He stiffened at her use of that word.Love.It was something he’d cut away for so long. Something he’d told himself he could not and would not feel ever again after the loss that had dragged him to the depths of despair.
But today he felt it, powerful and beautiful and changing in the very best of ways. He felt it and sank into it as the men and women in the room around them shared in the joy of this happiest of days.
Looking at the woman beside him, he could not think of anyone else he’d rather share this day with. So he bent his head and kissed her. Not with passion, but something deeper. With the relief and joy that could flow so easily between them. He didn’t care who saw that connection. He didn’t care about how vulnerable it made him.
She pulled away at last and smiled, her cheeks bright with color. “I’m so happy for your family, Matthew.”
“Our family,” he corrected. “They’reourfamily.”
Her eyes went a little wider. And why not? Their marriage had been forced, their connection made tenuous by lies and misunderstanding. He’d offered her no glimpse at the future they would share, in part because he was having a hard time defining it for himself.
But in this moment, he knew that he would try. Try to make it happy. Try to make her happy. For the rest of their lives. Because she deserved it. And after all he’d lost, so did he.
The birth of his cousin’s child had signaled a new day for him. He intended to make the rest of their days even better.
Chapter Twenty
Isabel sat on the edge of a chair in her uncle’s parlor, staring nervously at the door he would soon enter through. After all the joy of the previous day, when Charlotte and Ewan’s baby had joined the world to such happy fanfare, she had returned to the house to find a message from Uncle Fenton.
He had not contacted her since the ugliness they had exchanged at her wedding. She’d considered his silence a good sign. Perhaps he was cooling off, coming back to the rational man that she had to believe still lived inside of him.
The hope for that made her hide the message from Matthew and come here, uncertain of what she’d find. If her husband had insisted on coming with her, she would guess it would not have been good. She had to be an example for them both, opening doors between them behind the scenes, or at least steering each man away from anger and revenge.
It was her duty as someone who loved them both.
The door to the parlor opened and she rose as her uncle entered. She jerked her hand to her mouth. He was completely undone. In the ten days since she’d seen him, he had lost nearly a stone. His clothing hung off his already slender shoulders and there were deep circles beneath his eyes. He was sloppy and untucked, and he swayed slightly as he entered the chamber and speared her with a glance.
“Hello, Isabel,” he slurred.
She flinched. “Uncle,” she said softly. “You are drunk.”
“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? Drunk or sober, life is the same.”
She frowned and came forward to take his arm. He allowed it and took the seat she guided him to. She smoothed a lock of hair away from his forehead and shook her head. “You must see you are out of control. You must see that you need some kind of…help.”
For a moment he met her eyes. There was desperation there. Longing, like he might agree that he’d gone too far. But then he blinked and the anger he used as a shield against his pain returned.
“I do want your help. No one is talking anymore.”
She sighed as she took a place on the settee. “Talking about what?”
He waved his hand at her wildly. “You. And him. At first it was all I’d hoped for. A scandal to bring him down a peg. But then you married and the talk faded.”
“Yes, didn’t the Countess of Longview leave her husband in some kind of public row in Hyde Park? I assume they are all atwitter about that.”
He scowled. “It’s as if what he did doesn’t matter.”
“Please listen to me,” she said, scooting to the front of the settee and reaching out to take his hands. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. She tilted her head to find his gaze and held it there. “Matthew didn’t do anything.”
“No,” he said.
“He didn’t,” she repeated softly. “I have heard what happened that night and I believe his story.”
“No!” he repeated, jumping to his feet. “But you are the only one who can reveal the truth now.”
She bent her head. His drive, it had crossed into the realm of madness, and though she felt for him, pitied him, she was also tired of this argument and the accusations that went along with it.
“I’m telling you the truth.” She got up. “You just don’t want to listen.”
