Finally, because the clouds were crowding the sky and a breeze picked up, she stirred, rested her chin on his chest.
He pursed his lips. “You went to Maggie’s house.”
“Yes. And if I had been with child?”
“As long as the child is happy and provided for, I’d be content.”
“It would have been yours, though. Not his.”
It would take considerable effort and time to come around to the idea of Lord Coleman raising his child. However, it would also be fate that finally he had achieved some kind of revenge upon the Coleman family. His child, a bastard, would be Coleman’s heir. It was a pity that Dara was caught up in the feud; it was an unkindness he would have to live with for the rest of his life.
Later, in the middle of the night, while she slept in bed, he smoked a pipe by the cold hearth. Unable to sleep, he tried to find a way that would mean she could stay. But there was nothing in his powers to bring a resolution that did not incur either Coleman’s wrath, which would be dangerous, or scandal for Dara. An annulment, even if it was by mutual agreement, would see her sent back to her parents and beyond Matthew’s reach. And if she pleaded with her father to allow her to marry him, she would receive no permission, and Matthew was fully aware of the consequences of marrying without consent. Her good name would be ruined.
He knocked the pipe against the hearth and the tobacco ashes tumbled into the fireplace. He should have foreseen the conundrum. If he had, he would have sent her back the day he met her and not succumbed to temptation. And there was his biggest regret: he’d kept a secret from her. One that was far from just and had nothing to do with Marie. But he had made a promise to his mother, sworn an oath to never speak of it, and when she’d died he stood by her grave with his heartbroken father, and cursed not just the Colemans, but the Barracloughs. For it was Barracloughs who had made the decision to banish Matthew’s mother.
Chapter Ten
In the morning light, Dara carried out her usual chores as if the day was as normal as the previous one. The routine so well established, she used it to calm her nerves. Gone were the days when Matthew chased her out of bed with the flat of his hand aimed at her bare bottom. She rose with him without prote
st.
She had named the chickens, against his better advice. She would miss the silly cows too, but not the smell of the cowshed. Of course, she longed for the company of her maids-in-waiting, especially Estelle. Dara had been pampered since birth. Her maids had arranged her hair, folded back the bedcovers each night, and dressed her each morning. The gossip of the servants was also invaluable in keeping her entertained. However, she also liked spending time with Maggie and her daughters. They soldiered on, always working hard, and managed without men. Dara had learnt much about the solidarity of womenfolk from stoic Maggie. The truth was her previous life had brought her little real joy; she had made a pretence at it, only finding happiness on her own, doing things that ladies of rank were supposed to shun.
She wiped her hands on the apron and removed it. Outside, Matthew shouted something. He had barely said a word to Dara since rising. The mood between them awkward and chaste. Preparations for her departure were in progress. Her bags were packed, her jewels returned to her, and out in the yard, Mary was waiting. Her coat shone in the morning light. Lemuel had cleaned the brass tack.
Matthew closed the door behind him. “Time to go, lass.”
“I don’t want to go back,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. The petulance was necessary. Her stomach was churning with anxiety.
“You must,” said Matthew. His eyes were feverish, his skin pale as if ill.
“I want to stay with you. I don’t care about—”
“Your honour? You should. And you must.”
“I do not care about my family name,” she said adamantly. “Why won’t you let me stay? He’ll divorce me. There are grounds for annulment—”
“Dara. I can’t.”
“Why?” she implored, practising a pretty pout. On any other occasion he would have tipped her over his knee for such a display of defiance. The circumstances had changed, though. He had no authority over her from today and onward.
He stiffened, his handsome face marred by blatant frustration at her persistent questioning. “You’re his, there’s nought I can do to end your marriage without causing suffering.”
“I don’t understand, Matthew. Do you not love me?”
“Aye, I love you. I adore you.”
“Then—”
“It’s not your fault. I would have you here, by my side, if I could, but fate has played you into his hands, not mine.”
Tears splashed down her cheeks.
“Ah, lass, don’t,” he said, heavy-hearted. He reached for her with open arms and swept her up. Seated on his rocker, he settled her on his lap and held her in his bear hug. Eventually, the sobbing ceased and she regained control of her faculties.
“Forgive me,” she said.
“Tis hard for us both.” There were no tears for him, but she knew from the thump of his heart against her breast that he suffered in his own way.