“I’m sorry I made you so angry that… you left,” he rasped, pulling back. “When I heard that you had… gone, I thought it was… part of a conspiracy to end us both. But hereyouare, alive and well and exhausted and endlessly beautiful. My medicine. My cure-all.”
She kissed him again. “I am sorry for leaving without telling you personally. I should not have been cowardly, leaving it in the hands of a servant. I am sorry that this happened to you.”
She hesitated. “But I cannot be sorry for my anger. I want children. I want to be a mother. The revelation is new to me, too, but… I fear a part of me will forever be missing if I cannot fulfil that. It ismylegacy, too. The legacy of my mother and father. I want it to continue.”
“I was afraid,” he told her, stroking back a lock of her hair. “My father used to say, after one too many drinks, that having children was the worst mistake of his life, that he’d been happy until we—or, more specifically, I—came along. I suppose it stuck with me. I figured I might become something like him if I had children: cruel, vindictive, among other things. Like a… strange, unkind inheritance, carried down by his bloodline.”
Matilda furrowed her brow. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. Goodness, you do not understand, do you?”
“Likely not.”
“If it were not for you, I do not think thatIwould want to have children so fervently. It is because of the man you are, and what I see in you, that I want to have childrenwithyou to the point of madness,” she explained, chuckling shyly. “I see someone open-minded and amusing and generous with his heart. I see someone protective and patient. I see someone who is not afraid of being affectionate. And yes, you can be stern and grumpy at times, but who is not? Any child would be lucky to have you as a father as I was lucky to have my own father.”
His expression softened, his eyes twinkling. “Will you accept me saying that I’ll consider it?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“If you are merely trying to appease me, or if you truly will consider it.”
He grinned. “I will absolutely consider it. I think, in due course, I can be persuaded. Indeed, nothing makes you view your life with fresh eyes and new vigor more than having a brush with death.” He paused. “And I’m starting to think that I wouldn’t mind having children with you, either. They’ll be strange in society’s eyes, they’ll be scorned perhaps, they’ll be half-wild and so knowledgeable that they’ll baffle the majority, but I suspect they’ll be more loved than any child has been loved before.”
“Now, is that not a glorious vision of the future?” Matilda asked. To her, it was the very picture of paradise.
He nodded. “It’s a very nice thought… but none of it can happen until I know that our home is safe. Someone tried to kill me, and until they are found, my sole duty is to protect you.”
“Your mother accused me.” Matilda rolled her eyes. “I accused her.”
Albion held her, absently toying with a strand of her hair as he fixed his gaze on the fireplace opposite the bed, deep in thought. Gradually, his brow creased into perplexed lines that puckered the edges of his scars.
“Who did you tell?” he asked abruptly.
“About what?”
He turned to look at her. “You said you wished you’d told me personally that you were leaving, instead of leaving it in the hands of a servant. Who did you tell?”
“Mr. Algernon,” Matilda replied. “But he would not?—”
She froze, recalling every moment she had spent with him at the summer house and in the garden, discussing the plants she intended to grow and their various merits. One plant in particular. Larkspur. Why, if her memory served her correctly, she had even given him the correct dosage to knock out someone like Albion. Or kill him.
With a chill running through her, she told Albion as much.
“Would this larkspur thing work in tea?” he asked.
She nodded gravely. “It would be the ideal vessel.”
“I drank tea the morning I collapsed. Three cups of it.” His eyes narrowed. “And when I collapsed, Mr. Algernon was right there. But he also called for help which is the part I can’t understand. Why call for help?”
Matilda chewed on her lower lip. “Indeed, why would he poison you to knock you out instead of killing you, if that was his objective? He could have gotten the dose wrong, for it is not an exact science.” She stroked the back of his hair to help her think. “Jenna told me that the housekeeper had not left your side since your collapse. Perhaps, the culprit has not had the opportunity to try a second time.”
“I can’t speak on that, for I was unconscious,” he said. “Nor am I entirely convinced it was Mr. Algernon. It doesn’t make sense that he would call for help instead of waiting for me to die andthencalling for help.”
Matilda was also struggling to pin the crime on the dutiful, thoughtful, ever-helpful valet. “We could set a trap.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” Albion smiled, despite the situation. “You should leave in the morning. Run out as if we’ve argued, and journey to wherever you were before. If the housekeeper or anyone else tries to stay at my side, I’ll send them from the room. That should be tempting enough for the culprit to try again.”
Matilda turned up her nose. “I am sorry, my love, but I am not going anywhere.” She threw the coverlets over herself, burrowing in beside her husband. “I am not leaving you again. Not for a while, at least.”
