Page 52 of What a Widow Wants

“God knows, I have thought back to those days many times since I discovered the truth, trying to understand what happened.” Her own folly, in the end, had tripped her up. “As I recollect, my supply of the herbs, they are seeds really, had come to an end as I was grappling with the decision of whether or not to leave with you. I didn’t think missing a day or two would make much of a difference, and I wouldn’t need them once I returned to Stephen.” She waited, wanting to ask a question but not quite daring to until she could stand it no longer. “Are you angry because you didn’t know, or are you angry because you are Ella’s father?”

Jerking his arms behind his back, Matthew strode to the doorway and back again. A fierce glare at her and he paused. “I am angered to find more than six years of my daughter’s life have passed without my knowing that she was my daughter. I still find you at blame here, Fanny. Did you have no notion at all that the child might be mine?”

“None. I swear to you on any holy thing you will name,” Fanny said, tears in her eyes.

“And if you had known? Would you have told me?”

Should she tell the truth when a lie would be so much more convenient? What did it matter at this point what she would have done in her wretched state seven years ago? Now a better life hung in the balance for her and her child. Their child. Opening her mouth to speak, she stared into his accusatory eyes then hung her head. A slight shake, a world of betrayal. She raised her head to find herself gazing into the eyes of a stranger.

“Well, then.” He turned sharply on his heel and strode to the doorway.

“What good would it have done, Matthew?” She had to stop him. They could find a way to make everything all right, if only he wouldn’t leave her. “I was married to Stephen. No matter what I told or who I told it to, that fact could not be altered. In the eyes of the law she will always be Stephen’s daughter.”

“Oh, no.” He wheeled about again, pacing toward her so quickly she backed into the chaise and sat down hard, jarring the tea things on the nearby table. “If you had come to me as soon as you knew you were increasing, we could have gone to Belgium, or Germany. Anywhere. We had proof of our affair, right there in your belly. Stephen would have divorced you before the ink was dry on the confession. Then we could have been married and began a life together.” He leaned down until his face was within inches of hers. “But you didn’t want that. You wanted Stephen, though God knows why. Perhaps because he treated you like the mud beneath his boots.” Matthew rose. “Perhaps if I treat you that way, you’ll come running after me.”

Heart hammering, Fanny sat stunned, unable to speak, to call him back as he spun around and strode out of the room, without a backward glance.

CHAPTER 22

November had ushered in weather even colder and wetter than they had suffered at the end of October, if that was possible. A more miserable month Fanny had never experienced, but not only because of the dismal weather. She hadn’t seen or heard from Matthew since that terrible day six weeks before when he’d walked out of this very room. After the first week of waiting for him to call or send word, she’d taken to having tea in the small receiving room. It made her horribly sad, but also helped her feel closer to Matthew as well. She’d just sent for Ella to have tea with her, in the hopes that having their daughter here would give her some comfort.

In less than two weeks’ time she would return to Kent for Charlotte and Nash’s wedding. By now she’d thought she and Matthew would be traveling there together as husband and wife. Instead she’d be going alone, and returning to London. Only a week ago, Lavinia had informed her and all the members of the household that Theale had decided not to journey to Northumberland and his primary estate there for Christmas.

No explanation had been given, but Fanny had written to Jane, still at Lyttlefield Park assisting Charlotte with preparations for the wedding. She’d given her the latest decree from their brother-in-law and asked what she thought might be the cause of this drastic break with family tradition. Jane’s response had been a tale, almost a scandal in fact, regarding Theale’s acting drunk at several parties and balls and accosting young women. An occurrence completely out of character for the marquess, who had always enjoyed a sterling reputation as a teetotaler and a man who never looked at a woman other than his wife. This odd behavior on top of remaining in London for the holiday did not bode well for any of them. As Shakespeare was often famously quoted, something was rotten in Denmark.

