“Matilda?” Anna said more warily. “Are you well? Is something wrong?”
Matilda halted, her breaths harsh in the quiet of the room. “I think… I have done all I can do here.”
“What do you mean?” Anna hugged the coverlets.
“He cares for me, but will not say that he loves me, so perhaps he does not—that would be the first problem.” Matilda could feel the sting of rejection in her chest like a barb, sinking deeper. If he had accepted her invitation to share a bedchamber, it would have proven something—that his “great affection” meant more than he could put into words. Now, she merely felt embarrassed and foolish, throwing herself at him like that.
“The second,” she continued at a clip, “is that he has no desire to have children, has no desire to share a bedchamber with me, has no desire for us to be anything more than what we are, which is little more than courting.” She paused for breath. “And I have considered and considered that position, and it is not one I can accept. My father always said I should not settle for less than I deserve. I will not disagree with him now.”
Anna blinked. “It means that much to you?”
“Progress is made through the children of each generation, and the progress of those children is built upon what they see in the world of love, what they have as an example of love and what to guarantee for themselves,” Matilda said in earnest. “I feel compelled to do my part, to raise my children the way I was raised, so they can begin to break the mold. And… what ofmybloodline? Does that not matter?”
Anna shuffled closer. “I think I am missing something.”
Matilda explained what had happened in the study, giving her the short version. “I cannot change his mind, nor do I think it is my right to, despite our argument. I cannot force a confession any more than I can force him to share a bedchamber with me. But if we want different things, we are simply incompatible,” she concluded, her heart torn.
She waited for Anna to protest, to convince her that it was still early in their marriage, that his mindcouldbe changed in time, that a confession would come soon enough. But Anna’s expression became pensive and sad, her chin dipping to her chest. Phoebe, Olivia, or Leah would have argued, but perhaps Matilda did not need the encouragement of those who were happily married with children. Words of optimism from those without her struggles.
“What do you want to do?” Anna asked at last. “Name it, and I shall help.”
Matilda hesitated. “I want to leave.”
“Forever?”
“I cannot answer that at present,” she replied. “All I know is that I need distance. I cannot think here. My brain is foggy, everything warped by his presence, his mark. To gain clarity, I need to clear my mind.”
Anna nodded, repeating, “What do you want to do?”
“Might we go tonight?”
Anna resembled a startled deer. “Tonight?”
“Now, if possible,” Matilda confirmed. “If I linger here, I will not sleep, I will drive myself to distraction, I will rant and rave, and that is not who I am. I am sensible, I am rational, and being in this manor with him has robbed me of that. I need to decide what is best for me where I have nothing to coerce me one way or the other.”
Determination set the worry upon Anna’s face into harder lines. She gave a sharp, decisive nod and threw aside the coverlets. “It is fortunate I asked the maids to unpack in the morning. We can be away in ten minutes… if you are certain that is what you desire?”
“I am.” Matilda meant it, for the idea of waking after very little sleep to endure breakfast and then another circular argument with Albion was not something she could handle. Had they been at Montale House, where she had familiar places to seek sanctuary, it might have been different, but every part of the manor reminded her of Albion. There could be no refuge here to think straight.
No matter what he says of affection, I do not think he feels the same as I do. Actions speak louder, and his tell a disappointing story.It was a grim realization, and every time she recalled his defensive words in the study, all she remembered was how bluntly and curtly he had said, “I do not know how else to phrase it.” Was “I love you” so difficult? It was but three words. Yet, three impossible words for someone who did not feel that way.
“You will be welcome at my home for as long as you need,” Anna said gently, getting up.
Matilda faltered. “Why are you not imploring me to stay? You said that I had renewed your hope. Surely, if you help me now, it will dent your hope once more?”
“You are my friend,” Anna replied. “I would do anything for my friends, especially when they are in turmoil. You need distance. I can give you distance.”
Matilda swallowed thickly. “But what is your opinion? Do you think I am making a mistake?”
“It is not my place to say what I think you should do, but in this instance, I am in agreement—you need perspective, you need the rest of the Club, you need sisterhood, not isolation in this far-flung corner of England where I have no doubt that youwilldrive yourself mad,” Anna replied, reaching for her hand. “So, come now, let us go before you madden yourself worrying over whether you should or not.”
Matilda pulled her into a tight hug. “I am glad it is you here.”
“As am I,” Anna replied, hugging her back. “If the only love I ever know is the love of my friends, and I am able to serve you all in some way, it will be enough.”
Matilda smiled. “Fibber.”
“Perhaps,” Anna admitted. “But I do love you all more than I could love anyone else.Thatis true.”
