Page 9 of Fortuity’s Arrangement (Seven Unsuitable Sisters #2)

F ortuity had spoken very little during the carriage ride and seemed apprehensive as he helped her step down. Matthew kept hold of her hand as she eyed Ravenglass Townhouse before ascending the steps to the front door. A slight breeze tugged at her curls, making them dance and shimmer like liquid gold in the sunshine of the unseasonably warm spring day.

“You are beautiful, Fortuity,” he said on impulse. “Absolutely stunning.”

Her gaze dropped, and her cheeks flushed with color. “Matthew,” she said in a softly scolding tone.

“What?”

“You don’t have to say such things.” She gently eased her hand free, caught hold of her skirts, and started to climb the front stairs.

He blocked her way and cupped her chin in his palm, tilting her face upward. “I say such things not only because they are true, but because I feel them in my heart.”

She watched him, visibly weighing his sincerity. He felt her judgment of him sway between is he good? and is he evil?

“Then thank you for the compliment,” she replied with a slight caginess before quirking a brow. “Might we enter our home now?”

“Indeed.” He offered his arm, relaxing at her tone’s slight shift to a teasing lilt. “Brace yourself for the menagerie.”

As they reached the door, it opened, revealing the servants lining the front hall and standing at attention to greet the new lady of the house. The beaming Mrs. Greer stood at the head of the line, bouncing in place in her excitement at welcoming Fortuity to her new home.

“There she be,” the jolly housekeeper crowed while clapping her hands. “Welcome home, Lady Fortuity.”

Fortuity rushed to hug her. “Thank you, Mrs. Greer. How thoughtful of all of you to greet me. Thank you all.”

The servants smiled and bowed, then a thunderous pounding resounded from the stairway.

“Here they come,” Matthew said with a groan.

Two half-grown kittens, both of them solid black with white bibs and paws, were in the lead, followed by Ignatius and two more half-grown kittens, one of them a ginger tabby and the other a solid white feline with a long, fluffy tail. While the dog happily barked and yipped at them, the cats playfully flattened their ears, bowed their backs, and alternately danced sideways and swatted at him while scampering around and over him with amazing speed and agility as they all descended the steps.

“Ignatius! Heel!” Matthew pointed at the floor to his left.

The pug barrel-rolled down the remaining three steps, recovered awkwardly to all fours, then scurried to obey. His claws clickity-clicked across the polished marble floor. Once he skidded to a stop, he plopped his rump against Matthew’s left foot and gazed up at him in adoration.

The cats scattered and sought the safety of high ground, perching on tables and cabinets—one scrambled to the top of the floor clock at the end of the hall.

“Oh my,” Fortuity said with a poorly stifled giggle. “They are rather exuberant, aren’t they? Have you named them yet?” She bent and scratched Ignatius behind the ears. “Are the wicked kitties getting you in trouble, little man?”

Panting heavily, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, the pug seemed to grin in agreement as he wiggled his curly tail.

“The cats came with names,” Matthew said, trying to remember which one was which. He pointed at the black kittens with the white bibs. “One of them is Horatio, and one is Jervis. I have no idea which is which, nor can I tell them apart. Only your sister possesses that ability.” He nodded at the ginger cat. “That one is Abercrombie. Where the devil did the white one go? Wherever he is, the large, fluffy white one is Wellington.”

“British war heroes. How appropriate.” Fortuity snorted with laughter, then covered her mouth. “Oh dear. I am sorry.”

“Do not be sorry, my little wren, because this chaos is yours as well now.” Although her merriment made it all worthwhile. He would fill their home with cats and pugs if it kept her happy. Her laughter washed the house in joy and light. Gads, he loved this woman—if only he could make her forget his stupidity in denying it for so long.

Mrs. Greer cleared her throat, then scattered the servants and cats with a sharp clap of her hounds. “There’s chores to be done, my lovelies. We mustn’t have the mistress thinking we would ever fail her.” She bobbed her head at Fortuity. “I am sure your Miss Anne has your rooms ready. Such a good worker, that girl. I remember her from before. Shall I fetch a fine tea for yourselves and bring it to the parlor, my lord and lady? Your first together in your new home?”

