“There is no point in worrying about things that have not come to pass and may never come to pass,” her mother continued gently. “You know that. Focus on the problems at hand and the events you can control.”
“Yes, I know. It is easier to say that than it is to do, though,” Tabitha pointed out, “especially when my husband thinks of her so much still. I feel as though she haunts the townhouse, as if any time he thinks of closing the distance between us, she is there and waiting.”
“I know.”
Her mother reached across the space between them and squeezed Tabitha’s hand. Tabitha smiled fondly at her mother. She felt an inkling of regret for thinking—on very rare occasions—ill of her mother for being such a conventional lady, but now, Tabitha realized that her mother was wise. Lady Mayhew knew how to accept her position in life with grace and dignity, something that Tabitha had yet to learn.
“But if anyone can manage these burdens, it is you,” her mother said. “Think about what I have said and speak honestly to His Grace about your concerns. I am certain he will be amicable to speaking with you.”
“I hope so,” Tabitha said. “Nevertheless, I must try.”
“You can do it, Tabby Cat.”
Tabitha smiled. “Well, I should—since I cannot stay—I should return home. It is getting quite late.”
“It is, indeed. It was good to see you.”
Tabitha nodded. “And you. Thank you for your advice. I shall try my best to implement it.”
“I have no doubt you will succeed, and if you ever have any questions about how to manage your marriage, you need only to ask,” her mother said.
Tabitha rose from the settee and nodded. “Thank you. I am so grateful for everything, truly. If I do have a child, I hope that I can be as good a mother as you have been to me.”
“I am sure you will be.”
Her mother stood, and they embraced once more. Tabitha forced down the lump that rose in her throat. She was no longer a child. She was a young, married woman, and she needed to make difficult decisions as a wife and Duchess Hillsburgh. She could not be selfish anymore.
Chapter 16
Something was amiss. When Tabitha joined him for dinner, she smiled. “Good evening, Matthew.”
He tried to force a smile but suspected that he only managed an awkward grimace. “Good evening, Tabitha.”
She seated herself at the opposite end of the table and began demurely eating dinner. Not a single scowl or frown was cast his way. There were no snide comments forthcoming. Matthew sipped his wine and stared at her, uncertain who this woman was and what she had done with the Tabitha who just last night had pushed him away and slapped him.
“Did the visit with your parents go well?” he asked.
“It did, indeed,” she said, her expression brightening. “It was good to see my mother.”
Matthew slowly nodded. “I am glad.”
This was too strange. They were being civil with one another.
“Did you perhaps, consume some spirits with your parents before returning for dinner?” Matthew asked, the words escaping his mouth before he could consider the wisdom of them.
Tabitha’s jaw dropped. “How dare you?” she asked, clearly indignant. “I returned to the townhouse in a pleasant mood and thought that we might have an enjoyable dinner, and you accuse me of being intoxicated?”
Matthew had to concede that he could have said something much better. He sipped his wine, unsure what to say that would not worsen the situation. After accusing Tabitha of being drunk and upsetting her, he was not sure anything would improve things for him. Perhaps, silence was the best answer.
Tabitha sighed and lowered the fork she had held in her hand. “I apologize,” she said. “That was uncalled for. However, I am not intoxicated, Matthew. I really did just think that we might have a pleasant dinner, after the last one. I am sure you will agree that was … quite disastrous.”
“It was,” he said.
“And I should not have said those things that I did,” she continued. “I suppose it just had not occurred to me that you might still be grieving Her Grace, missing Her Grace. I thought that it might be difficult for you being married again, but I did not realize how difficult. I am sorry for our argument last night. It was all my fault.”
Her apology and explanation made him feel utterly dreadful. She had not been entirely wrong, after all. It was not fair of him to treat her like he had—to stroke and caress her one moment and act as if he wanted nothing to do with her in the next.
“You were not the only one at fault,” he said.
