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.
Dear Mama,
I write to inform you that I am married, and—
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.