He visibly collected himself instead. “Well, you can’t rent a hackney to cover one hundred miles. Take one of my carriages.”
“How will I return it to you?”
He shrugged. “Keep it.”
“And the driver?” she asked.
“He’ll remain on my payroll. Buttons, as well. She belongs with you now, for as long as you both please. I’ll cover any associated costs.”
“It seems you’ve thought of everything.”
His jaw flexed. “Are you unhappy?”
Deeply. She smiled. “Thank you for the party, and the gifts. You are all that is considerate. I’ve left you a present as well.”
He frowned. “Where? What is it?”
“It’s a surprise,” she said softly. “I guess this is the day for them.”
Chapter 30
By noon, Titus finally had what he’d thought he wanted: his house back to normal again.
The guests were gone. His ward had just left. Every room they had ever been in together, now lay empty and silent.
Even before Matilda had gone, he’d felt the empty silence creeping in. As she’d climbed up into his carriage, the sharp sense of loss had excavated him, turning his insides out.
He’d wanted to stop her. To lay down before the horses if necessary. Better for the punishing hoofs and iron wheels to mince what was left of him, than to face a lifetime without Matilda.
But she deserved to be free. Even if it meant free of him.
Especially if it meant free of him.
Titus stalked from room to room, scowling at the noiseless interiors. The grand parlor, where he’d hosted his first and only party. The dining room, where he and Matilda had shared every meal. The library, where they had shared so much more. The chaise longue, where they had made love, just last night.
He stretched out on the chaise and tried to summon her warmth or her scent. It was useless. The maids had already come in to clean. They’d left everything spotless, just as he liked it. Not a speck of Matilda remained.
He’d fire the lot of them.
He covered his face with his hands, then curled sideways onto the chaise as though he were snuggling Matilda from behind. He wished he were. He’d cuddle her any way she would let him. But there was nothing in his arms but cold empty air. He no longer even had Oliver’s old blanket, to try and wring a few more threads of comfort out of that.
With a growl of frustration, he dragged himself up from the chaise and stalked into his study. There was work to be done.
He didn’t feel like doing any of it.
To the devil with Parliament. Someone else on his committees could write a speech for once. Titus would not be the star of the show today.
He trudged up the stairs, passing the housekeeper along the way.
She looked at him with pity.
Titus despised being the recipient of pity. And he hated worse that Mrs. Harris was right: Titus was absolutely a messy, miserable wreck. He couldn’t even muster up the will to threaten to sack her for her unsolicited compassion.
At the top of the stairs, he started to head to his bedchamber and return to his bed, from which he might not emerge for decades. But at the last second, he turned in the opposite direction, and entered the room that had been Matilda’s guest chamber instead.
A parcel sat atop the neatly made bed.
He frowned and edged forward. A folded square was tucked beneath the twine.
