewitched him against his will. He had to reassert himself and follow through on his decision. As the man of the house it was his responsibility to ensure the best for his family—and Matilda—at whatever cost.

  He would travel to Sydney and bring Eliza and her mother back to The Gate. Once committed, he could then take his mind off Matilda and be better able to move forward.

  ‘Mother, I think I will leave at the end of the week for Sydney. If I return in two weeks with Eliza and her mother, will that give you sufficient time to have everything organised?’ There, it was done.

  I must move forward and break the spell that Matilda has cast.

  ‘Christopher, darling, I am so pleased.’ The paper-thin skin of her hand was cool and dry as she clasped his hand and squeezed. ‘I shall go and speak to Bonnie, and make arrangements.’

  She left the room in a cloud of dried, dusty lavender.

  He sneezed and turned back to the window.

  What’s done is done.

  Matilda was pacing, too. Up and down the lawn she went, wringing her hands. Her words drifted to him. ‘Fair is foul and foul is fair.’

  He stepped out onto the veranda and made his way across the grass to the mulberry tree.

  ‘Hello, girls. What are you up to?’

  ‘We’re reading Shakespeare.’ Hannah looked up from her seat on the grass, her eyes alive with pleasure. ‘Macbeth. I always thought Shakespeare was a bore, but Matilda assured us he wasn’t. She was right.’

  Obviously, one of her many talents was bringing boring characters to life. She’d made him come alive, too.

  ‘Oh, it’s perfect. We need someone to play a character. Kit, will you be our Macbeth?’ A desolate look crossed Matilda’s face before quickly being replaced by a smile that failed to reach her eyes. Determined not to be drawn in, Kit took the leather-bound copy of Macbeth from Hannah.

  Matilda was one step ahead of him. ‘Come now, girls I think our lesson is over. Why don’t you take the books back to the house? We don’t want to disturb your brother, and I am sure he has work to do.’

  The book disappeared from his hand. He glared at Matilda, but she wouldn’t meet his eye. Surely the kiss last night hadn’t caused this shift in her demeanour. It was as though she already knew the decision he had made, but that was impossible.

  No one knew except his mother.

  As Matilda bent down to collect the remaining books scattered on the ground, a lock of yellow hair came loose from the neat, constrained bun at the base of her head. He resisted the temptation to tuck it back behind her ear.

  Straightening up, Matilda held the armfuls of books out to Hannah and Beth. Kit moved forward, intent on relieving her of the weight, but she guardedly took two paces back. Hannah stepped between them.

  Only the top of Matilda’s bent head remained visible, and he saw that the shiny shafts of hair growing from her scalp formed an intricate pattern. He had cradled that head in his hands. He had threaded his fingers through that hair as it lay around her shoulders like a mantle.

  Had that only been last night?

  He lifted his hand to his mouth, trying to stifle the sounds of longing escaping his lips. He was too late.

  Matilda’s eyes opened wide, and she looked directly at him over the heads of the girls. She had recognised the sound for what it was.

  His face grew heated. ‘Girls, take the books to the house as Matilda told you. I have matters to discuss with her.’

  Beth took off across the lawn. Hannah made to follow but not before she had arched an eyebrow at Kit. That one was undoubtedly growing up too quickly.

  He took Matilda’s arm and led her across the lawn, ‘Will you sit with me a while?’

  Inclining her head, she said nothing. He cupped her elbow, trying to ignore her unyielding pose, and led her to the old makeshift seat under the mulberry tree. She sank down with a sigh.

  He remained standing in front of her, scuffing the toe of his boot in the dry grass. He felt as though he was a child awaiting a reprimand, but had no idea why.

  Had what he had done been so bad? It was nothing she hadn’t wanted as much as he had.

  Kit sucked in a deep breath. ‘Matilda. I believe I owe you an apology for my brutish behaviour. I should not have forced myself upon you.’

  She gazed up at him, her mouth slightly open, and the tip of her tongue tracing her lower lip. ‘Your apology is accepted but unnecessary.’

  Kit waited, trying to ignore the frustrating rush of heat in his body.

  Unnecessary?