Fortuity looked to Matthew as if uncertain about what to say.

He moved in as if to press a kiss to her temple and whispered in her ear, “This is your house now, my dearest. You are mistress of it. Do as you wish. I merely want you happy.” And then he took advantage of the opportunity and brushed a kiss to her warm, sweet skin before drawing back. He couldn’t help himself.

She drew in a quick breath and glanced at him as though startled. “Uhm… A proper tea would be lovely, Mrs. Greer.”

The housekeeper chortled with glee, then hurried away, bellowing for Thebson the butler to stop dawdling with the animals and take care of the master and mistress.

“Poor Thebson,” Fortuity said as they made their way into the parlor. “He may never forgive me for recommending Mrs. Greer to you.”

A slight sense of disappointment came over him when she settled in a chair rather than on the settee, where he might sit next to her. Determined to think of a way to coax her into joining him, he sat on the end of it closest to her. “When our tea arrives, I think it most appropriate to sweeten it with a bit of brandy in celebration of the day. What say you?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she continued with what appeared to be a disapproving look around the parlor. “You don’t have books stacked everywhere as you did before.” She turned to him with concern. “I loved the way books were piled about as if they were pieces of fine art. You didn’t get rid of them because of me, did you? I adore books and thought having them at your fingertips was just perfect.”

“The day the cats arrived convinced me to rethink the care and storage of our precious books.” He shuddered at the memory of the avalanches caused by the felines when they used the stacks of books to launch themselves to even greater heights.

“Blessing says they settle down once they get older. Many of hers rarely find the energy to rise from their favorite sunny spots on the window ledges.”

“One can only hope.” He reached for her while patting the cushion next to him. “We are married now. You may sit beside me without the risk of anyone accusing you of being a lightskirt.”

A grim somberness settled over her, making him wish he had kept his mouth shut. Then she forced a smile with the slightest incline of her head. “I am quite comfortable right where I am, my lord, but thank you for the reminder.”

Unwilling to surrender in his war to convince her that their marriage could be very real, Matthew adopted a nonchalant demeanor. “As you wish, my lady. But your behavior surprises me. I never thought of you as one with tendencies of cowardice.”

“Cowardice?” Her brow shot up and her eyes narrowed.

He nodded. “There is no shame in admitting your fear of sitting next to me.”

“I do not fear sitting next to you.”

He gave her his best patronizing smile. “Of course you don’t.”

With a snorting huff, she rose from her chair, flounced her way to the other end of the settee, and plopped down in a very unladylike manner. “There.”

“You are still not next to me.”

Her mouth fell open in either shock or outrage. He wasn’t sure which.

“There is but one seat cushion between us,” she said. “Do you wish me to sit in your waistcoat pocket?”

He tried not to chuckle and failed, heightening the color of her rosy cheeks to an even lovelier shade of red. “I daresay that would be interesting.”

And then she laughed, thrilling him immensely.

“That is so much better, my little wren.”

“What is?” She angled herself more comfortably into the corner of the cushions, leaning back and filling his imagination with visions of his stretching over her and possibly siring the first of their many children right here in the parlor.

She cleared her throat. “My lord?”

He reminded himself to stay focused on winning this battle so he might soon enjoy the spoils of this war. “This day has you tensed tauter than a bowstring. When you laugh, you relax.”

Her gaze dropped, and she plucked at the folds of her skirt. “This new life will take some adjustment.”

“Yes, it will.” Perhaps if he showed her the second surprise he’d planned for her arrival? He rose from the settee and held out his hand. “Come. There is something else you must see.”

“What?” She remained seated, appearing not to trust him, but mischievously so.

“Come, little wren. I honestly believe you will be pleased.”

“What about our tea?”

“I assure you that Mrs. Greer will find us when our tea is ready. Nothing in this household escapes that woman.” He wiggled the fingers of his outstretched hand. “Give over now. You know you wish to see what it is.”

