Page 65 of To Wager with Love

“You said it was of no matter if he was a lord or a common merchant, you said you would love him with all your heart and give him everything he could ever dream of.”

Matilda could do nothing but turn back to him, staring into that startling silver gaze, as trapped in his presence as if his hand was a manacle, holding her in place, when it only encircled her wrist with the lightest touch. He’d remembered what she’d said, word for word.

“Why haven’t you said yes, when he offers you everything you dream of?”

There was something hot and unsettling burning in his eyes, and his question echoed an identical one of her own, a question that had circled her brain incessantly and would not let her be. His thumb caressed the inside of her wrist, that slight touch connecting at once to somewhere far more intimate, making her body conspire against good sense as longing throbbed beneath her skin. Matilda fought to keep her breathing even, fought to find an answer when she had none. She considered telling him she meant to accept Mr Burton as soon as she returned to town, but she wasn’t at all sure it was true and found she didn’t wish to lie to him, foolish as that was.

“I….” she began and then let out a sigh. “I don’t know,” she admitted, sounding far too breathless. “He offers me so much of what I hoped for, only—”

“Only?”

Matilda stared at him in surprise. There had been a fierce edge to that question, a hint of something that perhaps he’d not meant to reveal. She met his gaze and, for no good reason she could think of, she told him the truth.

“Because I don’t love him, because I fear he wishes to own me as he would a painting or a fine horse, and because… he frightens me a little.”

“More than I do?”

His voice was soft now, shivering over her skin like a caress as his thumb slid up and down her wrist, and then settled over the place where her pulse thundered, frantic with fear and desire. Matilda swallowed and compelled herself to remember what it was he wanted from her.

“Oh, no,” she said, the words hard and forceful and just as honest. “No, not nearly as much as you do, my Lord Montagu. So… if you’ll excuse me, I believe I promised this dance to St Clair.”

Matilda turned, tugged her wrist from his grasp, and hurried away from him.

Chapter 20

I know I ought not have done it, but I love him, and it was wonderful, so perfect. I love him so much it hurts. What option did I have?

Oh Lord, I’m so unhappy.

― Excerpt of an entry from one of the Peculiar Ladies to her diary.

19th September 1814. Holbrooke House, Sussex.

It was a warm afternoon, though the scent of autumn lingered in the air, the sunshine gilding the colours about them to deeper shades of red and gold as the summer gave way at last. Everyone was languid today, sleepy and content after a lazy morning recovering from last night’s excesses.

“I’m so tired,” Minerva said, smothering a yawn. “And my feet hurt. I don’t think I’ve ever danced so much.”

“It was a splendid party, wasn’t it?” Ruth said, setting down her teacup.

Matilda nodded, regarding the remaining Peculiar Ladies who sat on the terrace with her, enjoying the afternoon.

“Splendid,” she agreed, looking over at Harriet.

As ever, the young woman sat with a book in her hands, but she was not engrossed in it as she usually was. Instead her eyes were fixed on a figure walking the gardens, her expression so full of adoration that Matilda felt her throat tighten.

Ruth followed her gaze to where Lord St Clair was walking, deep in conversation with his brother. Matilda suspected Jerome was receiving a scolding. They watched as Harriet set down her book and got up, walking across the grass towards him. St Clair turned before she was anywhere near him, as if he’d known she was there the moment she’d got to her feet. He held out his hand and Harriet ran the last few steps, reaching up for a kiss as Jerome turned his back on the happy pair and pretended not to notice.

“Do you think there’s the slightest hope of finding something like that, or does it only come from knowing someone since childhood?” Ruth asked with a wistful sigh. “Like for Kitty and Luke.”

“My brother fell for Alice the first time they met,” Matilda said, smiling a little. “I think love is different for everyone, but if you find it, you must hold on to it very tightly indeed, for you may not be as lucky as Harriet was and get a second chance.”

“I agree,” Minerva said. “I think you must be brave and pursue it, even if it seems hopeless.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever know it,” Ruth said, though there was no despair in the words, just acceptance. “I think it would be foolish of me to hope for it.”

“What do you hope for?” Matilda asked, wondering if Ruth was correct. In her own case she feared it was all too true and that she should heed her words.

Ruth smiled her no-nonsense smile and placed her hands in her lap, considering the question for a moment. “I hope to please my father and make him proud by marrying a titled man to elevate the family, as he dreams I will. I hope that man and I can be friends and allies and that we can make each other comfortable, and perhaps even content. I hope to have children to love, a household to run, and a position of respect and security. That is what I hope for. What about you?”