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. The thought she might have welcomed his advances almost made him lose his composure, sending a tremor of desire through him. It would be so easy to reach out and touch, smell, even
taste her. He wanted nothing more than to slowly undress her, run his tongue across the smooth skin of her firm thighs, and then make slow and sensuous love to her.

  But he couldn’t. ‘I have come to a decision. I have thought about it long and hard, and I want to assure you that our,’ and here he paused and corrected himself, ‘my indiscretion will make no difference to your position here. In fact, it will strengthen it.’

  Matilda’s head tipped slightly to one side, and a tiny frown puckered her forehead.

  Kit was uncertain whether he should continue. From the puzzled look on her face, she seemed to not understand his dilemma. He was under no obligation to tell her he had decided to marry another, but he somehow felt the need.

  ‘Matilda, I am not a free man and I find myself in the dubious—’

  The look of incredulity on her face brought him up short, and she interrupted him. ‘Not a free man? I don’t see any chains.’

  He laughed dryly. ‘My chains may not be visible but they are every bit as real as any convict’s.’

  Her disdainful snort caused him to pause. How to explain? If he had been a free man, he wouldn’t have returned to Australia when Barclay had died. He wouldn’t be contemplating this marriage, either. ‘I am not a free man. I am tied by my responsibilities and commitments to my mother, my stepsisters and, most of all, Barclay. So, I will be leaving for Sydney in a matter of days.’

  Her lips formed a perfect ‘O’. It was perfect like everything else about her was perfect, and the sight sent a shiver of delight through him. He forced his gaze away from her mouth.

  ‘I am …’ He cleared his throat.

  Why is it so goddamn difficult to get the words out?

  He cleared his throat.

  ‘I am going to Sydney to ask Eliza Ramsbottom for her hand in marriage.’

  ‘I see.’ Matilda paused for a moment and then said, ‘I think this is the moment I offer my congratulations, is it not?’ Her cold, measured words cut at him like a knife.

  Kit inclined his head like a penitent, waiting and hoping for her to say something that would wash away the feeling of abject misery his words had caused him. The silence lengthened until he could bear it no longer. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured, hoping she understood his difficult position.

  She didn’t. ‘I don’t understand you, and I don’t think you know the meaning of the word freedom. My father was not free. He was transported here in chains for a crime he did not commit. My mother gave up everything to follow him and together they worked their way up from chains to freedom. They learned the meaning of the word free.’

  ‘Responsibility is a different kind of restriction.’

  Matilda brushed her hair back from her face and nodded. ‘It is different. It’s less painful and less degrading’

  ‘I have a debt of honour.’

  ‘The only debt you have is to yourself. You owe yourself the right to be happy and to live as you desire. To have what you deserve. We all do.’

  He glanced at her again, and she glared back. Her welcoming mouth, usually so redolent of sunshine and laughter, stretched grim and determined.

  ‘You are not the man I thought you were. You disappoint me.’

  Matilda gave him an expectant look as he groped for a rational comment or something that would make her understand his predicament. Certainly nothing in his mind or body would help him at this point.

  The slender column of her neck moved as she swallowed. His gaze locked on the ribbon she wore around her neck.

  ‘So Eliza is a suitable bride, is she?’

  ‘So my mother says.’

  ‘I see. And does your mother always make important life decisions for you?’

  Matilda was making his decision sound sordid, as though he was under his mother’s thumb.

  ‘It’s a very practical solution, and as I have been overseas for the last three years, Mother is more au fait with Sydney society and is better able to suggest the right bride for me. It’s all about connections and introductions.’

  ‘Don’t you think that’s cold-blooded?’

  ‘No, I don’t believe it is—prudent would be the way I would describe it. These are uncertain times. We must all make the best of the opportunities afforded us.’

  ‘I’m fascinated by this insight into Sydney society. Who would have thought? But I suppose you free men brought all your stuffy traditions over from England along with your heavy overcoats and voluminous petticoats.’

  Matilda’s eyes flashed and her hands came to her hips, a sign he had come to recognise. God, she was glorious when she was riled.

  ‘You’re not who you pretend to be, Kit. You are better than that, better than your mother. You should not be a part of the hidebound colonial society that rules this country. You are stronger, braver. People like you will help to make this an egalitarian land—a land that can welcome people for what they are and what they offer, not who their parents were or the circumstances of their birth. Embrace it and be yourself, not the person someone else thinks you ought to be.’

