"Then again, maybe it was, to her, at least," Matthew murmured hoarsely, in response to Stephen's remark about the affection Frederick had shown either of his children. "I mean, no, he didn't hug either one of us, or even pat us on the head...! It suited me just fine, really -- apparently I take after my father," he paused only a brief second before he realised the implication of that sentence, and hurried to dispel the notion that he was thinking like his father had, "At least, in that respect; I mean, when my grandmother was alive, she apparently told my mother not to worry how I didn't care to be held, even as a babe in arms, because my father had been much the same way...
"I mean, not that I met that good woman, of course! My father waited so long to start his family, that both his parents were dead and gone by the time I could develop any conscious memories..." He again looked rather sad at this remark, but shook it off; never knowing his grandmother was nothing, nothing at all compared to the abuse Diana had suffered at that cold bastard's hands -- and... other areas of his body, really! He grimaced again as those images sprang back into his mind's eye -- lewd, filthy images that he didn't want to imagine!
He reached for the bottle again, though he'd hardly drunk anything off of his second refill, and filled his glass to the brim, then drank it down one quick gulp at a time! About halfway through, however, he had to lower the glass, gasping for air. "Merlin," he choked out, with the small amount of breath he'd managed to catch.