Tonight, she decided. After dinner. Tonight, I will make my confession. And if it should be rejected, if she was mistaken, then there was a carriage and a dear friend’s manor waiting to offer refuge if it all unraveled before her very eyes.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
“That went rather well, did it not?” Matilda asked from the doorway of Albion’s study.
Albion, searching for the book he was certain he had left on the desk, barely heard her. “What did you say?”
“That went rather well.”
He found the book, buried beneath a mountain of papers. “Yes, I think so. She is the most affable of your friends.”
On the threshold, Matilda prickled. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Pardon?”
“Do you not like the rest of my friends?” She raised an accusatory eyebrow.
Albion perched on the edge of the desk and swept a hand over his hair, exhaling the frustration of the day. It cheered his heart immensely to see Matilda with her friend—he had watched them walking in the gardens from his window earlier, delighting in their laughter—but the rest of his day had been hurdle after hurdle.
Now, he just wanted to retire to his bed and wake up to a less irksome day.
“They are interesting,” he replied. “Fine women, all. What I meant was what you told me last night—Anna was the first to think of me kindly, and it showed at dinner tonight.”
“Oh…”
Albion chewed the inside of his lip, observing his wife. “Is everything all right?”
“Why would it not be?” she replied, a note too tersely.
“You seem… combative.”
She shrugged. “Not at all. I am quite well, just… a little nervous. When I am nervous, I become brusque—I do not know why and have never investigated it thoroughly enough to explain it.”
“Nervous? About me meeting Anna properly?”
Matilda scuffed the toe of her shoe against the parquet. “Among other things.”
“Are you going to tell me what those other things are? I haven’t the wherewithal to guess, my darling.” He hoped he sounded gentler than he felt, his patience waning.
A letter arrived not long after Anna did. A letter from his mother—not an apology,neveran apology, but a short note that read:You cannot pick and choose your duties, Albion. You are a duke now. I hope you are beginning to realize that.
It had put him in a foul mood that he had barely managed to push aside for dinner with Anna though he had mostly let the two women chatter as they pleased while he ate. No one had seemed to mind at the time, but perhaps he had not behaved in as social a manner as his wife would have liked.
“I’m sorry if I wasn’t very conversational at dinner,” he said, guessing somewhat. “Is that what’s bothering you?”
Matilda shook her head. “Do you feel something for me?”
“What?” Albion’s heart jumped.
“Am I mistaken in thinking that what you might like to say to me was said in our kiss?” she pressed, meeting his gaze.
He could not do this now, but nor could he leave her without confirmation. “I care about you very much, Matilda.”
“Youcareabout me?” She arched an eyebrow.
“Yes, I have a… great affection for you.” He took a breath, unable to say what it was he actually wished to say. “I do not know how else to phrase it.”
The words were shorter and sharper than he would have liked, but he hoped she would not notice. He meant them, all the same, but fatigue often took control of his voice first, making him sound grumpy.
