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Chapter Twelve

“My heart was fashioned to be susceptible of love and sympathy, and, when wrenched by misery to vice and hatred, it did not endure the violence of the change without torture such as you cannot even imagine.”

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

* * *

“T hank you, My Grace.” Annabel’s hands rested on his shoulders as she pressed a quick kiss to Philip’s crown.

He laughed, turning his body to capture her by the waist. Shifting his chair back, he lifted her onto his lap. “Last night was just as enjoyable for me, Annabel.”

Her eyes sparkled as she gazed into his eyes, causing his heart to skip a beat as he took in her glowing face. She looked ravishing.

“Not that. For being uxorious and obtaining my favorite housekeeper for me so quickly.”

“Faith! Uxorious? I merely considered it a wedding gift, as there was no time to arrange anything.”

She chuckled. “The baron’s description, not mine. I think it was a lovely surprise. I lo—liked it very much.” She looked sheepish, and Philip wondered what she had been about to say.

“Do you plan to continue calling me, My Grace?”

“Well, you are a Grace, and you are mine.” Philip disguised a shiver of pure pleasure at her affirmative possession of him. He liked … belonging to someone. Nay, he enjoyed belonging to Annabel. She was sweet, assertive, and passionate. Fate was favoring him, and he would grab hold of every moment of enjoyment he could wring from it. He had exited the half-dream world of numbness and private pain he had been living in the past three years, to discover a whole new world of light, colors, and experiences. Overwhelmed, he leaned in to nuzzle her neck, hiding the emotions that must play across his face. How had he secured such a bright light in his empty existence?

“What will you do today?” he queried hoarsely, needing a change of subject to compose himself.

“I will meet the servants properly and ensure Mrs. Harris settles in. If there is time, I shall visit the library and locate all the books I must read to prepare me for my role of duchess. Richard had not planned to take me to London for some time, and I expected to brush up on my Debrett’s and etiquette books once we married. However, that was for the mere role of countess; now I have the much more daunting task of duchess to prepare for.”

Philip embraced her slight form before lifting her to stand next to him. “That reprobate probably intended to keep you in the country forever, lest you meet his mistresses. I do plan to take you to London in the not distant future, so preparing is an excellent step to take. Will you need help?”

“I think I should read the books with the intention of actually learning and practicing. Admittedly, I was not an attentive student when my governess gave me those types of lessons, since the idea of ever using them was far from my mind. I was far more interested in reading novels and books about travel. I would like to practice on you so that you can let me know if I am applying my manners and airs correctly .” She said the last with a haughty enunciation and wave of the hand as if an arrogant old biddy receiving an introduction from a social inferior at Almack’s.

Philip laughed at her irreverent humor, picturing a young Annabel staring out the window during her lessons. “We can do that. I can also have my man of business hunt down an appropriate tutor or companion to assist you in the finer details. Either way, you are my duchess, and I will be right at your side when we introduce you to society. How about I join you in the library so I can pull the books you need, and then you can meet the servants after that?”

“You will be my hero if you climb the ladders for me.”

* * *

As they entered the enormous library, Annabel felt her head would spin yet again. The dizzying heights of two stories of bookshelves were a sight to be reckoned with, the room lit with bright exterior light from the wall of windows on one end. Small, leaded panes made them appear like a million little squares etched on the rich tapestry of blue sky and trees beyond. Latticed wood on the interior formed Moroccan-inspired arches, and a large, exotic medallion high above overlaid the bank of panes. An unexpected architectural feature, but Annabel vaguely recollected from their tour that one of the Markham ancestors had traveled to Northern Africa to engage in trade negotiations on behalf of the Empire. She could almost imagine the whiff of exotic spices as she gazed up at the intricate work that hinted of far-off lands and travel.

Philip pointed out the different sections of the library so she might find her way around the books.

“Do you have a favorite, Philip?”

“I have been much taken with Waverley in recent years.”

Annabel nodded. “A tale of the bonds of friendship and honor prevailing over the wars of men.”

Philip looked at her with appreciation in his eyes. “I like Edward had a mind of his own.”

“It surprises you I have read it. The men in my life have provided poor examples to look up to. I have to read novels to find my mentors.”

“Reading broadens the mind. Here at Avonmead, you will have plenty of opportunity to broaden your mind even further.”

“Good gracious, I doubt I can make a dent in this gargantuan library. I have never seen so many books in one place.”

“You did not tell me what your favorite book is?”

