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Once, Matilda had thought fate to be cruel but mayhap its nature was fluid, its guise shifting like the Saharan sands. For if fate had indeed guided her to this household, then it could also be miraculous and benevolent.
The lantern flickered. The basement beckoned.
So she grabbed the linen towel from the table and in an exceedingly unladylike manner darted along the hallway, vaulted down the stairs, sprinted for the black-painted door, tugged it open and…
Seth heard the gasp,knew Matilda had discovered the apple blossom and ivy which littered the basement stairs.
Roses would have been preferred but the spring had been so bitter, the gardens failing to produce even a single bud, so he and Chloe had swiftly gathered what they could in the pitch dark.
Footsteps scampered down the steps, the door was thrust wide and then another gasp…
Never would he label himself a romantic man, but when he put his mind to a task, he tended to carry it out to the best of his ability, and in the past days, aside from keeping Matilda safe, he’d planned for this moment.
Small boats of candles floated in the pool, with rosemary scattered in the water; Pears soap had been melted and added to the beeswax to scent the room; a new lady’s silk bathrobe – not in yellow – hung on the peg; and in the corner, he’d managed to procure a bronze statue of her beloved Bird of Paradise with outstretched wings, an upright tail and haughty expression.
“Oh, Seth, it’s beauteous.”
As was his enchanting Matilda in a gown of saffron, barefooted and with her midnight hair loose and free. Maybe he himself should have togged up in a silk jacket and frilled shirt but he wished her to look upon him and accept him for who he was – a man in mere cotton slops but with a heart full of love.
“Betty says if we get wax in the pool, she’ll resign.”
That wasn’t quite the romantic line he’d wished to begin with, but Matilda smirked and commenced unbuttoning her dress, so it couldn’t have been all that bad.
Of course he was well aware, as he aided in slipping the garment from her shoulders, that she might refuse his proposal, sell the books and jewel on her birthday and travel to the Molucca Islands with some fellow who knew the difference between the Gold-breasted Bird of Paradise and the Red-breasted Bird of Paradise – besides the obvious.
But he also knew that Matilda Griffin possessed not a fickle bone within her delectable body, and that when she said she loved a man, she meant it wholeheartedly and forever.
For some, that might taint the anticipation of this night, but instead it made him a creature of lust, want and ragged need – to possess the exquisite Matilda with a signature and God’s blessing.
At last, his bold lady stood before him in merely chemise, the candlelight glinting off her spectacles. After the menace of their day, they ought to have felt exhausted, but he observed that same heightened aliveness in her sherry eyes that shimmered within him – that of a contest fought…and won.
Of now awaiting their prize.
“I had no idea,” he declared, aiding her across the sea-green tiles and then the steps to the warm waters, “that employing a governess would also grant me my heart’s desire.”
“‘Love sought is good, but given unsought is better’,” Matilda murmured with an impish tilt to her lips.
“That’s my line.”
“From another discarded theatre print, Mr Hawkins? What corkers you told when we first met.” She flapped down her floating chemise in the water. “Indeed, you sought to hide your impressive light under that muscled bushel of yours, did you not? When in truth, you had an extensive library and a penchant for Shakespeare.”
His lips twitched in silent culpability and he bobbed a floating candle across the pool, water now lapping their chests, the scent of meadow heady in the rising steam. A candle flickered, casting the bronze Bird of Paradise to a soaring shadow of momentous proportions upon the wall.
“All this is so splendid,” Matilda whispered, eyes drifting over the scène à faire before they came to rest upon him. “Treasures surround me.”
No longer could he contain himself. “I love you, my Matilda.”
Her eyes turned serious but with lips soft. “I love you also, Seth, truly and deeply.” She seized his hand and touched her gentle cheek to his rough knuckles. “I love your bravery and determination to succeed, to escape and better your life.” She leaned forward and brushed his lips with her own like a caress of moth’s wings. “I love your ingenuity in building this wonderful Academy. I love the warm home that you have created for your talented daughter. I love your appreciation of literature and deep knowledge. I love your sincere heart and kind soul that treats all men equal.”
Pure emotion clogged his throat and clattered his chest, so while he searched for words, he drew Matilda near and toyed with a black lock, dipping it in the water before stroking it over her neck. “You claim I have bravery and determination, Matilda, but you have more so.”
“Me? No. I’m just an over-wordy nitterwit.”
Seth shook his head and smiled. “Bravery comes in many guises, my love. You were presented with a path not of your choosing, threatened by a man who should have protected you. But rather than submitting to a life of misery, you sought your own future, using your wits and intellect. And in a boxing academy of all places.”
“I was a dab worried initially,” she confessed.
“And yet you remained strong, defying conventions and the dictates of your guardian. And…before I go on, you must… You must realise that you will continue to defy the beau monde if you freely admit to your love for an ex-prizefighter who was born in St Giles Rookery and whose daughter adores boxing.”
