“I mean Trensom,” said Matilda, trying to be her usual, cool self. Inside, she was a churning mass of nerves, her stomach threatening to remind her what she had for breakfast. “He’s been paying you particular attention, and you know why we’re here.”
Delphi nodded. “Yes. He seems to have discarded Dorcas rather quickly. I like him, and we do share an interest, which I believe is important in a man one is considering as a husband.” She bit her lip.
“What is it, dear?” Matilda prompted.
“Well…he’s a bit old,” Delphi said in a burst of feeling. She even removed her reading glasses.
“Really? He’s in his prime, I thought.”
“Well, yes, to you he is, because you are, too.”
Better than being called a hag. “Perhaps. I thought him a fine figure of a man.”
“And he’s awfully toplofty. Very stiff, you know?”
Matilda’s imagination took the double entendre Delphi had no idea she’d made and ran with it. “But he’s kind,” she managed to say.
“Yes. But to me…well, I have dreams. I daresay they won’t come to pass. The temptation of going to Rome, though…” She bit her lip. “It’s almost worth accepting him.”
“Has he asked?” Matilda queried, far too sharply.
Fortunately, Delphi didn’t seem to notice. She rarely noticed anything, unless it was written down in a book in minuscule print. “Not as such, but he did say I might be able to come with him, in certain circumstances. I daresay that was what he meant.”
That he was going to propose.
And when he did so, whatever Matilda had with him would end. She would not do that to the people she regarded as her family.
Time to find that snug little house she’d been promising herself for years when they returned home. After Christmas.
One night, the tenth to be exact, she lay in her stiff duke’s arms and gazed up at him.
“When are you leaving?” he asked.
She forced a smile. “You are so keen to be rid of me?”
He hastened to reassure her. “No, never. But I would like to know.”
Instead of meeting his gaze, Matilda concentrated on toying with the hairs on his chest. “To count off the days?”
Pushing his fingers under her chin, he made her look at him. She could only try to hide her pain. “I’ve been thinking, Matilda. How do you feel about coming to Rome with us? Oh, I know classical Rome holds little interest for you but there is so much more. Dancing, balls, the aristocracy of Italy, every bit as proud as the British, but not as much as the French. New fashions, a new country. I would love you to come. And we could…” He bent for a soft kiss.
Matilda responded, because she couldn’t do anything else. But her mind was numb with pain.
She thought she knew him. How wrong she was!
Having an affair with him was bad enough, especially when he was supposed to be courting Delphi. But to continue as his mistress once he was married to Annie’s sister-in-law?
No, never. How could she even think such a thing? How could he think she wanted it?
Righteous anger filled her and the scales fell from her eyes. He was using her. He’d charmed her and taken advantage. Matilda had considered herself a woman of the world, up to all the rigs and games. She was wrong. Harry’s attitude showed her the rotten, corrupt world he belonged to.
Heedless of her nudity, she swept back the bedcovers and grabbed her robe from the back of her dressing table chair. She glared at him as she belted it around her, covering herself with dignity along with the silk. “I am going into the powder room. When I return, you will be gone. Or I will. Go with you to Rome on your honeymoon? How can you think it? How would you manage us both, your wife and your mistress?”
His jaw dropped and he stared at her, eyes wide.
“What, did you not expect the City woman to have a conscience or a thought to anyone but herself? That seems to be a characteristic of the high born. Such behavior is normal for your kind, isn’t it? But you have no consideration, no thought to anyone but yourself and your selfish needs. I am a woman, Harry, and I still have dreams. My future won’t include you. Go away now, and don’t come back.”
Before the tears fell, she stormed into the powder room and slammed the door.
When Matilda returned from her long visit to the powder room, which included a hearty bout of tears and donning the only gown there, a loose morning sacque she wore when nobody else was around, she expected to be alone. But she wasn’t.
Harry stood in the middle of her bedroom, hands on hips. He was stark naked. His broad chest, the narrow hips, strong thighs and magnificent—everything else—were on proud display.
