With a quick glance at the grandfather clock, Matthew said, “Tell him I’ll be along shortly. I’ll not leave here until I know Mrs Chandler is safe. Perhaps it would be wise to let a footman stand watch until I return. Whoever you chose can forgo all duties tomorrow. I won’t expect to see him serving at breakfast.”
“Of course, sir. I shall make the necessary arrangements.”
Matthew strode off in the direction of the ballroom while Hopkins hovered near the stairs. Priscilla crept back to her chamber unnoticed. Once inside, she peered out of the window.
With an air of determination and purpose, Matthew sent the accompanying footmen off to various corners of the garden, and they scampered away like sheepdogs eager to round up the wayward flock.
While scouring the space beyond the topiary hedge looking for the bare-bottomed gentleman, Priscilla failed to notice the moment her husband glanced up at the window. When they finally locked gazes, his pursed lips and haunted expression conveyed only one emotion — guilt.
For some reason unbeknown, she placed her palm flat on the glass. It was foolish to think the gesture would bring either of them comfort. He held his hand up to her, not to wave but more a sign of recognition. Then he turned away and marched off in search of his servants.
Matthew Chandler was an enigma. One minute he was caring, passionate, a man capable of love, or so she believed. Then, in contradiction to what she knew of his character, he was often cold, indifferent, insular.
She flopped down onto the bed as she considered her dilemma. Something had to be done. If they continued in the same vein — nights spent alone, living separate lives — love would forever elude them.
Chapter 7
The empty seat at the opposite end of the dining table drew Priscilla’s attention. Despite struggling with other aspects of married life, she enjoyed spending the first hour of the day with Matthew.
Perhaps it was a good thing he’d chosen to remain in bed. The dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep were hardly attractive. And her mind was too preoccupied to partake in conversation. Besides, did it matter if she ate alone? Did it matter if she slept alone? She’d been doing both activities unaided for the best part of twenty years and needed no encouragement or advice.
The clock on the mantel chimed ten.
Scoundrels never rose before noon. Or so she’d heard. By the time Matthew had returned home from his mysterious appointment the birds were busy chirping their morning song.
The burning question was where in heaven’s name had he been?
Priscilla drew in a breath. After his promise to be faithful, she had to trust his outing had nothing to do with bedding Lucinda Pearce. Then again, perhaps their definition of faithfulness differed. It seemed they had conflicting opinions on other matters too. When he’d agreed to come to her bed on occasion, she’d simply not realised how infrequent that would be.
After taking numerous sips of her tea, counting the flowers on the china plate, and drumming her fingers to a military tune on the table, she decided to take action.
“Right.” Jumping to her feet, she stared at the portrait of a lady with windswept hair and a sultry grin. “The best things in life are worth fighting for. And every battle needs a plan.”
A light rap on the door disturbed her mutterings, and Hopkins entered.
“Did you call, madam? Is everything to your satisfaction?”
Priscilla couldn’t help but be amused by his lofty tone. Just like her husband, Hopkins behaved differently during the day. “I was thinking aloud. But now you’re here will you inform Billings that I wish to go out.”
“Out, madam?” Hopkins cleared his throat. The lines between his brows grew decidedly deeper. “Mr Chandler did not mention an outing.”
Could she not make a decision on her own? Must she have her husband’s permission to breathe? Perhaps he considered it just as unsafe outside the house.
“I am to go out alone. Mr Chandler is still in his bed, and after such a late night I do not wish to disturb him.”
Hopkins inclined his head. “May I be so bold as to ask if you’ll be shopping? Mr Chandler will want me to advise him of your whereabouts when he rises.”
“I’m to take tea with …” She could hardly visit her aunt and uncle. Neither were qualified to offer advice to a lady whose husband refused to share her bed. “I’m to take tea with Lord and Lady Morford.”
Well, they had insisted she call round should she need anything. And by all accounts, Isabella’s relationship with Tristan had been fraught with problems. The lady was friendly, approachable, the ideal person to act as confidante.
Priscilla glanced at the clock. It was far too early to make a social call. But she could not risk Matthew waking as he would insist on accompanying her to visit Tristan.
“Tell Billings to be ready outside in thirty minutes,” she instructed firmly. It would not do to have the servants think she lacked authority. “I shall be with Lady Morford for an hour or two should Mr Chandler have any concerns.”
Hopkins appeared placated. “I’ll summon Billings at once, madam.”
They parted company at the bottom of the stairs. She waited until Hopkins was out of sight before rushing to her room to wash her hands and put on her bonnet and pelisse. It would not be a surprise to find that the loyal servant had woken Matthew to inform him of her plans, which was why she hurried back downstairs to wait in the hall.