With a roll of her eyes, she took his hand and rose from her seat. “I think you wish me to see what it is.”

“Well, of course I do,” he said as he tugged her into the curve of his arm. “Surprising you with presents gives me great joy. Although…”

“Although?”

“The cats are regrettable.”

“They are not. I think they are delightful.”

What was delightful was the way she fit so perfectly against his side with his arm wrapped around her, but he was wise enough to remain quiet about that. Instead, he basked in her warmth and breathed in the sweetness of her lilac scent. “This way, dearest. The front room beside the library.”

“In Broadmere House, that is our smaller parlor for when unannounced guests come calling.”

“It was once the same here, but no longer.” He pushed the door open with a flourish and stepped back. “Your personal office, my lady. After all, a writer needs space in which to disappear into her worlds and put them to the page.”

She stood at the threshold, her lips barely parted as her gaze darted all around the room. “Oh, Matthew,” she said with a satisfying breathlessness. “This is… This is…”

“Yes?”

“So wonderfully thoughtful of you.” She slowly entered the room, as if afraid it would disappear.

“I know this is not the writing desk you brought with you. I instructed George and Anne to place that one in your dressing room. But I hope you find this one suitable.” He stepped around her and went to the decidedly feminine desk that was just as large as his desk in the library, but this one had curved lines and rounded edges. It was softer, like a woman’s form compared to the hard, muscular lines of a man. He pulled out the leather wingback chair that was also smaller and would fit her much better than the usual desk chairs.

“Oh, Matthew,” she repeated with the same breathlessness as before. “It is absolutely perfect.” She sat in the chair and smoothed her hands along the rich, reddish-hued wood of the desktop. “This is not mahogany. Is this rosewood?”

“It is,” he said. “Rosewood symbolizes romance and love. I thought it perfect for the desk of a romance author.”

She surprised him by leaning forward and resting her cheek on the satiny surface while continuing to run her hand across it. “The desk is gorgeous, but your speaking about my life’s dream as if you believe in it too is the greatest gift you could ever give me.”

“I do believe in you, Fortuity.” He wanted so badly to touch her, stroke her cheek, or kiss her hand, but he remained strong. If he attempted to convince her of his feelings too quickly, she would never believe him. “Your stories are as lovely as you are.”

“Thank you so very much, Matthew. This means the world to me.”

“I am glad.”

A knock at the door interrupted the moment and made him grit his teeth in irritation. “Yes?”

“The proper tea ordered by Mrs. Greer is set up in the parlor, my lord,” Thebson told him. “And a messenger just arrived with a letter he says the sender informed him was quite urgent.”

“Place the letter on my desk in the library, Thebson. Today is my wedding day, and nothing is more urgent than my bride.” No matter what it was, Matthew would address it later. He would not cast Fortuity aside when she had only just arrived. She was his priority.

Thebson nodded, then disappeared to do as requested.

“But if the messenger said it was urgent,” Fortuity said, “you should see to it. It could be something regarding your cousins in the country.”

His cousins could go to the devil, but he refrained from saying that aloud. Not that he no longer cared about them, but they had created nothing but problems ever since he had rescued them from India. He shook his head. “You are my priority, and we have only just arrived home.” He meandered around the room, motioning to the shelves filled with several of his favorite books. “I thought you might enjoy these. They might even provide helpful resources for your stories. Is the color right? I read somewhere that color can sometimes influence thoughts.”

“The color?”

“Of the room. Draperies. Walls. The earthy tones of the rug?”

“I adore the pale greens and browns.” She hugged herself as she looked all around. “I feel as though I have stepped into an enchanted forest. It is perfect, Matthew. Absolutely perfect.”

“As you are, my little wren.”

She ducked her head as she rose from the chair and went to the window. He noticed her fingers trembled slightly as she idly ran them across the folds of the damask draperies in the soft shade of green the window dresser had recommended. “You do not have to try so hard, Matthew. I know you never wanted this, but I shall do my very best to make it as painless as possible.”

