Chapter 29
The next morning, Matilda awoke alone, which was how she had succumbed to fitful sleep. After making love, Titus had cuddled her close until her eyes grew drowsy, then helped her to dress and find her way upstairs before too many household eyebrows could raise.
If Buttons suspected anything as she’d helped ready her mistress for bed, she refrained from saying a word. Nor was a single comment made in the morning, after Buttons had presumably had the opportunity to gossip with the other servants, if indeed there was any gossip to be had.
Matilda should be relieved. Her reputation wasn’t ruined. No one had any idea.
It only made her want to do it all over again.
Titus, for his part, made no mention of the prior night either. When she entered the usual dining room, instead of greeting her with a kiss or even a secret smile, he simply offered to serve her breakfast. Very gentlemanly. Very guardianly.
Not at all what Matilda wanted.
In fact, come to think of it—
“Happy birthday,” he blurted out, as if they’d had the same thought at the same time. “You’re not my ward anymore.”
“What am I, then?” she asked softly.
“Miss Sour Lemon,” he replied, willfully misconstruing her question.
She tried to concentrate on her eggs and kippers.
He kept sneaking odd looks at her. Not in a sensual fashion, unless he was also feeling amorous toward the tall case clock in the corner. Titus seemed on edge. Every sound made him flinch.
Finally, she could stand it no more. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “Are you finished with your breakfast?”
He hadn’t touched his toast, as far as she could tell.
“I suppose I could be finished, if you’re rushing me. Are we going somewhere?”
“I’m not,” he said in obvious confusion.
Ah. Merely eager for her impending departure, then. She stabbed her eggs, then let her fork fall onto her plate. “I’ve no more appetite.”
“Good.” He launched himself to his feet and held out his elbow for her. “Allow me to escort you.”
“Escort me where?” she asked in exasperation. “Upstairs to my valise?”
“No!” He looked lost for a second, then tugged her toward the corridor. “To the grand parlor.”
“What’s so grand about it?” she muttered. “It may be big enough to host a ball, but there’s nothing in there but empty—”
Four dozen people sprang at her at once as she crossed the threshold.
“Surprise!” their voices shouted in unison.
Confetti swirled down from the chandelier.
“What… is this?” she asked in bewilderment.
“A party,” Titus said with pride. “My very first. And with any luck, my last. It’s for you.”
“A party for me?” she repeated in wonder.
“A birthday party,” he explained. “Or an independence day party, if you prefer. I wasn’t certain if I should have everyone yell ‘Happy birthday’ or ‘Happy majority’ so we settled on simply ‘Surprise’. Was it a surprise?”
