Chapter Seven
About an hour after the minister had pronounced them husband and wife, it occurred to Hugh that he had no notion of what exactly to do with his wife. Staring at her carefully contained expression as she ate the last morsel of cake on her plate, he wondered, What now? He’d satisfied one of his father’s biggest hopes, but how did the cog of her fit into the wheel of his life? Her role once they reached London society was evident to his mind, but what about before then?
It would be months, perhaps even a year, before they could venture to England. It would not be safe for her to travel too often given her pregnancy. Those were the strict instructions of the doctor this morning, and Dr. Edward was a man renowned in Edinburgh for his medical talent.
Phoebe’s confinement should be as stress-free as possible to ensure the safe delivery of the child. And afterward, she would need a few months to recuperate her health and energy.
There it was again. That odd weakness that assailed his heart whenever he thought of the child and that in a few weeks he would assume the role of a father.
What will be required of me?
Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself against the feelings.
“It starts,” his father muttered crossly by his side, tugging at his cravat. “Bloody hell, I warned you, didn’t I? And what did you do? Ignored me and now it has started!”
“What starts?” Hugh signed distractedly, keeping his gaze on his wife.
His heart jolted. He might never get used to the idea that he now had a lady to call his own. The idea that he must marry and now seeing the reality of her were vastly different experiences.
“You are staring at her like a hungry wolf,” the old earl snapped, thumping his cane and drawing Phoebe’s and Caroline’s attention. “First, acting so scandalously in wearing no shoes to the chapel and then this! I can tell that bit was her idea!”
“It was.” And how bold and sweet she had been, very reminiscent of the lady who had penned those fascinating letters. The fear and the uncertainty of the previous night had melted away this morning, and what had glowed in her eyes had been a sort of watchfulness as she took stock of her surroundings and the people in the castle. “I admire that she does not bow to conventions.”
That admission made his father’s scowl turn blacker. “You’ve not been able to take your gaze from her for more than an hour! That is unseemly, my boy, and your preoccupation already shows that you find her compelling.”
Do I find you compelling, Phoebe? No immediate response came back to that silent demand, but he would be a liar to deny that something different and unknown had been stirred inside him from that very first letter he’d received, and it had not abated.
Smoothing his expression to indifference, he shifted and faced his father. “I think I shall invite the widowed viscountess to call upon us. Then perhaps you will be occupied enough to direct your energy elsewhere, instead of agitating over how long I look at my wife.”
His father spluttered and sent him a stare that promised retribution. Disregarding the old earl, Hugh pondered just how close should he allow Lady Phoebe into his life. Even though his marriage had always been plotted and ruthlessly calculated, it was for better or worse and until death parted them. He prided himself on his level and shrewd judgment of a man or woman’s character, which could be immediately discerned the very first time they met. His wife’s own was a bit difficult to decipher.
He was curious to find out exactly who was this woman who would walk by his side. Was she kind? Did she, too, have the capacity for ruthlessness, especially when it came to protecting her family? Or was she prone to hysteria and fainting spells at the first hint of a problem? How would she truly react when those rumormongers came knocking on their door? With fear and anger, or with her head lifted high and proud?
Her composure now was quite admirable. She was quite aware that she was the recipient of several stares, yet she acted as if it was all unremarkable.
Knowledge bloomed through Hugh. That careful grace he witnessed was all a contrived act, and he wondered at the true heart of the woman before him. Hugh listed the attributes he’d observed.
She is bold and reckless.
She is courageous.
The very notion that she could dare to rebel against a powerful duke and duchess spoke to her vibrant and unflinching spirit. She would not be a lady overset by nerves or such nonsense in times of difficulty.
She does not hesitate to speak her fears or her hopes.
She once believed in love.
That bit of silliness would easily be cured. Love had clearly disappointed her and left her to deal with her parents and society’s wrath on her own. Surely from now on, practicality would guide her decisions.
My lady wife also seems to have an incurable sweet tooth.
The luncheon that had been laid out for them had held several cakes and treacle, and she had enjoyed them all while ignoring the braised duck, roasted pork, fish, and artichoke in cream sauce.