His heart fell. Damn and blast it all. He had overplayed his hand and failed. At a loss for how to make it right, he went to her and held out his hand. “Our tea is ready in the parlor, my lady,” he said quietly.

With a wan smile, she took his hand. “Yes. Tea will be nice.”

They moved down the hall in strained silence. When they reached the parlor door, she paused and laid a hand on his arm. “Why don’t you see to your urgent message? Then we can enjoy our tea at our leisure. I shall wait for you in the parlor.”

Something about the way she said it felt both like a dismissal and a request for some time to herself. He gave her a polite nod. “As you wish, my lady. I shall return to you shortly.”

“Take your time, my lord.”

He almost flinched, but stopped himself just in time and offered her another nod instead. Winning his wife’s heart and her trust would be more difficult than he thought.

*

Whatever this game was, Matthew needed to just stop. Fortuity paced the length of the large parlor that had formerly always reminded her of a delightfully cluttered reading room, a room she had fallen in love with as deeply as she loved Matthew. But the scattered stacks of books were gone, removed from every table, chair, and shelf. He had blamed the cats, and from what she had observed upon meeting the fearsome four, that excuse seemed plausible enough.

She rubbed her hands together as she paced, wishing their nervous dampness would cease. She hated this tense situation, and it was obvious Matthew hated it as well. Why else would he try so hard to make her feel as if he wanted her here? The dearest ring, the cats, and now that breathtaking office of her very own? Did he not realize how much his kindnesses tortured her? She already loved him, would go so far as to say she adored him, even though he only thought of her as a friend. Why could he not just leave her be and give her the time she needed to get her feelings under control, so they might manage this uncomfortable arrangement? Surely, he didn’t wish to break her heart more than he already had? He had never been cruel.

Approaching footsteps down the hallway alerted her that her much-needed time alone had ended all too soon. She forced a smile and turned toward the doorway, then alarm shot through her. “Matthew, what is it?”

He had gone quite pale, a feat in and of itself, since the man had always looked like he spent a great deal of time out of doors even in the dead of winter. Part of it was his natural coloring; the rest was his passion for riding. These things kept his skin from being considered fair in any sense of the word. He had never possessed what she and her sisters had dubbed as the usual pasty peerage pallor. His weathered handsomeness lent a wildness to him, drawing her in and daring her to love him. But his current lack of color concerned her.

She went over and led him to the settee in front of the table set with their tea. “Matthew? Tell me. You look as though someone you know has died.”

“I did not know them. Only of them.” He stared straight ahead at nothing, scowling at whatever he was seeing in his mind.

“Tell me where the brandy is and I shall pour you some. I do not believe tea will be sufficient for whatever is troubling you.”

He didn’t answer, just kept opening and closing his fists where they rested on his knees.

Fine. She would find the brandy herself. Turning, she spotted a likely cabinet and went to it. Upon opening the double doors at its front, she discovered several crystal decanters and the sort of glasses best used for port or brandy. She chose the honey- colored liquid, unstoppered it, and gingerly sniffed the contents. The heady smell of fermented peaches heated her nostrils and made her nose twitch. Rather than pour it into a glass, she carried the decanter back to the table and poured him a generous cupful.

“Would you like some tea with your brandy?” she asked, realizing too late that she had left little room in the cup for anything other than the strong drink. “If you do, I need you to drink some of this first so I can fit it in there.”

Still staring off into nothingness, he held out his hand. “No. Neat is perfect.”

She wasn’t certain what neat meant, but he took the cup, drank from it, and didn’t complain, so she must’ve gotten it right. After pouring herself a cup of nothing but tea, she sat beside him and waited, remembering how Mama had always treated Papa whenever he was upset. Her mother had silently supported her father until he was ready to share whatever problem had him worried.

Matthew downed the contents of his cup, then stared down into it as if surprised it was empty.

“Shall I pour you another?” she asked.

“No, Fortuity,” he said quietly, as if suddenly remembering she was there. He frowned at the teapot surrounded by multiple platters of biscuits and cakes. After what felt like an eternity, he turned his head and looked at her. His troubled gaze pierced her heart and soul. “You know I would never lie to you, do you not?”

