“What was I thinking?” she whispered, shuddering at the thought of what had taken place in the carriage.
She had not intended to feel hurt by his rejection. She still did not knowwhyshe felt hurt when he had given her the answer she had been hoping for. Her friends had been useless in granting her the details of wedding night expectations, but she had enough knowledge of the animal world to finally put together the pieces of what they were alluding to.Thatwas not something she wanted. Giving him heirs was not in any of her plans for life.
So, why on earth did she still feel wounded? It made no sense, and she could not simply go to her library and find an answer among the shelves. Even if she were at home, she doubted there would be any book to help her with this conundrum.
Drawing away from the window, taking her candle with her, she padded to the writing desk. Relief struck her as she found fresh paper, ink, and feathers for quills. Sitting down, she set to work, fashioning a quill and cutting a suitably sized sheet of the paper.
With a breath and the ghost of a smile, she began to write:Chapter One: Marriages of Convenience.
* * *
For the next few days, Matilda experienced what could only be described as a lone honeymoon. A strange, involuntary holiday in which she awoke in a strange house, breakfasted alone with food that did not taste like home, and also seemed to be entirely alone wherever she walked inside the manor, as if the servants had been told to give her a wide berth. Albion and his mother were nowhere to be found.
“I am no prisoner, and I am certainly no idler,” she remarked on the fourth morning of her solitude as she drained the dregs from her cup of morning tea.
A maid, who had just come in to replenish the serving table, halted in alarm. “Were you talking to me, Your Grace?”
Matilda had not realized how much she missed the sound of someone else’s voice, silly tears pricking at her eyes, unbidden, as she looked upon the sweet-faced young woman. “I wondered if you might tell me where the Dowager and the Duke are on this fine morning?”
Itwasa very fine morning, the summer sunshine not yet too hot, golden light catching the fog that rolled across the lawns, turning the world hazy. Like a dream. A bad one, at present.
“His Grace is… um… tending to business. I don’t know where, only that he left yesterday and isn’t due to come back ’til tomorrow,” the maid replied uncertainly, as if she wasn’t sure how much she should say. “Her Grace is visiting with friends and left no mention of when she’ll return.”
Matilda nodded slowly. “I thought I might venture out today. Would it be possible to have a small luncheon packed? I intend to be out until dinner.”
She did not know where her decision had hailed from, but it pulsed in her mind, firm and comforting. If her husband wanted her to distract herself so much, then she would distract herself untilshewas rarely within the walls of this wretched manor.
“Of course, Your Grace.” The maid sketched a curtsey, hesitating. “Would you like a map? It’s easy to get lost around here.”
Matilda’s heart swelled at the young woman’s kindness. “A map would be wonderful. Thank you.”
“I’ll see to it at once,” the maid promised, offering a small smile before disappearing through the door to the servants’ corridor.
Satisfied, Matilda sat back and closed her eyes, listening to the throaty song of the wood pigeons outside the breakfast room. Of course, she could have spent another unending day in her bedchamber, writing her masterpiece, but the truth was, she had hit something of a wall in terms of inspiration. Or, rather, there was only so much she actuallyknewabout marriage. Until she learned more, her writing had stalled, and considering her husband was quite flagrantly avoiding her, she had no way of learning more.
How to Keep Oneself Entertained During One’s Honeymoon,she decided would be the title of her next chapter. First, she had to discover how to keep herself entertained, for she was well aware that not every woman would have the means, willingness, or capacity to write a book during the initial period after the wedding.
She smiled wryly, wondering if she should name the chapterHow to be an Unwelcome Stranger in a Strange Place,instead. She knew plenty about that, considering thetonhad always shunned her.
* * *
By nine o’clock in the morning, Matilda was in the fresh, warm air with a riding satchel slung over her shoulder. A luncheon had been packed for her, and she had decided to pack some paper, ink, and a quill too, in case inspiration struck her while she was adventuring through her new home.
“It is unfailingly medicinal,” she said to the blackbirds and sparrows that pecked the earth for their breakfast, “how being out of doors in good weather can improve one’s mood.”
She had taken to talking to herself, for the act seemed to help her retain her notes on everything she saw and experienced, so she could jot it down later. It also helped her to feel less isolated though she was not as keen to admit that.
“I recommend frequent walks,” she continued. “Like soldiers, we must develop an understanding of enemy territory—or friendly territory if you are fortunate enough to love, or even like, the husband you have been bound to. Frequent walks with one’s husband might be a very lovely thing.”
She had to keep reminding herself not to frame her book entirely through her own perspective, knowing that might reduce the success of it. No one wanted to read a book if it was filled front to back, page to page, with nothing but misery. Indeed, she wanted the book to offer hope and comfort, not fear and apprehension.
I would not mind walking with him.She frowned, remembering their wander through the gardens at Montale House. Conflict and acidic banterhadto be better than the alternative of feeling utterly ignored. She longed to feel that thrill of challenge inside her again, even though she still could not understand the sensation.
“Feverfew and willow bark are worth knowing about,” she carried on, deciding in that moment that she might add little portions of her herbal knowledge to the book. “They can cool a mild fever when brewed into a tea if a physician is too far away or too expensive. Yarrow is of benefit, too. Sweeten with honey to reduce the bitterness and drink every few hours until the fever begins to recede.”
The gardener, toiling away at a border of roses, raised his head, mopped his brow, and stared at her in confusion from across the lawn.
She raised a hand in a defiant wave, and he dove back into his work as if he had been stung by a wasp.
