“Iused to reprimand my soldiers for gossiping,” Albion said, leading Matilda onto the dance floor as the music for the previous set faded to a close. “It seems to be everyone’s favorite pastime here.”
Matilda raised an eyebrow. “What else is there for the poor souls to do? Young ladies are warned from a very young age that if they gettooexcited or cause their hearts to beat too fast, it will suddenly make them vulgar and unseemly. They cannot enjoy anything beyond the pianoforte, reading poetry, or embroidery. Even then, they must not play too vigorously, must not read anything too emotional, must not sew anything that ignites too much inspiration.”
“You’re rather damning of your sex, Matilda,” he said, for it was not the first time he had heard her strong opinions on the matter. Indeed, no woman began a Spinsters’ Club if they liked the way society was structured.
“On the contrary,” she protested. “I would not judge any woman’s choices, and if embroidery and poetry fulfil a woman, then all the luck to them. What I want ismorefor the women who are not fulfilled, who are not free to do as they please, who would do more if they only could. I am damning of the cage, not the bird.”
He took up his position opposite her, feeling somewhat anxious. Hehadforgiven her for running off in the middle of their last dance, but that did not mean he had forgotten the embarrassment it had caused. He did not want to feel that again, either by her hand or byhisfeet.
“And how are you feeling about the cage?” he dared to ask, his mind spooling back to the beach and the way the sparkles of the water had danced on her skin, how soft her lips had been, how… natural it had felt to hold her in his arms.
If she wants it forgotten, it will be,he told himself. He did not believe it had been a reaction to relief, but as he could not explainwhathad spurred him on to kiss her, he had decided to let it lie. It was safer that way. Safer, and less likely to make her run from him.
“I am making the best of it,” she replied as she danced toward him on light, elegant feet. “At present, it feels as if the door to my cage is open, but the door in the room where my cage is, is closed.”
He pressed his palm to hers, a crackle of electricity jumping between his skin and the silk of her glove. “Might I do anything to remedy that?”
“I do not think there is anything youcando,” she replied. “It would require a necromancer, a device that can reverse time, a national shift in perspective and restriction, and an annulment.”
His chest pinched at that last word. “Ah, then I suspect you might be right. I know someone that everyone claims is a witch but no necromancers. The only device I can think of that reverses time is dreaming, and I don’t hold much sway with the national perspective. You’d be better off speaking to the Countess who is hosting this ball.”
“Believe me, I tried,” she remarked, turning in a slow circle around him while his hand held hers above his head. “It was too late.”
With that word “annulment” pulsing in his skull, he cast her a sly look. “We’re veering toward miserable again, Matilda.” He slid his fingertips through hers, marveling at the fleeting shock in her eyes. “Tell me of things that make you happy, instead, or things that Icanremedy to make you more content.”
For a short while, she did not say anything; she danced around him and with him, their palms touching and retreating, their eyes meeting and lowering, their bodies swaying close and then drifting apart, reminding him of the sea. It was the strangest thing, for every time she moved away from him, his entire being yearned for her to come back again.
Is this how she’s been feeling in my absence?He would not have dared to make assumptions, but hewassorry about misunderstanding in the aftermath of their kiss. If he had known shedidwant to be in his company, he would have obliged and would have been happier about it than he could admit.
The trouble was, he was used to doing the wrong thing in that house, in those grounds, on that estate, and just like his tendency to read people, that feeling of being a disappointment and a troublemaker would not die.Thatwas why he had stayed away.
“I would like to speak with your gardener, in great depth, if he is up to the challenge,” Matilda said, at last, as her hands slipped into his, crossing in front of their bodies, and they began a side-by-side promenade through a tunnel of arched arms.
“What would you ask him?”
Matilda peered up at him. “I noticed an area in the eastern part of the gardens that does not have anything in it. I… would relish the opportunity to grow some things of my own for my research. For my next book.” Pink dusted her cheeks. “Medicinal herbs, so I can make my own tinctures and tonics. I know I told you thatIdo not learn well by demonstration, but others do, and I would like to be able to show them the benefits of the herbs as well as describe them. I shall have to get someone else to draw the illustrations though; I am hopeless.”
Albion smiled but did not reply immediately. They had reached the end of the tunnel of arms and separated, dancing down the outside to take up their new position at the bottom of the tunnel.
“You think it a foolish notion,” Matilda accused as they joined hands.
His smile widened, prompting his cheeks to ache.
“Why are you grinning at me like that?” she chided. “Do not mock me, Albion. My cousin did quite enough of that, and I will not hear it from you.”
He began to laugh, entirely aware that it was the wrong thing to do. He could not help it. They were so opposite, so perpetually in some sort of mild conflict, that they were forever misunderstanding one another, as if they were speaking different languages that each of them understood at a novice level only. And for some weird reason, that seemed hilarious to him in that moment.
“I will walk off this dance floor again,” Matilda hissed. “Do not think that I will not. You asked me what would make me happy—if you were just going to mock it, you should not have bothered. Goodness,Ishould not have bothered!”
“Be at peace, Matilda,” he urged, swallowing his laughter as quickly as possible. “I wasn’t laughing atyou. I was laughing at us.”
Matilda rolled her eyes. “In what world does that make a jot of sense?”
He explained his thoughts, relieved as her expression began to soften. “Everythingyou say is of interest to me, Matilda. I wouldn’t mock the things that inspire you. It’s my face—it doesn’t do what it’s meant to anymore, so a smile can look like a grimace, a grin can look insane, and fascination can resemble anger.” He smiled anyway. “You will have your garden of herbs so long as you don’t sneak any poisons in there.”
“Poisonous plants in small quantities can actually be very beneficial,” she replied with a twinkle in her eye. “Belladonna, for example. And tomato plants will upset even the strongest stomach, but the fruits are perfectly fine to consume.”
He chuckled. “As long as you ensure that everything is well-labeled, and there is ample protection so that no animals suffer accidentally, I have no complaints about you growing an entire border of belladonna and tomatoes.” He paused, holding her gaze. “My home is yours now. Do whatever you like to it until the bars and the door disappear.”