Rather than placate him with platitudes, she braced herself and chose brutal honesty. “I have witnessed your telling the truth even when it was uncomfortable for you to do so.”

“I would never lie to you.” He huffed a mirthless laugh, then shook his head. “Even when I said I wanted to marry you, I was not lying, even though I know you think otherwise.”

She forced herself not to react. Now was not the time. Not when he was so overset. “Is there any way I might help you with whatever is wrong? What has it to do with lying? Is there another unsavory rumor out there of which we were unaware?”

He pulled a folded paper out from his waistcoat and held it out. “I will never hide anything from you either.”

“That sounds rather ominous, my lord.”

“Read it, and you will see.”

She eyed the thing but kept her hands in her lap. “That is your personal correspondence, my lord. It would not be right for me to read it.”

“You are my wife, Fortuity. Whether you wish to be or not.” He unfolded the note and dropped it onto her lap. “Read it so you will not be caught unaware.” He snorted with another disgruntled huff. “And for heaven’s sake, stop calling me my lord. I am your husband, your friend, your Matthew—I am not now nor ever will be your lord. ”

Rather than say anything that would upset him even more, she picked up the letter and read:

My dearest Matthew,

Not only am I older, wiser, and back from the Continent, but I am also widowed. I come to you begging for forgiveness even though I know you might not wish to. If it is any consolation for the pain and humiliation I caused you, please know that I reaped what I sowed and was repaid in full and then some for my selfishness. Rest assured, I have been well and thoroughly punished for my thoughtless behavior.

I would give anything to go back and make a different choice, the choice I should have made all along. You, Matthew. I should have chosen you. I beg you—nay, I beseech you—please give us another chance.

My heart will ever be yours,

Olandra

Fortuity looked up from the letter and met his gaze, almost gasping at the intensity of the pain reflected in his eyes. Even though she had never met the woman or heard her name, she knew who this was: Matthew’s greatest love. The one who had left him standing at the altar while she ran off to Gretna Green with a duke. She wanted to crumple the letter, hunt the woman down, and claw her eyes out for causing him so much agony. But a lady did not do such things. Life was so bloody unfair sometimes. But then she wondered, was it the timing of the thing that upset him? If they hadn’t married, he could have reclaimed his precious Olandra, the widowed Duchess of Esterton.

“I am sorry,” she said softly. “If only you had received this a day sooner, you could have been with her rather than me.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Is that truly what you think I want? You think that is why I showed you that letter?”

“You love her.”

“I do not.” He refilled his cup with brandy and added a splash to her tea without asking. “Olandra showed me exactly what sort of woman she is, and falling prey to her once was quite enough, thank you. I am not a fool, Fortuity. I remember the lessons I am taught quite well.”

She wasn’t so sure about sipping the brandy-laced tea. Not when everything within her stormed and raged to hunt down that cruel woman and yank out all her hair. Whenever she was overset, her stomach always reacted. If she cast up her accounts in the parlor, she would never forgive herself. “What will you do? Running into her at parties and balls will be inevitable if she is in search of another husband.”

“I will introduce her to my lovely wife, and then tell her to go straight to the devil.”

While his answer warmed her heart, she couldn’t help but wonder if he truly meant it. After all, this was the woman who had made him swear to never marry. “I daresay that might be considered slightly rude, my…Matthew.”

He glared at her and shifted on the settee until their shoulders touched. His scent of sandalwood, citrus, and angry male made her heart flutter faster. “If you address me as my lord one more time, I shall kiss you senseless and obliterate your condition of being married in name only.”

A heat the likes of which she had never known rushed through her, pooling low in her belly and between her thighs. It made her catch her breath and wet her lips. “Matthew! I…I…”

“You what?”

She cleared her throat. “I daresay we must concentrate on how you intend to respond to your letter.” She balled it up and threw it at him, hitting him in the chest with it.

