She was not sure what she had said to them. The only parting that stood out in her memory was William's as he pulled Gerald from the group. If she had been one of the guests, she would not have noticed anything different about him. His manners were so perfect, he might have been taking his leave of any hostess rather than one to whom he had just made a declaration of love.
This was true until he actually stood facing her, and only then if someone had been standing at her side, would he have seen a difference, the slight softening of William's etched features, a lingering gaze that managed to convey a promise for tomorrow, a hand clasped perhaps a little longer than was customary. If it were not for these signs, Mattie might have thought that she'd dreamed the scene in her morning room.
Late that night, as she lay awake in bed, she did imagine it again: William's kiss— no kiss of a boy that, or so she supposed. He had said that he loved her. He'd said that he wanted her.
Mattie had never felt wanted before.
She thought back to her marriage to His Grace. She remembered his proposal, if one could call it that. She had been sixteen, slightly less than Pamela's age, when he had called her into his library and asked her to sit down.
His Grace often requested her company after dinner when he needed a partner for whist, but this time the card table had not been set out.
"Everything well, Mattie? Are you happy here, girl?"
"Yes."
"Nothing you find lacking? Nothing you want particularly?"
"No, I think I have everything I need."
"Good girl! That's what I like about you, Mattie. None of the foolishness these other girls get up to! I daresay you don't even know what I'm talking about, but you may take it from me that it is all foolishness!"
Mattie remembered wondering then, what sort of foolishness other girls got up to, and asking herself if she might not like it. She had been feeling lonely for more than a year, and she sometimes wished she had other children her age to play with. Miss Fotheringill had told her stories about London and society and all the balls she would no doubt attend when His Grace brought her out, and Mattie had begun to look forward to them.
But His Grace had gone on, "Well, since you seem happy enough, I thought I would give you a nice surprise."
Her ears pricked up. She thought that perhaps he meant to take her on a trip as he sometimes did to visit one of his friends, or maybe he'd ordered a special plant as a gift for her. His Grace gave her presents from time to time when the mood suited him or he thought she might be pining for something new.
"How'd you like to be a duchess, heh?"
His question did come as a surprise, that was certain. Mattie did not know if she would like to be a duchess; it was not something she had ever given any thought to.
"You mean, be like you," she asked, "only I'd still be me?" It was an incoherent reply, but it seemed to please His Grace.
"That's the thing precisely. Mattie, you're as sharp as a tack. One reason I like you, see. You can marry me and be a duchess." His Grace rubbed his woolly blond head and turned a deeper shade of pink. "Need an heir, y' see. Duty to the family and all that. Never much in the petticoat line, y' know, but with you at the reins, Mattie, I ought to come up a winner." He chuckled and mumbled something that made no sense to her, "Nothing to it, they say."
"Do you want me to marry you?" Mattie remembered asking. Even as accustomed as she was to His Grace's way of speaking, Mattie was not certain she had understood him this time. Marriage was beyond her horizon. She had only dimly begun to think of what it might entail, knowing only that the point of all those balls she would soon attend would be to find her a husband.
"Don't necessarily want you to," His Grace answered honestly. "Need a wife— thought of you. Good girl and all that. Thought you might like to be a duchess, since they say every girl and her nursemaid wants to be one."
"Thank you," Mattie said, for she saw that he meant it kindly, although the nebulous dreams she'd been having would now have to be put aside. She did not particularly want to marry His Grace, but she could see that he meant to give her a treat in spite of his own reticence to marry, and she did not want to hurt his feelings.
He had always been kind to her, ever since the day many years ago when her parents had died and she had been sent to live with him. He had patted her nervously on the head, told her to be a good girl, and stated that he was sure they would go along famously.
"That's settled, then," he had finished on this new occasion. "We'll be married in a trice. Then, we can go on as we have without too much fal-de-ral."
He'd dismissed her with a pinch on the cheek. "Nothing to worry about," he'd said. "I'm sure we'll get on like two peas in a pod."