There is so much more to know about you…and how curious that I should want to know everything. And how opportune that her condition would see them away from London long enough for him to find out.
Hugh stood and walked toward the end of the long dining table, which had put at least thirty places between him and his viscountess. Her shoulders tensed at his approach, but she lifted her chin, met his regard, and pasted a smile on her face. What fine acting.
He could see the flutter of a pulse at her throat, as if a winged creature was held captive there. Instead of admiring her ability to gather her composure, a chill of warning went through Hugh, and the cynic in him noted the capacity for deception even as he tipped his hat to her.
“Would you like to retire to your chamber?”
She looked at him expectantly while Caroline translated. Phoebe’s cheeks turned a deep shade of rose, and her lashes lowered briefly. “Yes, as you wish.”
As he wished? Ah, she expected him to bed her. His gaze involuntarily went to her rounded belly. Despite his deep attraction to her, he would not exercise any husbandly rights, not while she was with child. This show of submissiveness was not her true character, and he did not like it. “I shall escort you.”
She stood and to his surprise went down the length of the table to his father and dipped into a farewell curtsy. Yet she threw a very unladylike wave at Caroline before walking away. In silence, he guided her down the prodigious hallway and to the second stairs that curved toward the west wing. She hesitated briefly before following his wave, her gloved hands clasped tightly before her, her bare feet padding noiselessly on the thick carpeted floor.
Once at the landing, he placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her to her rooms. He opened the door and stepped back, allowing her to precede him inside. Once over the threshold, she gasped. “Why, it’s lovely!”
Her chambers consisted of a spacious and elegantly decorated bedchamber and two adjoining rooms, where one would serve as a dressing room and the other a sitting room. Rose-silk curtains surrounded the bed, at which she stole a quick discreet glance before returning her regard to him. Hugh withdrew a note from his pockets.
She reached for it and unfolded the paper, which read, “This is the Countess’s chamber…and the connecting door leads to my chamber.”
For a moment, she could not meet his eyes, and a wave of red blossomed over her face and throat. “I see. Thank you.”
They stood in awkward silence with her clutching the note as if it were a lifeline. He hadn’t thought to prepare another note informing her that she need not fear his advances. He was a patient man, and he did not marry her to satiate his baser urges even if they were stirring to life with the violence of a winter storm. He had learned over the years to master his emotions and expectations and in this situation, he could do the same.
As far as Hugh was concerned, they did not need to share the same bed until he was ready for his heir. His only priority now was to see about getting his sister and brother settled, one through marriage and the other with a respectable position and a marriage. A thing they both ardently wanted but believed, because of their bastardy and unique situation, such a living and contentment would be forever denied to them. Rubbish, of course. And certainly not if Hugh had anything to do about it.
Unable to express any of this, he sketched a quick bow and turned around.
“You are leaving?”
How astonished she sounded…and relieved. Hugh faced her and nodded once.
Her gaze searched his face intently as if she tried to discern his thoughts. Unexpectedly, her eyes brightened, and a soft smile appeared on her lush lips. She made her way over to him, lifted her hands, and cupped his cheek in a caress that felt as gentle as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. “Thank you for your consideration,” she murmured a bit huskily. “I am very much obliged to you, and I shall never forget your kindness, my lord.”
Her action shocked Hugh into profound stillness and sent his thoughts spinning. It had been years since anyone had touched him in such a manner…and the last person he could recall cupping his cheeks had been his mother. The awareness pulled a flinch from him, and a delicate pink stain spread from Phoebe’s cheeks down her throat. She hurriedly dropped her hand and stepped back.
Swallowing tightly past the knot in his throat, he bowed and withdrew from the room.
Once in the hallway, a silent breath shuddered from him. What had that been about? He walked away, and some instinct urged him to look back, so he did. She stood in the shadows of the doorway, watching his retreat with her large golden eyes. She lifted her hand in a small wave, and Hugh felt like an idiot when he paused, lifted a hand, and waved back.
But she smiled, and it was quite the loveliest smile, which revealed a deep dimple in one of her cheeks. His heart did this ridiculous squeeze, and with a scowl he turned around and made his way down the stairs to his private study.
…
Indifferent civility.
