Page 45 of Pursuing Mr. Mattingly

“Did you ever stop to consider that it’s going to hurt regardless? We will all miss you.” Hannah asked in her blunt, matter-of-fact way of speaking. “Oliver is tip over tail for you. Though he is not as goofy as Uncle Arthur is for Julianna, it is adorable all the same. His eyes light when you walk into a room.” She chuckled. “And you smile when he comes near. Did you know that? It’s how I imagine couples in fairy stories act toward each other. What else can it be other than love?”

The child was way too wise for her years, and his chest tightened, for she’d been correct on all counts. They’d been put upon this path together. Once Sophia died, it would hurt. Grief would come, but oh, they had made extraordinary memories.

“Perhaps you have the right of it, and my silly heart is trying so hard not to be broken.”

Hannah scoffed. “Isn’t your diseased heart why you married him in the first place?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then ought you to try and use that heart to its full advantage while you can?”

So easily could he imagine Hannah’s expression. Yes, perhaps she would change the world more, sooner rather than later.

“If I promise to do that, will you drop this subject?” A tiny note of fond frustration rang in Sophia’s voice.

“For the moment, but I want you to be fully happy until the end. The way you were with Papa.” Fabric rustled, and the sound was closer than it had been before. “I remember how you were with him, even though I was little.” When Oliver dared to peek inside the room, they were perhaps five feet away. Hannah laid her free hand on Sophia’s arm. “You didn’t care who was watching but would kiss him and hold his hand, and sometimes it seemed that you and he were the only ones in the world.” Her smile didn’t reflect in her eyes. “I liked that, and don’t you think Oliver deserves that after what he’s done?”

“Ah, dearest, you sound like an old village woman.” Sophia hugged her daughter. “These things should be beyond your ken. You should be running over the lawn and finding adventures instead of counseling your mother at the end of her life.”

“Well, Mama, if you weren’t quite so dim as to what was happening around you, then I wouldn’t need to be.”

Oliver chose that point to announce his presence, for if he didn’t, he’d dissolve into uncontrollable laughter from the girl’s effrontery. He feigned surprise upon spying the two of them, and hoped they believed it. “Ah, here you both are. I’d been searching for you. How are my favorite ladies today?” He gave them both a wide grin as he pushed his spectacles higher onto the bridge of his nose. Sophia was especially fetching in turquoise dyed muslin.

Hannah gasped while a slight blush stained Sophia’s cheeks. Then the girl sprang into action. Despite the armful of gowns, she rushed over to him, took his hand, and then kissed it. “I have to go, Oliver. Grandmother has seamstresses in to alter whichever gown I choose for the masquerade.”

“Then I suppose we shall talk at tea later.” When she fled the attic and the sound of her pounding footsteps faded, he glanced at his wife. “Is all well?” Not for worlds would he let on that he’d been eavesdropping.

“Yes. Of course.” She raked her gaze up and down his person. A certain heat reflected in her gorgeous eyes that lit tiny fires in his blood. “Did you enjoy your walk?”

“I did. Now I’m understanding why titled men have such sprawling estates in the country. Taking strolls over the acreage affords a man plenty of time to think and gives good exercise besides.”

“Oh?” Concern creased her brow. “Do you have regrets, then?”

“Never. In fact, I have never second guessed any decision I’ve made. While there may have been doubts ahead of one or two of them, once I committed to it, those vanished.” He shrugged. “It’s simply how it’s always been for me.”

“I envy you that calm.” Sophia took his hand and led him through a warren of aisles in a series of rooms that comprised the attics. “Have you given thought to what you might wish to be at the masquerade?”

“I’m afraid I’m not the best person to ask because I’ve never wished to be someone else.” Would she think him too dull?

She blew out a breath. “It is playacting, Oliver, not a commitment for the next twenty years.” Then his wife pulled him forward into a section of the attic that looked relatively uncluttered and featured a small square window that had been propped open with a stick. “When I pawed through the trunks back here for Hannah’s costume, I came across some impressive capes, cloaks, and boots that fold over at the knee.”

“Interesting. Perhaps I can masquerade as Robin Hood.” Anyone who sought to steal from the rich and give to the poor held a certain fascination for him.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a highwayman,” she said as she cracked open a trunk and rummaged through the contents.

Apparently, thievery was a theme in all of these costumes. “Only if a cloak becomes me.”

She shot him a glance that brimmed with mischief. “Cloaks are good for everyone.”

In short order, Sophia tossed him a black cloak that would fall to his hips, a satin cravat in a red color, as well as a pair of the fold-over boots.

“Perhaps we can borrow one of Gilbert’s lawn shirts. He’s around your size, and I know he owns one with loose-fitting sleeves.” Then she hooted with excitement and from yet another trunk she pulled out a cavalier-style hat, complete with rather bedraggled feathers. “We’ll replace the feathers with prettier ostrich ones, but this is perfect!”

Oliver rested his items on the top of another trunk. “Perhaps I can attempt to steal your heart during the masquerade.” He hadn’t meant to refer to her heart or the state of affections, but it slipped out anyway.

“What makes you think you haven’t done that already?” She kept her gaze on the contents of the trunk.

Because you haven’t said it.

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