"Yes, His Grace."
He'd chuckled. "Better get that right, m'girl, or we'll have the wags down on us. It's Your Grace when you're speaking to me, you know."
"Very well, Your Grace."
Mattie remembered returning to her room and seeing the colour of Gilly's face when she heard the news. Gilly had turned white as a lily, and her voice had trembled when she'd asked, "Do you say you have already accepted him?"
"Yes."
"My dearest child— if I'd only known!"
Then Gilly had said nothing more, not then, not ever, until her recent admission that she should have protested to His Grace.
Mattie thought about her subsequent life, when the secrets of marriage had been revealed to her. She could not say that she'd enjoyed that aspect of marriage, but neither had His Grace.
He had tried to conceive an heir, once, and then semiannually, until Pamela had finally been born. When she had turned out to be a girl, he had patted Mattie on the shoulder sadly and said, "Looks like this heir business is more difficult than I thought. By Jupiter! It is too hard! Better leave it to the younger fellows. Cosmo says he don't want to be a duke, but he can jolly well take my place."
Then he'd examined Pamela and a flicker of interest had lit his face. "Taking little thing, an't she? Wonder if she'll cry much."
"I don't really know," Mattie had said, eyeing her bundle with a jumble of feelings. She was sorry she had not given His Grace an heir since he had seemed to want one, but he did not appear to be severely disappointed. And from her perspective, the baby in the cradle was as beautiful a being as she had ever seen.
No, she reflected with tears tonight, she would never truly be sorry she had married His Grace, not when he had given her Pamela. She had never been sorry, not even when they had gone to London and she'd been given a glimpse of what she'd missed: the handsome young men; the rounds of parties and schemes. She had missed them all, but His Grace had given her a safe place to live, where none of the gossips who'd said she had married him for his position could possibly harm her.
And now came William, seeking her out in spite of her retirement. He said that he loved her. He wanted her. And she thought she knew what he meant by the fire that was in his eyes and the corresponding warmth that built inside her.
During her short tenure in London, Mattie had heard other whispers, about men and their mistresses. She had seen the glances some men had given to women, when their spouses were not watching.
Could she dare to be William's mistress? She did not know how he planned to manage the affaire, but she knew that she could trust William to find a way. If he wanted to be with her, he would find the time and place to do so in secrecy.
And would she?
Mattie felt the heat from his kiss burning into her thoughts, and she knew she would take the dare. She knew that she loved William, and the lure of his embraces was too strong to pass up. This would be her first chance— surely her last— to have a love. She would give herself to William, her true self that she had buried away long ago for the convenience of a dear old man.
Tears filled her eyes as she remembered His Grace's last words to her. "You're a good girl, Mattie. A good girl to put up with an old man. Don't fret for me, mind."
His Grace would not have understood her need to have William, even for the space of a brief affaire, but neither would he begrudge her the chance.
Chapter Nine
The next morning, Mattie trembled with anticipation as she made her way into the garden to meet William.
Her roses were in bloom. Moss, cabbage and sweetbrier, pale pink and pearly white, lay open to the sun like velvety offerings to Venus. On the tops of the walls, birds flitted between the glossy vines, playing their own flirting games. It seemed to Mattie that her garden shared her sense of expectancy, filled as it was with the sharp smell of fertile earth, the soft whispering of leaves, and the humming of bees as they sipped upon nectar.
But William was not there yet.
Seeing this, Mattie felt a twinge of nervous disappointment, but she consoled herself with the thought that he would be along shortly. The problem was that she was not quite sure what to do with herself. She could not very well work without soiling the pinafore Turner had sewn. Mattie had worn it so as not to arouse the servants' suspicions.
Convinced that mud would not be conducive to romance, Mattie resolved to wait in demure idleness. She stood with an eye discreetly turned towards the stables, by which direction William was sure to come.
