It was too much like…
Well, it was too much like a family. And he’d been without a family for a long time.
He blinked hard, trying to reset his line of thinking. This isn’t what family looked like. His mother had never shown excitement about anything as messy and unprofessional as aproject of thread, yarn, and ribbon still wet with paste. And his father had never looked at his mother like he was looking at…
He stood. What was he thinking?
Without explanation, he turned and left the room. He needed to be outside. Mrs. Garvis turned the corner from the kitchen with a tray. She raised her eyebrows in question, but he simply shook his head and continued on his path. He tore open the front door and rushed to Marge.
What in heaven’s name had gotten into him? He glanced at the small Garvis cottage. He had never been jealous of Mr. and Mrs. Garvis, yet suddenly he was. They had next to nothing, but they had chosen each other. They had created a sweet family who worked and played together.
He would never have that.
He knew what the life of a baron looked like; he had watched his father live it. A baron’s life meant society and reputation and living for what others thought of you. A baron didn’t live for quiet moments by the fire. Moments by the fire were reserved for preaching to one’s sons about how they should behave.
And his future wife…?
He rubbed his forehead. Miss Bateman had been a child the last time he had seen her, but she had spent the past three years with his mother. What would she be like now?
Would she hold the unwashed hand of a child? Would she dream of running off to the Arctic, even though she knew she would hate the cold? Would she be comfortable in his company day after day? Would he be comfortable in hers?
He pressed his forehead against Marge’s and squeezed his eyes shut. When hadMiss Shroudsuddenly become the type of woman he wished Miss Bateman could be? He barely knew her. Why was he thinking of marriage at all? That decision had already been made for him, and any thoughts of Miss Shroud were a betrayal of the woman he was promised to.
He inhaled deeply, Marge’s hot breath making the air damp. She nipped softly at his hand and he rubbed his palm along her nose. Marge was his grounding point. She was solid, warm, and didn’t need him to change his life for her. He didn’t need a family—not yet. Not while he had Marge. When he did decide to go home, his life wouldn’t be anything like the intimate and informal atmosphere inside the Garvis home. That was the lot he’d been born into. He would have other things: matching mares, a library, even some power in the government. Men killed for opportunities like that. And he wanted to trade it all in for cozy evenings?
He took another deep breath, letting Marge’s scent calm him. The only reason he was attracted to Miss Shroud was because he had spent far too much time alone with her. Not only that, she was completely unattainable, and he must be drawn to that. How many times had his mother wanted a pair of gloves only because she knew they had already been sold to someone of high standing? She may have never noticed the gloves if they were actually available, but since they weren’t, she moaned and sighed about them for months.
Matthew had never thought he resembled his mother in any way, but somehow this character flaw must have been passed down to him. Miss Shroud was an impossibility. No matter what choices he made in life, she was unattainable. If he stayed here and continued to work as a cart driver, she was completely out of his reach, both in social standing and in wealth. If he returned home, Miss Shroud wasn’t wealthy in the way his family needed her to be. Not to mention, he already had a bride waiting for him there.
Even if he could somehow convince Miss Bateman to break the engagement, and his parents let him marry a woman with a less impressive dowry, Miss Shroud was Scottish. Mother wouldnever allow him to marry a Scottish woman—not unless she were as rich as a king. And probably titled.
He straightened his back and gritted his teeth. “I’m not my mother,” he said softly to Marge. “I won’t make myself sick over something I can never have.” Matthew was master of his thoughts and actions, and from now on he would look at Miss Shroud the way heshouldlook at her—as someone who would be in his life for a few weeks and then disappear. She was young and attractive, but so were many other ladies, including his fiancée.
Probably.
Mrs. Garvis opened the front door and stepped out, followed by a grinning Mandy and Miss Shroud. He tried to avert his gaze from her, but Miss Shroud held Mandy’s hand, swinging it as they practically skipped toward him. It was hard to look away from someone so lively, especially when his life, delivering goods and returning to a nearly empty room each day, felt suddenly lackluster.
Mandy dropped her hand and rushed toward him. “Mama said I can ride with you.”
Mrs. Garvis met his eyes and her smile faltered. “If it’s alright with you, of course.”
Matthew cleared his throat and forced a smile on his face, even though spending time with the two of them was the last thing he wanted to do. The little scene with Mandy in the sitting room had set his mind on strange paths. Riding together in the cart wasn’t going to help him settle back into his comfortable solitude. “Of course it’s alright.”
Mrs. Garvis looked him up and down, eyes narrowed. Apparently his smile hadn’t fooled her. What must he look like? Panicked? Like a soldier being forced into battle, when all that was asked of him was to ride in a cart with Mandy and Miss Shroud? “You don’t need to take her far.”
He nodded. “I won’t.”
He helped Mandy into the cart, then Miss Shroud held out her hand for help as well. She was perfectly capable of getting in and out of the cart on her own, but he took her hand in his, anyway. It seemed Mrs. Garvis already suspected something was wrong, and if he refused to help Miss Shroud, it would be abundantly clear exactly what his problem was.
They only touched for a few seconds. He held his breath the whole time, and if his hand felt empty after hers left it, that was a natural reaction, wasn’t it? His handwasempty. What did he expect? For an empty hand to continue to feel that dainty warmth long after it had left him?
They only rode for a few minutes before turning around. Miss Shroud and Mandy chatted the entire time—first about Marge, then about the shops they passed, then Mandy asked a few questions about Miss Shroud’s family. Miss Shroud had a younger sister. Perhaps that was why she was so comfortable with Mandy. Without any siblings of his own, he hadn’t completely understood young people. Sally Duncan had a younger sister. She had been completely devoted to her, and he’d never understood it. Seeing Mandy with Miss Shroud, he cringed to think of the things he had said to Miss Duncan. Perhaps having siblings made people more kind, and he hadn’t had that opportunity. But he was learning. He tried to remember if Miss Bateman had any younger siblings. He was pretty certain she did.
Perhaps he would have the chance to redeem himself with them.
When they returned to the Garvis home, he climbed down from the cart and Mandy asked if she could jump to him. He chuckled and nodded. She jumped and her laughter rang through the garden. He walked Mandy to the front steps where Mrs. Garvis waited. Miss Shroud stayed on the cart.
“Thank you,” Mandy said and then dashed into the house.