“That is a difficult decision. I love Pride and Prejudice , as it is so inspiring, but recently I enjoyed Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus , although it was very dark.”

“Ah, perhaps the two books should be melded together. Pride and Prejudice and Monsters , if you will.”

Annabel giggled. “That would be most enjoyable. Perhaps Wickham could secretly be the monster!”

“Indeed. Wickham could steal Lydia away to keep her in a dungeon for Mr. Darcy to rescue,” he countered.

Annabel’s laugh was full and unapologetic, but faltered as Philip stared down at her with a happy grin spread across his face. Several seconds passed before he spoke. “Wait here, and I will collect the volumes you need.”

Philip took to the spiral wooden staircase that led to the second level. He hunted around the shelves, the lower half of his body obscured by the wooden bannisters of the landing that embraced the three walls of books. An edifying moment hit her—as lady of the manor, she now had part ownership of all this magnificence of knowledge. She felt the need to pinch herself to ensure this moment was real.

Soon Philip descended the winding stairs with an armful of books. He set them down on the long desk below the wall of windows and placed the two volumes of Debrett’s Peerage on the top. “This set is a little out of date, so I will arrange for a newer edition. Fortunately, as my duchess, almost everyone you meet with will be your social inferior, which makes maintaining correct protocols far simpler than the role of countess.”

“Nevertheless, I believe I will need to memorize quite a bit. Thank you for assisting me.”

“Wife, it is my pleasure,” he said as he grabbed her by the waist to embrace her with affection. “Feel free to conduct your studies here in the library. This desk has ample light for a long part of the day, so you may find it the best location for reading. Or that sofa near the window.” He pointed out a sumptuous Morocco leather sofa with mahogany framing. “Despite how elegant it looks, it is actually rather comfortable for a prolonged visit in the library.”

He settled a quick kiss on her forehead and left the room. Annabel stood staring after him as he reached the carpeted corridor, listening to his muffled steps retreating down the hall as she huffed in pure contentment. Breathing in the smell of aging leather and paper, she took in the brilliant view of the parks behind the manse and the interior two stories of bibliophile heaven. Bouncing in glee, she took up a spot next to the desk at the window to survey the assorted books. Her husband had selected reading befitting a new duchess of the realm.

* * *

Annabel and Philip were enjoying a lively discussion about correct forms of address. Annabel, who could not make sense of some of the finer points of society etiquette, was arguing over her soup, waving her spoon about to emphasize her reasoning. In her opinion, the rules bordered on the ridiculous and illogical, laden with minute nuances that could get a young woman pinned as a social pariah. Philip had stated his rejoinders based on tradition, and there had been fair points to his arguments.

Over the past week, they had settled into a routine of convivial interaction during the day and honeymoon of sorts in the evening, when they adjourned to bed early. Annabel could live in this paradise for the rest of their days. It was heaven to spar with her clever, witty husband and lie in his powerful arms until he rose at dawn. Memories of her wedding day debacle had faded, and she was slipping into a new life at Avonmead that she much enjoyed.

She had just spooned up her white soup after making, in her mind, a particularly intelligent point when the door burst open. She swung her head around to find a disheveled and heavy breathing Richard dressed in his riding clothes and smelling of spirits and horse. Clinton came up behind him, sweating and panting in pursuit. Out of breath, the ruddy butler swept past him to announce, “The Earl of Saunton,” before casting a baleful eye at the offending party. The servant twirled on his heel and departed.

“Halmesbury. Annabel.” Richard sneered as he gave a drunken bow.

“What are you doing here, Saunton?”

Richard straightened as a flash of fury crossed his face. “It is beyond the pale, Halmesbury! I have been seething for days since I encountered you at Filminster’s. Your arrogant interference is beyond the pale!” he roared, making Annabel jump in her seat at the unexpected rage and volume.

“We will go to my study,” said Philip in a low, angry voice. He stood abruptly. His chair teetered for just a moment before righting.

“Does Annabel know why you married her? Does she know about our sodding imaginary love triangle? Although now it is a love quadrangle, I suppose.”

“Saunton, go to my study,” hissed the duke.

“While I think it is high time that Miss Ridley … I mean, the fine Duchess of Halmesbury be told that she is a sacrificial pawn on the chessboard of your petty rev— hic —venge. Shall I tell her, or are you going to be a man and explain why you married her?”

