Page 60 of Pursuing Mr. Mattingly

“I would have no idea, Mr. Mattingly, but from what she’s said, I am confident in saying that she is ailing. However, I am just as confident that her heart is not diseased.” He bounced his gaze between them. “She is not weak bodily. Her color is good.” Sophia despised being discussed between the two of them as if she didn’t exist. “The event of distress a few days ago didn’t harm her more than abrasions and contusions. She appears hale and hearty still.” He bestowed an indulgent, smug smile on her. “In simple terms, she is growing older, and some women have a tendency to trend toward symptoms of hysteria or decline as they do.”

“What?” Sophia sat up as straight as she could in the bed.

“Damn it all!” Oliver’s exclamation came the same time as hers. “Do you mean to say my wife is merely agitated because she is aging?”

“Well, Mr. Mattingly, the lady is no longer a young woman. It’s only natural.” The doctor closed his bag with a snap. He took it in hand. “In cases like this—and if her condition grows worse, you might think upon moving her to an asylum or some other place where women of her… ailment can be given more specialized care.”

Sophia snorted. “So I can be ignored, or worse. Poked and prodded, have medical experiments performed on me so men like you can understand women better?”

“Absolutely not.” Oliver’s words were adamant as he shook his head. “I don’t accept any of this.”

Did he refer to her health or the situation they were both currently in?

“I would advise discussing it with Lord Ettesmere, and if you decide on an asylum, there is one three counties over for women like Lady Sophia.” The doctor glanced once more at her then back at Oliver. “Count yourself fortunate, Mr. Mattingly. Some women devolve into snarling, snapping, horrid-tempered beasts with ailments of the mind during this time of life. At least your wife remains congenial. Good day.”

Left alone with her husband, Sophia merely stared at him. What else was there to say? Her heart was perfectly fine, but the rest of her was not? And whatever ailed her wouldn’t necessarily kill her immediately? When he would have spoken, she held up a hand. “Please, don’t say anything.” It was becoming nearly impossible to hold back the tears that gathered in her throat.

“I must, for I refuse to give up on you or have you sent away.” Emotion graveled his voice as he stumbled toward the bed. “There must be some way of ascertaining answers.”

“The doctor didn’t appear to have them.”

“Then I’ll find one who does.”

“Just stop.” She shook her head. Tears stung her eyes. “Obviously, I am not expected to expire any time soon, and because of that, you are leg-shackled to me upon a false pretense.” An ache set up around her heart that had the power to steal her breath.

“Don’t say it.” He rested a hand on the mattress near her knee.

Oh, how much did she want to feel his comforting touch? Have his lips on hers? Hear him tell her that everything would come out right in the end? But she didn’t want him to hate her as the years dragged on.

“I must, Oliver,” she whispered as a tear fell to her cheek. “This isn’t fair to you. None of it is.” Her throat hurt from the effort of keeping her emotions in check. “You were assured freedom in less than six months. And since you won’t have that with my death, I am setting you free with my words.”

“No.” He shook his head. Pain reflected in his eyes. “I refuse to hear it.”

“You must, for as the years go by, you will grow to resent me, perhaps even hate me. You could have had such a different life.” At the last second, she stifled a sob. “If you remain here, your life will be wasted, and you were meant for so much more than a husband to a woman who is apparently bordering on hysteria.” Dear God, would she be thought of as a detriment to him? Would a wife such as her stunt his ability to move up in his position?

I cannot bear that.

“Sophia, listen to me. This is merely reaction talking, making you think worse than the situation truly is. I mean to—”

“Please go.” The words were tearful, and the longer he lingered, the hotter her cheeks and chest grew, just like that time at the creek. The she uttered the speech she knew would make him leave. “I only married you because I knew I would die, because I wanted the thrill of bedding you, because you would be a wonderful father to Hannah.”

With each point, pain and denial were etched into his face. “You don’t mean that.” But his skin had paled. “I’ve seen how you truly feel…” Denial shadowed his eyes.

“I do, and now with everything else we’ve heard, I find I no longer wish for your company.” She would set him free, and perhaps someday he would find it in his heart to forgive her. “I will ask my brother to help me to apply for a divorce based on being misinformed as to the state of my health. He has the coin for it.” The words felt thick and heavy, and with each one, it was as if she’d thrown daggers into his chest.

Could she even do that, though? The potential damage to her reputation was enough to give her pause, and she didn’t give a fig for her family’s reputation. Each member had already added enough scandal upon it, and the Winterbourne name seemed to still stand tall. However, divorcing Oliver might also have repercussions on Hannah’s prospects because of the stigma. Yet, her dearest daughter was quite unconventional and headstrong. The gossip wouldn’t be too terrible after a few years. Besides, Hannah wouldn’t be one to rush herself onto the Marriage Mart.

Yes, her original thought still stood, as much as it would pain her to do so.

“I won’t give up on us.” Moisture gathered in his eyes, magnified behind his spectacle lenses, and a drop wet his cheek. “But for the moment, I shall leave, give us both the time necessary to digest the news and plan our next course.”

“Oliver, you are not listening.” Dear stubborn man!

“And neither are you, but we will talk again once I have a stronger argument to rout you.” With a glance that would forever be seared onto her brain—at once both terrifying and wonderful—he turned on his heel and took his leave.

Only then did she allow herself to give into the sobs that battered her insides. The best thing to ever happen to her in years had just walked out of her life on her order, and she’d stupidly let him. He’d done nothing except support her and had sought to make her days full of happiness and joy, and she’d tossed all of it away out of fear.

Fear of everything.

Her chest tightened and hurt. She might not be quite so frightened of the dark since Oliver’s advent, but now that he took his light away, would the night swallow her whole? Perhaps it would, for the fear of losing him couldn’t be borne.

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