Phoebe had been married to the viscount for two weeks, and whenever she encountered him, he treated her with kind consideration and a dreadful indifferent civility. The very first morning after their wedding, she had woken to a note on the small table by her bedside. Even several days later, the words and the implications were still seared in her thoughts.
You are under no obligation to prepare to attend me in my chambers in the evenings, nor will I visit yours. We are newly married, but we are also strangers, so you may rest assured I will not be exercising any husbandly rights. In the future, we might revisit the matter when it is mutually convenient.
His note had been so cold and succinct. Yet another burst of relief had filled her. Phoebe had not been ready for intimacy with him, even if she found him terribly handsome and he made her heart race in a manner never felt before. Since then, they had fallen into a routine of sort, where each morning they dined together. Caroline would join them to communicate for her brother, but he had frightfully little to say.
Phoebe often attempted to converse with him, with remarks on the weather and the beauty of the place, to which he always replied politely. But in return, he made little enquiries of her, and whenever she saw him without his sister, they could not converse if there was no paper with a quill and inkwell on hand.
In those moments, they would stare at each other, and she would feel so flustered and out of sorts while he seemed quietly contemplative. At times when his father observed them, he would mutter, “It’s really the beginning… I can see what is happening. Why is he not seeing it?” and then march away, thumping his cane.
“What is happening?” she’d asked the viscount only yesterday morning, to which he had lifted a shoulder in an indifferent shrug before bowing and walking away to his study.
Their society did not seem to call upon them, nor did they entertain. It was baffling and not what she expected from a family as powerful as the Winthrops. Their oddities grew daily. Even yesterday she had spied Caroline in trousers playing with a baby sheep. Phoebe had been astonished and amused in equal measure and had to suppress the desire to join the girl and act in a similarly unrefined manner. Dignity and decorum, she had reminded herself resolutely.
Oftentimes, the viscount disappeared for the day in his study, or sometimes he would call for his carriage, which was drawn by a beautiful team of four coal black horses, and disappear for hours. Most evenings, she dined with Caroline only, for the earl was quite unorthodox in his manners and often had a tray set up for him in his gardens on the stone table. Once she heard him mutter that he preferred the company of the birds and flowers, to which Hugh had only smiled.
Phoebe had met the staff, and while they treated her with the utmost courtesy and respect, there was little for her to do outside of overlooking the menu as the large castle was run with impressive efficiency by an army of servants who seemed to adore their master. It charmed her that they extended the same courtesy to her, and the servants had happily enfolded Sarah and her beau into their family.
Phoebe strolled down the hallway large enough to host a ball, toward the room she had commanded as her own. It was there she spent most of her days reading and oftentimes staring out the windows at the lawns and lake in the distance. By all accounts, she should be contented: her baby would not suffer the indignity of being labeled a bastard, her family and her reputation had been saved, she was not forced to marry a man older than Papa, and she was married to a future earl. She had been rescued from ruin and ignominy, yet there was a restlessness inside that saw her twisting and turning at nights.
Why do I feel so out of sorts and unsettled?
Phoebe would often lie on her side and stare at that connecting door. Sometimes she would hear her husband moving about in his room, and she would push from the bed and pad over to the door to stand before it. Sometimes she would even grasp the door handle, but she’d never worked up the courage to turn that handle or knock on the door. It frustrated Phoebe that she would do this several times, for she truly did not know what she required from the viscount.
“I do not like his indifference to me,” she said softly. “Good heavens, but my impatient heart wants more.” The desire frightened her a bit, and she had to recall her vow to no longer be impetuous or to seek after tender sentiments. Phoebe hungered for more than this polite civility but was at a loss as to how to break that polite barrier.
I must think about this carefully.
Opening the door to her own private parlor, she entered and left the door ajar. Immediately, she felt soothed, and she walked over to the escritoire by the windows. It was one of her favorite things about the room. One of the walls was made up entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows. Sunlight poured in, bathing the room in a bright glow.
Phoebe lowered into the chair by the writing desk, determined to complete her letters today. She had already written Richard, informing him of her marriage and to which family, assuring him that she was safe. It had been more difficult to compose a letter to the duke and duchess. Several times she had attempted it, to only give up and crumple the paper. Today she would send that letter. She withdrew a sheaf of paper, with the quill and inkwell.
