Page 41 of To Follow her Heart

“No.” Kitty shook her head thoughtfully. “Neither do I, but you must admit, his reputation would make any reasonable person think she had a valid point. He’s not what you’d call a rake, exactly, but—”

“Not far from it,” Luke finished for her. He couldn’t disagree.

“Well,” Kitty said, brightening. “I will do my best to uncover the mystery but, for now, I want my breakfast. I’m famished.”

***

“I have the most marvellous news,” Matilda said in a whisper to Harriet and Prue, who were sitting on either side of her. “Alice is in an interesting condition.”

“Oh!” Harriet exclaimed, beaming.

“I knew it!” Prue said, triumphant. “Didn’t I say?”

Matilda laughed and nodded. “Well, I don’t think it’s the most surprising news, but it is wonderful to be sure. I’m to be an aunt!”

She refused to dwell on the fact she’d woken in the early hours of the morning and indulged in a good cry. She felt awful for having done so. Her happiness for Nate and Alice’s news was genuine and heartfelt, but… she had the terrible feeling that her time was running out.

Matilda would be six and twenty in a few short weeks, and she was no closer to being settled. She’d believed herself, if not resigned to remaining a spinster, then at least not to be facing the idea with complete terror. Her feelings in those lonely hours between midnight and the first glimpse of the sun had proved that to be an utter lie.

What if you never marry? The shrill voice in her head demanded. What if you are too old to have children even if you do?

There seemed to be some angry clock marking time inside her and the insistent tick of the days flying past got louder and louder, making panic bubble up and swallow any reasonable arguments with which she tried to calm herself.

Mr Burton, the voice said urgently, you must marry Mr Burton. He’s your last hope for marriage and children, for security and respectability.

The panicky feeling rose one more, but this time at the idea of marrying Mr Burton. Why, though? He was a good person, a kind one. Surely she could find some measure of happiness with a man like him. It was evident he’d be a doting husband… but that was half the trouble.

She found his devotion suffocating which she knew was unreasonable of a man she was considering marrying.

What was wrong with her?

There had to be some fault in her, some terrible failing in her character that could not appreciate his charms and thank her lucky stars that he had not only noticed her, but wanted to make her a respectable offer. She’d received enough less than respectable offers to know just how valuable his interest was.

Unbidden, another man’s face filled her mind, and she cursed at her own stupidity. There it was: the fault, the part of her that would send her to the devil with glee. She would not let it win. It was her baser instincts at work, nothing more; an animal urge that called to her perverse desire for a man who valued her no higher than an exclusive whore.

“Don’t you think?”

Matilda started in shock as Prue’s voice filtered through her abstraction, blushing as she realised the path her thoughts had dragged her down. She came back to the conversation with difficulty as Prue put down her toast, a searching expression in her eyes that made Matilda squirm.

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”

“I-I….” Matilda stammered. “No. I beg your pardon. I was wool gathering, imagining what Nate and Alice’s child might look like,” she said, improvising wildly.

Prue snorted. “And I’m supposed to be the one with an imagination,” she said. “You were thinking nothing of the sort. A blush like that can only be caused by thoughts of a wicked nature, nothing to do with babies. Well….” Prue added with a grin and a waggle of her eyebrows.

To her intense relief, Matilda was saved by Lady St Clair, who announced that there would be an archery contest in the gardens today.

“Harry, you’re with me,” Jerome shouted across the table, before his mother could finish her explanation of the event. He grinned, looking pleased with himself as Harriet rolled her eyes.

“Devil!” his mother exclaimed, laughing. “Now you’re bound to win.”

Matilda glanced at Lord St Clair to find him attacking a slice of bacon with quiet ferocity.

“Harriet is the best shot among us. At least she always was,” Jerome said to the table in general. He leaned forward to interrogate Harriet. “Tell me your wicked skill with an arrow hasn’t diminished over the years, Harry.”

“How should I know?” Harriet replied, regarding Jerome with amusement. “I haven’t shot an arrow in… oh, I don’t know how long.”

“Eight years,” said Lord St Clair.