Matilda tried not to look. She spun around. Before she could leave in search of a room that didn’t contain him, he banded his arms around her and held her tight.
“Let me go.” Her throat was tight, and tears leaked from her eyes. “I thought I made myself clear.”
“You did. Now let me do the same.” A touch on the top of her head told Matilda he had dropped a soft kiss there.
Since he showed no sign of leaving or releasing her, Matilda had no choice. She sighed. “Very well.” But she wouldn’t turn around and let him see how bitterly upset she was.
“Matilda, I never meant what you thought I said. I want to take you to Rome as mistress—and wife. I thought you understood.”
“Haven’t you offered for Delphi?”
“No and I don’t intend to.”
“Then what…?”
“Matilda, my love, turn around. Let me say what I need to your face.”
She swallowed back her tears, but a few remained, wetting her cheeks. When she was as ready as she’d ever be, she did as he asked.
Harry kept his arms around her. He gazed down into her face, his expression completely open, and, dare she think it, loving.
“Dear heart, I’ve never been in love before. I love my daughters, that is true, but this is different.”
“What about your first wife?”
He shook his head. “She and I had a perfectly amicable relationship, and I mourned her when she died. But no, we were not in love.” He touched her chin. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. If you really don’t want me, I won’t force you to do it. But I love you. My life will be complete with you in my life every day. I desperately want you for my wife, mine to care for and cherish for the rest of my days.”
Matilda couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “But you talked to Delphi about taking her to Rome.”
“So I did. With you as my wife, her brother might agree to her going with us. My daughters are going, too.” He grinned wryly. “I promised them, so there’s no getting out of it.”
Her brain seemed to be working particularly slowly today. “You want to marry me? What about making an heir?”
“I have a perfectly good heir in my cousin. He is in the army, but he will have to learn to cope with both positions. There have been soldier dukes before and I daresay there will be again.”
She wanted to scream yes before he changed his mind, but there was one more thing. “And what about dowries and portions?”
He rolled his eyes. “I can settle enough on you to make it look respectable.” He concentrated on her. “Matilda, I have plenty of material things, but I’ll be forever impoverished if I don’t have you. Name your price. I demand nothing but love from you. Am I wrong? Can you at least try to love me?”
Only then did she break into a broad smile. “Of course, I love you, you foolish man! Haven’t I been breaking my heart over you?”
He wouldn’t let her talk then, claiming a deep, passionate kiss, then another. Five minutes passed before either of them spoke again.
“Marry me, Matilda, my only love.”
What else could she say? “Yes.” Then she told him how much she was worth.
Harry’s eyes opened wide. “Ten thousand pounds? Good Lord, Matilda!”
She could smile now. “Did you think onl
y dukes have fortunes? I inherited an estate from my great-aunt, who was married to a rich Guild master. I don’t think society will care how much I bring you.”
“Oh, yes, it will, and I can’t wait to see their faces! But not for a while, my darling. Would you have any objection if we secured the doors and went back to bed?”
“Oh, absolutely none in the least.”
And so, before they rose and faced their astonished but delighted families at breakfast, Matilda and Harry celebrated their love in the best way possible.
THE END
About the Author
I write stories, and I always have. And I love a happy ending, especially a well-deserved one.
I’m an award-winning, best-selling author of historical romance. I fell in love with the eighteenth century when I was nine years old, and it’s my dream job to write about the people who lived and loved back then.
I used to work in marketing, and I have more letters after my name than in it, but I don’t use them much anymore.
I live in the UK with my family, including my muse, Frankie the Nonsense, a ragdoll with no decorum. I love traveling, and I get over to the States at least once a year.
My website is at lynneconnolly.com. Twitter @lynneconnolly and my Facebook page is here: facebook.com/lynneconnollyuk. My blog is at lynneconnolly.blogspot.com.
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A Bunch of Mistletoe Page 8