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.