“Yes!” Bridgette declared. “I will make certain to share a dance with him, and the entire time, I shall tell him about all the wonderful things you have accomplished without him. You shall, of course, have to accomplish some things first.”
Tabitha laughed. “I shall start planning to fund an orphanage, then.”
“And a seminary for young ladies.”
“And perhaps I shall make a sizeable donation to the Abolitionist Society.”
Bridgette nodded sagely. “Of course. And you shall—ah, you shall create the largest park in London!”
Tabitha snorted, and Bridgette let out a peal of laughter. “Maybe the park would be a bit much, but we can lie about the park!”
A throat cleared, and Tabitha turned her head. Matthew stood at the entrance of the drawing room, leaning against the door frame. “Ladies,” he greeted, inclining his head.
Tabitha stood, Bridgette hastening to her feet as well. Bridgette curtsied.
“Ah, Matthew, this is my friend Bridgette Cameron,” Tabitha said. “Bridgette, this is His Grace.”
“Charmed,” Matthew said.
“Likewise, Your Grace,” Bridgette said.
“Would you care to join us?” Tabitha asked.
She wondered which husband she was asking—the kind one or the aloof one. Maybe that was a more convenient way of understanding him. In a way, she did feel like she was married to two different people.
“Regrettably, I cannot,” he replied. “I have work to complete, but I heard laughter and thought it would be courteous to introduce myself.”
“That is kind of you,” Tabitha said.
Matthew’s face was unreadable. “Well, I hope you enjoy tea.”
Without preamble, he turned away, and Tabitha heard his heavy footsteps plod across the floor and towards the stairwell.
“I see what you mean,” Bridgette muttered.
“Yes,” Tabitha said. “I have no idea what to do.”
“Perhaps,” Bridgette said, “you could ask someone who knows him well. His mother or—he has a sister, does he not?”
Tabitha hummed, turning the idea over in her head. “He does,” she said, “and I believe she is going to join us at the theatre. That Bridgette is a marvellous idea.”
Chapter 12
Seeing how crowded the theatre was made Matthew grateful for his box away from the masses below. Tabitha sat on his right; Miriam was to his left. Behind him sat Lord and Lady Mayhew, along with Matthew’s own mother.
The two women were discussing a new German dye, which was said to be the brightest green that anyone had ever seen. Matthew glanced at Tabitha. She would look lovely in green; the thought came unbidden. He should not consider her beautiful, not when Rosemary had just been found.
Might have been found. He needed to remember the might. Matthew sighed at his own lack of control. Despite telling himself many times that he would not allow his thoughts to speculate on what would happen when—if—Rosemary returned, he was failing miserably.
“Why sigh so sadly?” Tabitha asked.
He looked askance at her. In the flickering candlelight, her gray eyes took on a silvery shine. “Nothing,” Matthew replied. “I was simply thinking about some affairs that need tending to.”
“You do not sound eager to tend to them.”
“No man would be.”
She looked expectant, likely anticipating some elaboration. Matthew supposed he could give her some lie about how he was dealing with some disgruntled tenants, but he would rather say nothing than tell her a falsehood.
