“I love you.”
She sighed as if she was finally releasing all the weight she had been carrying on her shoulders. “As I love you. Captain of my heart.”
“My greatest honor.” He pulled her higher, his lips meeting hers in a soft press, and as she kissed him back in kind, hugging him tightly, he knew that he meant it.
There was no role greater than being her husband, no duty more profound, and though he had not always been a believer in fate, he suspected that it was that very thing that had thrown her into his life. A gift to a broken family, to piece them back together again, making them stronger as they faced the future together.
“I am feeling sleepy now,” Matilda murmured, pulling back.
“Then sleep, my love,” he urged, settling her into his side once more, holding her securely, so she would know that she was safe, even in slumber.
Before long, she was fast asleep… and he smiled to himself as he heard the faintest, sweetest snore drifting out of her. He would take that secret to his grave.
* * *
That night, after sharing a peculiar dinner of breakfast foods, Albion and Matilda found themselves wandering aimlessly in the gardens in an attempt to make themselves sleepy again now that their concept of time was all askew.
Indeed, they had just reached the empty corner of the gardens where Matilda still intended to have her array of poisons and medicines when footfalls disturbed them from the discussion they were having about how to stop animals from chewing the plants.
“There you are!” Constance halted, clasping a dramatic hand to her chest. “I feel as if I have been chasing you for hours! Must you walk so fast?”
Albion raised an eyebrow. “We didn’t realize we were being pursued, or we might’ve walked faster.”
“Oh, do not be like that,” Constance chided. “I come in peace.”
Albion mustered a smile. “A little bird told me that you helped my wife to save me. For that, I’ll hear what you have to say.”
There was also the matter of the reply she sent to Laurence, telling him that he could rot in hell with her husband. The last part, at least. Albion would not forget that in a hurry, feeling a strange pride for his mother for finally showing some backbone.
“I am here to say…” Constance faltered, sweeping a hand across her lacquered hair. “What I am here to say is… Yes, what I want to say is that I… Oh goodness, I did not think this would be so difficult. Allow me a moment.”
Matilda and Albion exchanged a look while Constance gathered herself, adjusting buttons and cuffs that did not need adjusting, tugging on her high collar, clearing her throat several times as if she was about to perform a particularly tricky aria at the opera.
“I am sorry!” she blurted out at last.
Albion nodded patiently. “What are you sorry for?”
“All of it,” his mother replied, more smoothly. “I am sorry that I was not kinder, I am sorry that I did not protect you and Isaac, I am sorry that I was not a better mother, I am sorry that I allowed that… that scoundrel to treat you and Isaac poorly. I am sorry I did not know how to show my love. I am sorry I did not divorce that sorry wretch decades ago, regardless of what it would have done to my reputation. I am sorry I allowed him to dictate everything, for if I had just… stepped in, I might have prevented… what happened.”
“Don’t, Mother,” Albion said softly, his throat catching. “Don’t blame yourself for Isaac. Please.”
Constance whipped out her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “I shall try not to,” she mumbled, “but Iwillcurse your father’s name at every opportunity in the hope that it will land him in a very hot and fiery place—if he is not there already.”
“I’ll join you in that,” Albion conceded.
“And… I am sorry for putting such pressure on you about… heirs and grandchildren,” Constance continued, flashing a pointed look at Matilda. “Whatever your decision might be, I will be content with it. But if youdochoose to have children, I promise I will find a way to be a better grandmother than I ever was a mother.”
Albion’s cheeks warmed slightly. “We’re going to have our second honeymoon before any decisions are made—abroad, perhaps,” he told her. “But my thoughts on the matterhavebegun to change.”
“They have?” Constance clapped her hands together, stifling a squeal. “Well, of course, youmusthave a second honeymoon. Yes. I shall not mention a thing about children again until you have news, one way or the other. And Matilda…”
Matilda smiled. “Yes?”
“I am sorry to you, too,” Constance replied, more somberly. “We have already spoken somewhat, but I was wrong about you. I apologize sincerely for my previous behavior toward you. It was unbecoming, and worse, it was misplaced. I can think of no other woman who would have done so much, so doggedly, with such fierce confidence. I will be grateful to you for saving my boy for the rest of my days.”
Matilda leaned into her husband’s side. “As I will be grateful to you for the shawl you put around my shoulders to keep me warm and for the strength it took for you to put the antidote to my beloved’s lips when my strength failed me.” She sighed. “You are forgiven, Constance. Indeed, I think it would be best if we all began afresh. Sometimes, starting again is the only way to make progress.”
“I… rather like the sound of that,” Constance replied, dabbing at her eyes once more. “Well, I have taken up quite enough of your time. You two enjoy your evening walk. I will come by for dinner tomorrow. Please, do ask the cook to make that fish that I prefer.”