Philip turned to Annabel. “Get out!” he barked. It took her a moment to realize he was barking at her , not Richard. A calamity of emotions hit her, slowing her reactions so that all she could do was stare dumbstruck into Philip’s face. The dramatic change in his mood was jarring, and the coldness with which he spoke froze her chest in a painful vise-grip.

Philip raised his voice. “GET OUT, ANNABEL!”

“But …” she spluttered.

“NOW, ANNABEL!”

Her throat thickened and her eyes pricked as she clumsily pushed her chair back, accidentally crashing it onto the floor as she rose in haste. She did her best to gather her dignity, but she was afraid there was nothing graceful about her exit as she stumbled from the room, nearly tripping over her own skirts. Heavy footfalls sounded, and the door slammed hard behind her, shaking the frame and the floor with its force. She stood in the hall in shock, her thoughts unraveling. Her head felt thick, and she couldn’t think what she should do next as she pressed a hand to her stressed stomach. She raised the back of her hand against her mouth to muffle a sob, realizing she could not stand in the hall like a ninny, lest the two men exit the room and find her there.

She considered remaining to eavesdrop, but her hands were icy and her breath thready. She did not think she could cope with any revelations that she may overhear if she remained, so she took a tentative step away from the door and then another. It seemed prudent to retreat until she could compose herself, so she continued up the primary staircase, barely aware of her environ until she reached her bedchamber and lay on the bed to stare at the ceiling. Confusion and dismay coalesced into dry sobs that racked her frame. His rage had been so out of character, and she battled to make sense of why Philip had thrown her out. Was her marriage an act of revenge? Richard had implied there was more to Philip’s incentives than he had revealed—was it true? What secret was her husband hiding? What did the two men discuss downstairs?

Her hopes of aspiring affection from her husband had seemed a realistic goal over their first few romantic days together, but what did she truly know about her duke and his intentions? Perhaps he made every girl feel special with that intent manner he had of listening carefully to her, as if what she said mattered. As if she mattered. What if she was only a pitiful project, such as his foundlings, that he was treating kindly with no true investment of emotion? A pathetic woman in need of saving. Tolerated as a necessary substitute for the woman he had truly loved.

Her thoughts clouded into a storm of tears as she felt her tenuous happiness of the past few days evaporating to ashes in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

Philip had not experienced such rage since he had thrown Richard out of Avonmead on his ear the night of his wife’s death. The man was a dog, and he wanted him out of his house, far away from his lovely bride.

“Annabel is mine. You have no right to enter my home, you despicable blackguard. I told you the last time you were here to never darken my doorway again.”

“Have you?”

“Have I what?” Philip demanded, fury heating his veins.

“Have you told Annabel the true reason you married her? She thinks you are a hero who rescued her from a terrible and fated union with me but, damn it, I really care about her. While you are just playing out some petty revenge as a jealous husband who can’t see the truth … the truth … for the trees.” Richard swayed drunkenly.

“You are not in a fit state, so I will not argue with you over this. Suffice it to say that I care about Annabel far more than you ever could, and you know nothing of my reasons for saving her from an arrogant reprobate like you !” Philip had felt a flash of satisfaction at his articulate retort until he noticed that his inebriated cousin had fallen into a dining chair and passed out.

Cursing, he stalked over to ring the bell. Clinton appeared in moments with two hefty footmen, clearly expecting his signal to return and throw the drunken lord out on his ear. Unfortunately, his drunken cousin would have to stay the night. If they attempted to throw Saunton out, he would simply lie in an intoxicated pile on the front drive. Blast! He wanted to rid himself of the despised man’s presence without delay.

By the time Philip had gotten the earl into a guest chamber for the night, with express instructions to throw his unwanted presence out at the crack of dawn after they had fed him a cup of coffee, his breathing was coming in shallow, infuriated bursts. He paced in his bedchamber, but he was too angry to sleep, and he had no desire for company, or to have Annabel question him on Richard’s accusation.

Blast, blast, blast!

He stalked out, banging the door as he exited. Once entrenched in his study, he poured a brandy and drank it down in quick gulps before pouring another. He froze, facing the sideboard when he heard light footsteps enter the room.

“Not tonight, Annabel.” He did not turn and continued to stare at his decanter.

He heard her take a deep inhalation as if to say something. The next moment, she exhaled and was gone. Philip was left alone, staring into the shallow depth of his brandy.

He went to sit in the stuffed armchair, to stare at the flames in the fireplace that had not yet been extinguished. His household was in uproar and the fire temporarily forgotten, which suited him fine. It reflected his mood.