She nodded immediately. “I do. I can see it, I can feel it. And I’m so sorry, Matthew. Sorry you endured that loss. And so sorry that my uncle’s grief has steered him to blame you. But mostly I’m sorry that my presence in your life is a constant reminder of the future you wanted, the one that was stolen from you that night. Those comparisons must be devastating.”
She wrapped her arms around him even tighter, holding him close, and in that moment he realized she was wrong. He did not compare her to Angelica. Somehow, he never had. They did not look alike or talk alike or behave alike. That they were related was complicated, of course. Troubling when coupled with the manipulations and hatreds of her uncle.
But it wasn’t Angelica he thought of when Isabel touched him. And it wasn’t Angelica he wished to know more about as he lay in Isabel’s warm arms. But what to do about those desires?
That was something he was still figuring out.
Chapter Nineteen
Although she had been Duchess of Tyndale for a week, Isabel still had a hard time answering when someone called her Your Grace. That was someone else, wasn’t it? Someone raised to take that role, someone born understanding the expectations that went along with it.
She was slower to understand, though Matthew’s servants had been kind and patient. And so had he. More than kind, actually. She had expected him to pull away after those first few nights they spent as man and wife. To go back to his duties, and distance would settle between them.
But he hadn’t.
In the week since their marriage, he had spent time with her. Together, they were carefully navigating what a marriage between them meant. And the result was…wonderful. They spoke of books and read together, he played the pianoforte while she sang, they took walks in the gardens and in the park. All of it felt…easy. The only tension between them was of a sexual nature.
And that tension was combustible when it finally exploded in a frenzy of hungry mouths and tearing clothes and writhing bodies. For hours, they could explore each other, pleasure each other and then fall right back into the friendship she felt growing between them.
He was trying. Trying to make a marriage with her, despite their bad beginning. And she appreciated that more than she ever could have said.
And yet it still wasn’t enough. In her heart, she still knew she wasn’t his choice. That Angelica hung in the middle of their life, just as her portrait hung in their hall.
She sighed as she stirred her tea and stared out at the garden behind the house. “Why do you want so damned much?” she muttered to herself. “Why not just be satisfied with the comfort of what you have?”
She didn’t get to continue the troubling conversation with herself when Matthew raced into the parlor. She leapt to her feet, for his expression was pale and wild as he looked at her.
“What is it?” Her mind immediately jumped to her uncle and a thousand horrible things he could do to them. Even if Matthew didn’t believe he would hurt them, she wasn’t so certain.
“Charlotte,” he gasped, his breath short. “The baby is coming—I just received word.”
Isabel clasped her hands together as her terror made way for joy. Although she felt lingering hesitation from Matthew’s friends, they were not unkind to her. And she knew how thrilled Charlotte and Ewan were to welcome their son or daughter.
“What are we waiting for?” she said, grabbing his hand and tugging him to the foyer. “Ewan will need his friends there. Portman, have the carriage brought round right away!”
The butler hustled off to call for the vehicle and Isabel smiled up at Matthew with a tilt of her head. “Are you nervous?”
He nodded. “Of course. Anything can go wrong in these situations, though Lucas’s wife Diana will attend to Charlotte and there is no better healer or midwife to be found. I think Meg will also be assisting. Charlotte is in good hands, but I still know what it would do to my cousin if he lost his wife.”
She pursed her lips at the desperate expression in his eyes. “Of course you do,” she said softly. “More than any other. But we mustn’t think the worst. Yes, childbirth is dangerous, but most women come through very well.”
The carriage arrived and she drew him toward it. He helped her up and called out to the driver to take them just a half a mile up the lane to Ewan and Charlotte’s home. Any other day, she might have suggested they walk, but Matthew gripped his hands open and shut so nervously that she wasn’t certain he would survive the walk.
She smiled at him, moved by his concern for his beloved cousin. And his nervousness on Charlotte’s behalf. This was why she loved this man so very much.
She swallowed hard as that errant thought made its way through her mind. Love him. Love Matthew. It was the emotion she had tried to subvert any time it fluttered along the edges of her consciousness. Something she had fought back against with all her might, since she knew it could never be an emotion he returned.
Only there it was. Clear and lovely, perfect and true as she stared at him looking out the window, his hands shaking in his lap. She loved him. Deeply and truly, madly and sweetly. There was no doubt she always would, despite…just despite.
They pulled up short in front of the estate and Matthew climbed down, offering her a hand to help her. He was obviously distracted as he took her up the stairs and smiled at the pale servant who immediately took them to a parlor up the stairs and into the private quarters of the home.
As they entered the room, Isabel couldn’t help but be pleased. Already the group of these dukes and their wives were milling about. Meg and Diana were just down the hall with Charlotte. Isabel could hear the Duchess of Donburrow’s cries as she fought to bring that precious life into the world.
Simon, James, Emma, Helena, Graham and Adelaide stood at the sideboard. The women were preparing tea for the group as a whole and everyone was smiling. Of course, two of them, as well as Meg, had gone through this ordeal that Charlotte now faced, and had come out healthy and with happy babies in their arms. Hugh and Robert stood to one side, both looking entirely uncomfortable.
And in the middle was Ewan, pacing the length of the room, his hands shaking and his brow sweaty. Baldwin walked with him, saying soft words of comfort. Immediately, Isabel released Matthew and gave him a gentle push.
“Go,” she said softly. “He needs no one in this room more than you.”