She waited, fidgeting, for several minutes. It proved a vastly uncomfortable thing to do since the poses she affected as being most likely to show her in her best light could not be held indefinitely. Her neck became stiff from holding her chin at an arrested angle, and her back grew sore from being stiff. She started at the snap of every twig and the rustle of every blade of grass until she thought her head might fly off at the next sound. Disappointment built inside her, and the deeply disquieting feeling that she might have imagined the whole had begun to take hold of her when William's deep voice came from behind her.
"Mattie."
She spun, jumping backwards. Her pulse began a rapid beat, and she breathed, "Oh . . . . It is you."
"Did I startle you?" Amusement lit William's eyes, as he took a step closer.
"Oh, no . . . Well, yes. You see, I— " Staring at William, Mattie realized that she was seeing him in a new light, as her potential lover. His strong masculinity seeped through her defenses. His virility echoed in her bones. A blush crept up her neck as he slowly walked towards her, and a rush of heat such as she'd never felt made her stammer hoarsely, "I thought you might come around from the stables."
"I couldn't sleep," William said, taking her hands. His earnest gaze filled her with fear and joy. "I decided to walk instead." He searched her face. "I must know now, Mattie. Have you decided to accept me?"
"Yes." Her voice trembled on the response. "If you are sure you want me."
"Ah, Mattie." William swept her into his arms, and his voice sounded low near her ear. A delicious sense of strength surrounded her. "I think I have wanted you since that first day I saw you."
"Have you?" Joy bubbled up inside her. William kissed her, and her frightful quivering was replaced by a deeper yearning, an insistent hunger to move even closer to him.
"Tell me, Mattie," William insisted, his hands moving from her waist to her hips in a way that made her feel dizzy. "Do you love me? Tell me that you love me."
The absurdity of his question brought a smile to her lips. "Yes, of course I do. Else, I should not be kissing you in this shameless way— " A sudden realization of what they were doing— and where— made her squeak, "William, you must let me go! What if the servants see us?"
"Let them." He ran kisses down her neck, and the sensation was so novel and so delicious that, at first, Mattie could not bring herself to stop him. She felt a strange and overwhelming desire for William to bury his lips between her breasts.
Then, a sense of her own vulnerability, the knowledge that they must conduct their affaire discreetly or risk shattering her peace, gave her strength.
Gently, and breathlessly, she extricated herself from his grasp. With a reluctant grin, William accepted the distance she put between them, but kept hold of her hands.
Now that she could feel his dark, seductive gaze, shyness overcame Mattie again. She was not sure what they ought to say next. Should they discuss when and where they could meet?
William must have perceived her discomfort, for he dropped one of her hands and drew the other into the crook of his arm. "We could stroll in the garden if you like. Would that suit your sense of propriety?"
"Yes, you must know that it would."
They walked, not looking at each other until both their pulses had steadied a bit. William led her towards a tall row of shrubbery. He seemed to be taking his time about discussing the arrangements that would have to be made— a discussion that would surely put her to the blush.
Of a sudden, he drew her behind the hedge and back into his arms. "There. Now, we may be comfortable."
"William!" Mattie shrieked in a whisper. "What are you doing?"
"I'm making passionate love to you. Don't you like it?"
"I— I don't know. I think I like it excessively, but— I hardly know what to expect!"
"Don't know what to expect?" William held her away from him and searched her face. Whatever he saw there made him tighten his jaw. "Mattie, I do not know what your marriage was like, but I aim to make love to you, and often. Does that disturb you?"
Mattie bit her lip to keep its quivering from betraying her. "I did not mean that entirely," she said painfully, "but you must know that His Grace was not— a young man— "
William gathered her gently into his arms. "You needn't say more. I will never hurt you, Mattie, but I desperately want to make love to you."
"Yes, I know."
"Answer me, then. Does the prospect frighten you?"
Mattie felt his arms go tense.
She examined her feelings— the excited hammering of her heart, the delicious weakness in her knees— then hid her face in his coat. "No."