Little as she wanted to admit it, Fanny’s life, so recently like a straight path lined with gold, had now spun out of control and threatened to crash like a runaway carriage. Powerless to make any changes, she would live at the whim of the Marquess of Theale for the rest of her days unless she managed to find someone to marry her. She sighed and distractedly poured milk into her cup of tea, stirring as the white swirls made pretty patterns before muddling into a bland tannish color. Much like her life now. She raised the cup to her lips, tasted the milky brew and grimaced, but swallowed. Where was her mind to have put milk in her tea? Woefully fixed on her predicament.

It might be possible to catch another husband. She still had her looks, and if she took a little more pains, she would do well enough she supposed. However, her heart was simply not engaged. Flirting had not even held any charms for her recently. She’d have sworn she’d enjoy that pastime until the grave, but nothing about talking to or teasing men appealed to her now.

Not since Matthew.

Why had she not accepted him and married him in June when he’d asked? Or in Brighton. Or even in Kent in October? Had she not hesitated, had she not wanted her daughter to matter in her decision regarding her life . . . Had she not told the truth, she’d likely be married this moment to Matthew and happily ensconced at Hunter’s Cross. And even if not happy, then at least tolerably situated and with the ability to win him back.

So what was she to do now?

“Frances. Why are you in this small room again?” Lavinia’s voice grated on Fanny’s ears worse and worse these days. “Why are you not in the family drawing room with everyone else?” Her sister-in-law came quickly into the room, frowning at the tea service. “Laying tea service in two different rooms is a wasteful extravagance. I am surprised you haven’t heeded my warning about that already. Theale says this room should be closed up during the cold months unless we are entertaining, which we so seldom do these days. It will save on the household expenses tremendously, he says.”

“I didn’t realize the Marquess of Theale had financial worries, Lavinia. I will, of course, do my best to save him a penny or two by remaining in my rooms at all times.” Fanny could have bitten her tongue. Such outbursts did no good whatsoever and only tended to make Lavinia even more unpleasant toward her.

“Temper will never do, Frances. I will tell Mrs. Gaines to have another pot of tea sent up to the drawing room for you. We are all gathering there shortly.” Lavinia stepped to the door. “Unless you would like to go directly to your room to dress for dinner.”

What she would like was to be left alone by this harpy, but that was impossible. “May I please have the tea and cakes brought here? Nurse is bringing Ella down for us to have a tea party and I think this room is much more suitable for a girl Ella’s age.”

“Ella is coming down?”

“Yes. We have tea quite often now.” Now that Fanny was home almost constantly.

“Would you mind if I joined you? I have not been able to see Ella as much as I used to. The household seems more difficult to run to Theale’s taste recently. I’d planned the move to Northumberland, had even had the packing begun, and he decided to stay here.” She clasped her hands together, wringing them to and fro.

In all the time since her marriage, Fanny had never seen Lavinia so distraught. That alone unnerved her more than anything Theale himself had done. Perhaps her sister-in-law needed some time away from her myriad duties as marchioness. “Certainly, Lavinia. Please have a seat. Nurse should be bringing her any moment.”

Taking the Queen Anne chair—not nearly as imposing as her one in the drawing room, but much more comfortable looking—Lavinia looked around the small room as though seeing it for the first time. “I hadn’t noticed how intimate this room seems. I have seldom had the need to use it.”

“It’s quite my favorite of the public rooms here just for that reason.”

Silence fell between them, broken only by the scrape of porcelain as Lavinia set her cup in its saucer and the clink of Fanny’s spoon against her cup. Not a companionable silence either. Conversation, no matter how banal, would have helped, but Fanny hesitated to offer any for fear a quarrel would break out just as Ella appeared. Her times with her daughter were very precious, more so because she had had no contact with her father in weeks. Ella was her only link to him now.

The soft pattering of feet on the hardwood floors down the corridor made Fanny sit up suddenly and force a pleasant smile onto her lips. Lavinia’s effort actually looked more genuine.