A breath shuddered from Phoebe, and she lowered the quill. And what? That pain and doubt she’d believed buried roiled deep in her heart. “And what, Mama? What do I say?” She crossed out the words, lowering her forehead to the desk.
A soft noise had her jerking up and turning around. The viscount hovered in the doorway with Wolf faithfully by his side, and she realized he’d deliberately made that noise to alert her of his presence. Phoebe carefully stood and dipped into a quick curtsy.
“Wolf,” she said softly, and he barked and bounded over to her.
Phoebe laughed when he jumped up and licked her chin. “Up,” she said while using the hand sign to command him.
It was a wonder she did not tumble back when he placed two of his paws on her shoulders. She hugged him quickly then released him so he could trot back to his master. There were days she missed him awfully. He had been her loyal friend for several months, and while he visited her often, he spent most of his time with Hugh. Sometimes she would stay in this very room and watch as they rough roused on the lawns. At those moments, it would astonish her to see the viscount smiling and so playful.
That quick greeting with Wolf over, she observed Hugh had a note in his hand. He lifted it up so she could see it and then walked further in the room to rest it on the small walnut table between the sofas. A lump formed in her throat. He had only meant to deliver the note, and from his mode of dressing, he would call for his carriage soon and be away for the rest of the day.
Where did he go when he left the manor? There would be nothing more mortifying if his affections were engaged otherwise and that attributed to his polite distance. She loathed the very idea of it, and she was painfully aware she was not able to demand he give up his lover should he have one. Even her father had a mistress, and the duchess turned a careful blind eye to it. Phoebe had always sworn she would never marry a gentleman unwilling to give up his chère amie.
“Do you have a mistress, my lord?” she blurted. Every prudent consideration had been tossed to the winds; she simply had to know.
His eyes flared wide, and Phoebe could see that she astonished him. “If you will forgive my boldness,” she said, some amusement curling through her, though she was careful to keep her composure. “I am curious to know if you are one of those gentlemen who keeps a chère amie along with a wife.” Then I can better understand my expectations.
He shook his head slowly and canted his head left, staring at her. Then he lifted his hands and made a slashing motion. She knew that to mean no. Relief hit her and, with it, a lifting of spirits.
“That is good, as I’m not the sort of lady who would tolerate such unfaithfulness in a marriage.” There, in the event the notion occurred to him in the future.
It appeared again, that small twitch of his lips and the provoking humor in his brilliant gaze. Clearly, she had amused him. Phoebe took a step toward him. She wanted him to challenge her, maybe demand how she would dare to stop him if he decided to take a mistress. With a sense of startlement, she realized she wanted to cross witty swords with him…as they had in their letters.
Phoebe could tell that he wanted to say more, and she saw the moment he changed his mind. Disappointment rushed through her. He dipped into a bow, and she hurriedly stepped forward.
“Do not leave!” Good heavens, she was losing all sense of her promise to be a proper wife. Proper wives did not question their husbands about lovers, nor did they command them to stay in a room. Blast it!
He regarded her with a slight crease between his brows.
“I have papers,” she said, waving at the table. “If you wish for us to converse…I have papers.”
His expression smoothed, he made his way over to her and looked down. With a frown, he took up the paper she had been writing on, and with a gasp she snatched it away from it. “Not this one!”
He made a motion with his hand.
Phoebe paused. The need to learn his language had blossomed through her so they could talk so much more freely. A few mornings she’d asked Caroline to teach her, but those lessons were brief and not enough for what she wanted with him. “Are you asking me why?”
He nodded once. She peered up at him, wondering why she had asked him to stay. While she appreciated his kindness, there was a reserve about him, one that cloaked him like a dark shadow and appeared impenetrable. Phoebe wasn’t certain he was aware of it. Though he was pleasant, he exuded nothing else.
Once again, her heart squeezed. She had chosen to marry this man. She did not expect love or any such nonsense, but they could be friends, if he was willing to try. “It is a letter I have been trying to write to my mother…and father. Every day I come here, and I start to write it, but I cannot seem to finish it.”