His frown melted, and his broad shoulders relaxed as he gave her a sultry grin. “That letter is not worthy of a response.” He retrieved the paper from the floor and tossed it into the hearth. “Good riddance.”

“If that was your intention all along, then why did you share it with me?” He had become so confusing of late, keeping her mind whirling and wondering about what motivated his actions. Protecting her heart under such circumstances was becoming increasingly difficult.

“I told you. I will never hide anything from you.” He settled back down beside her and took another sip of brandy. “And if I had not shared it with you, you would have been ill prepared when, God forbid, we came across the woman out amongst Society.”

“And the tongues will wag. Lending life to the old rumors about what happened between the two of you ages ago.”

“Exactly.”

The curious ginger kitten took that opportunity to leap from behind the settee, jump into her lap, and bump its head against her arms while purring loudly.

“Well, hello…” She arched a brow at Matthew.

“Abercrombie.”

“Such a long name for a kitty,” she said as she scratched him behind the ears. “I would have called you Rumbles because of your purring.”

“Then he shall hereafter be known as Rumbles.” Matthew lifted his cup, then fixed her with a look that made her shiver. “This is our home, Fortuity, your home. Do as you wish. Do what makes you happy.”

A pitiful whine came from underneath the settee. Then a snuffling, snorting thump against the back of her skirts made her giggle. “I wish for you to tell Ignatius he may come out of hiding and join us for tea.” Thank heavens for the animals saving her from Matthew’s determination to—what? The question made her swallow hard and shy away from the answer. No, they were friends. Nothing more. “Please?”

He rolled his eyes, then leaned forward and snapped his fingers. “Come out, Ignatius. Acting pitiful is a coward’s way of manipulation.”

The pug wiggled out from under the furniture and bounced into Matthew’s outstretched hands. He picked him up and deposited him on the cushions between them. The cat butted his head against the dog’s as if the two had successfully colluded to achieve their current positions.

“I believe they plotted against us for this,” Fortuity said as she broke a biscuit in two then fed half to the dog, and the other half to the cat.

“I have no doubt of it.” But then Matthew went quiet and fixed her with a look that tempted her to squirm. It was only by sheer force of will that she managed to sit still. “I showed you the letter because I never want you to think that I would hide anything from you, nor would I ever wish to hurt you. I care about you, Fortuity, whether or not you choose to believe it.”

She ached to believe he meant more than friendship but dared not risk it. Her poor, battered heart simply couldn’t take being rejected again. “I appreciate your sharing it with me. I know it could not have been easy.”

He bowed his head and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. “In other words, you still do not believe me.” He slowly shook his head while staring at the floor, making her ache to comfort him even though she knew she dared not. “You refuse to believe I am happy we are married and cannot imagine any other woman being my wife.”

After risking a sip of her brandy-laced tea to stoke her boldness, she set it back on the table, then shifted on the cushions to face him. This argument, this facade of his being the happy new husband, had worn on her as long as she would allow it. “It has been less than a month since you announced quite loudly at Lady Atterley’s dinner that you and I were friends only . You also informed me we could never be anything more than friends and asked for that to be enough. Moreover, both you and everyone closest to you made it clear as crystal that you had sworn you would walk straight through the gates of hell before you would ever return to the altar to wed. Do you deny the truth of anything I have just stated? Am I remembering any of it incorrectly?”

His jaw flexed, and he dropped his gaze once more. “Sadly, you are not remembering any of those things incorrectly.”

She rose to her feet, placed the ginger cat on the cushions next to the pug, then nervously brushed the wrinkles from her skirt. Refusing to allow him to argue further, she went to the bellpull and yanked on it.

Thebson appeared so quickly that she suspected he had been hovering just beyond the doorway to overhear their conversation. “Yes, my lady?”

“Show me to my room, Thebson, and then please inform Mrs. Greer I shall take my supper in my dressing room.” She forced a smile. “The day has wearied me.”

The butler glanced at Matthew, still sitting on the settee with his head bowed.

“Is there a problem, Thebson?” she asked, silently asserting herself as mistress of the house.

“No, my lady. Please follow me.”