  Matilda’s vehemence startled and confused him. Surely he was being himself by thinking of the people whose safety he should care most about. He had been raised to protect his family and had protected his mother as a child until he had willingly handed on the responsibility. And now the baton had been passed back to him.

  He took a step closer to where Matilda was sitting, moistening her lips with her tongue. He swallowed in response, his heart pounding in his ears. She swayed very slightly toward him, as though she knew he wanted to touch her; he found himself leaning in, yearning for the warmth of her breath and the touch of her lips. But then the wind caught her shawl, and she snatched at it, breaking the spell.

  ‘I expect you have matters to attend to,’ she said, rising to her feet. She stood before him, her hands clasped demurely around her ridiculous paisley shawl as it blew in the afternoon breeze.

  ‘I do have matters to attend to. Please be assured my marriage will make no difference to your position here. I … we, and that includes my mother and the girls, would like you to continue to be their companion and governess. They enjoy your company. We all do.’

  ‘May I ask you one more question?’

  ‘Of course you may—anything.’

  ‘Why, if you intend to marry Eliza, did you see fit to kiss me? Do you not think it is something your,’ and here she paused as an icy shiver ran down his back, ‘future wife may not approve of?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t intend that my future wife should know of it at all.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Matilda, what Eliza knows or does not know is not the question. I have told you that I am not a free man, and I have commitments and responsibilities to my family. I must marry. It is tantamount to a business decision. You simply don’t understand.’

  ‘Oh, Kit, believe me, I do. I understand perfectly. You think I am not good enough because of the inferiority of my birth. My bloodlines are not pure. I am of convict stock and you, you are …’ she shook her head, disappointment painted across her beautiful face ‘… not the man I thought you were.’

  Why did she have to make it sound so money grubbing, so devoid of emotion? It wasn’t as though he was doing something underhand. He wasn’t selling himself to the highest bidder or making a ridiculous bet on a lousy hand of cards.

  ‘I wish you and your future wife every happiness.’ She smiled again—not her wide, open-eyed smile, but a tight lift of the corners of her mouth. ‘And, now, if you will excuse me?’

  She walked away.

  ‘Matil—’ Kit let the breeze carry her name away as he bunched his fist and rammed it hard into the palm of his other hand. Circumstances were conspiring against him, and nothing was working out the way he intended.

  He needed this marriage to Eliza, his family needed this marriage to Eliza, but he wanted Matilda. And he wanted to be the man she believed him to be.

  Why, oh why, didn’t they live in France? The French were
far more realistic about such matters. They married for social advancement, and affaires de coeur were exactly that—matters of the heart and body. What he and Matilda needed was an arrangement.

  Kit paced up and down around the trees. There had to be a solution here. His experiences in France had proved marriage and love were almost mutually exclusive, so why couldn’t he marry Eliza and still enjoy Matilda’s company?

  His mother and Barclay had created a successful marriage; their love and respect had come later. There must be a similar solution in this case, an arrangement that could be reached.

  He stopped suddenly and ran his hands over his face. Yes, there was a solution. He could offer Matilda one of the cottages on the estate as her own, provide her with an income, and then everyone would be satisfied. Matilda could continue as a companion to the girls, and he could provide her with the finance to maintain her family property. The girls’ future would be assured, his mother would be happy, and he would not lose the pleasure of Matilda’s company.

  It was the perfect solution.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kit’s footsteps sounded on the small stones that covered the footpath to her cottage, beating steadily in a rhythm like that of her own heart. Matilda, however, was not going to stop or turn around. She couldn’t. She had to make it to the cottage before he caught up with her.

  She would not let him see the tears pouring down her cheeks.

  She brushed the corner of her shawl across her eyes, lifted her skirt, and ran. Once through the door, she slammed it behind her. Then she leaned back, firmly pressed against it as if she could barricade herself in and keep him out.

  It took only a second for the door to vibrate with the force of his knocking.

  ‘Matilda, let me in. I need to speak to you. Please.’

  ‘Kit. Go away. We can talk later.’

  Oh God, please make him go away.