An arrested look appeared in his eyes. He made the same sign as before, and she tentatively lifted her hands and mimicked him. “Why?”
He formed another symbol.
“I know that to mean yes,” she murmured.
He nodded, his eyes unexpectedly warm and curious. At her silence, he reached for the quill and scratched on the paper.
Will you share with me?
The urge to brush aside his concern rushed through her. To indulge in witty and amusing banter was light conversation. A tremor went through her heart. Sharing her fears was different. It felt odd revealing the intimacies of her thoughts with another she had not known for so long.
What do I truly want from you, Hugh?
An unexpected agony of need swelled in her chest, constricting her throat. She wanted what she had always dreamed about, a husband who would hold her close in the night when she could not sleep, who would kiss her simply because he had to feel her lips against his. Phoebe wanted long walks and conversations; she wanted laughter. She wanted a real marriage…or what she had always envisioned a real, vibrant union to be like.
A part of her wanted to scream at her silliness, but she suppressed the urge. I am married to this man, and there is no possibility of us separating. This…whatever we have between us is until death does part us. And a closer relationship could start with her sharing more. Perhaps it was just as disconcerting for him to be married to a lady he only met a couple weeks ago, even if he had advertised for a wife.
It took several moments before the flurry in her heart subsided, and she said, “I failed to conduct myself with dignity and discretion.” The words felt as if they were dragged from her throat, they were so very painful to admit. “I failed to fulfil my parents’ hopes for me. Though I am happy I am not married to a man older than my father, there are times…there are times I ache with the knowledge of how much I hurt and have disappointed the duke and duchess, my parents. I also hurt deep inside that they did not care about hurting me or care that I might be unhappy in the marriage they arranged.”
Phoebe clasped her hands together. “I hurt deeply that the wounds between us might never be mended and our family will forever be divided. I hurt that they might never forgive me for my reckless impetuosity, and I also fear I might never forgive my mother for what she was willing to do to my child…her grandchild.”
She lowered one of her hands over the high mound of her belly. “I know how awful a baby farm is. My brother…Richard, he has the most wonderful little girl, Emily, and her mother had also given her to a baby farm to risk the cruelties and negligence that took place before my brother discovered his child. The duchess…Mama had the knowledge that many babies died in their first year…and she was still willing to consign my child to such a life. I find that when I try to write to her…I cannot,” she ended softly.
He stared at her for a long time, and the dark beauty of his eyes expressed his understanding more eloquently than words ever could. He reached for a piece of paper and wrote. We shall meet outside by the cliffs in about an hour. I will be back for you.
Confusion knitted her brows. “I…yes, of course.”
She blew out a breath and settled into the sofa once he left. While she was careful to take her daily walk around the front lawns and by the lake, she hadn’t explored the side of the estate that faced the cliff and the oceans. It had seemed too far a journey for her to walk with her swollen feet. However, a cobbler had been summoned and made shoes that were large enough for her. She had a few pairs of practical shoes and slippers now, which while comfortable were not actually that fashionable.
She glanced down at the note he’d placed on the table earlier.
Her heart ached so fiercely, she had to lower the note for several moments. Glancing down, she quickly read the rest.
Phoebe tried to imagine what her mother’s reaction would be upon receiving the news. Relief? Were you even worried about me, Mama, when I fled? Or would the duchess feel pleased that her only daughter had married one of the Winthrops, a family reputed to have more wealth and properties than the Maitlands? Society would be curious, and she expected the invitations to come pouring in, but to where would they be sent? Phoebe was not even certain if the earl had a townhouse in London.
Sarah appeared in the doorway. “Milady, I was told to help you prepare for an outing by the cliffside.”
Phoebe tucked the note into the pocket of her day dress, braced her hands on each side of the sofa, and pushed upward with a soft grunt, then she stood and rang for her maidservant. Several minutes later, she was clothed in a warmer dress and comfortable slippers. Sarah assisted her outside, and Phoebe was pleased to see Hugh waiting for her in a landeau. He hopped down and assisted her inside, and then they were off, Wolf barking and running behind their equipage.