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Chapter Thirteen

"I am alone and miserable; man will not associate with me."

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

* * *

P hilip started from a restless doze, his late wife’s pained words blending with Richard’s drunken tirades to form a tapestry of unsettling dreams. Dreams where the weight of solitude pressed on him, threatening to pull him into despair.

The room was dim, the onset of evening casting long shadows. Sconces flickered gently, their light spilling across the floor, while the fire in the hearth danced, painting shifting patterns on the walls. A servant must have entered while he slept, tending the room with quiet efficiency.

He lifted his head, his neck protesting from hours spent awkwardly bent against the arm of the chair. Groaning softly, he reached for the decanter on the nearby table and poured a measure of amber liquid. He heard the faint splash of droplets escaping the glass, but he had no energy to ensure the table was spared from the spill. Raising the drink to his lips, he swallowed deeply, seeking to silence the voices of the past that still lingered in the corners of his mind.

* * *

It had been three days since Richard had burst into their dinner. Annabel knew it had been precisely three days, as this was the third night she was taking her supper alone in the dining room. She kept hoping Philip would join her, but as the hour ticked slowly by, it was clear he had no such plans. He had retreated into his study when he was not out riding in the park. She had barely caught a glimpse of him, other than a fleeting shadow at the end of a passage.

She had never felt so alone.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and with dull detachment, she watched it fall onto her plate. She wished she knew what was wrong. What had Philip and Richard discussed after she had left the room? Why had her promising new marriage suddenly unraveled into … into … into this desolate silence?

Another tear slid down her chin, and she let it fall. She could put on a brave face, but what was the point? There was no one here to notice the effort.

The sound of low footsteps reached her ears, and she immediately felt a flicker of resentment, her earlier instruction to the footmen to leave her undisturbed clearly ignored. Lacking the energy to care, she did not bother to look up as the door clicked shut and a chair scraped the floor beside her.

Mrs. Harris settled heavily into the seat, giving a small huff of exertion.

“What happened, my girl?”

Annabel bit back an uncharitable remark. She could not take her sorrow out on the older woman, who was her only source of comfort in this unfamiliar house. Staring at her plate, she knew Mrs. Harris would not let the matter drop. She sighed and relented.

After a moment, she shrugged. “I do not know. Lord Saunton shouted something about a love triangle—or love quadrangle, or some such nonsense—and then Philip threw me out of the room. He yelled at me. He has not spoken to me since.” Her voice trembled as more tears splattered onto her plate. “Perhaps he regrets marrying me?”

Mrs. Harris sighed deeply, her hazel eyes clouded with concern. “Child, I do not believe the duke would have married you if he didn’t want to. He strikes me as a man who knows his own mind, and no one belowstairs has said otherwise. I suspect something else is troubling him, and he does not know how to face it. According to the staff, his behavior these past three days is entirely out of character. Whatever this is, it is about him, not you. Do not let your mind trick you into thinking otherwise. Sometimes, men just need time to untangle their thoughts.”

Annabel mulled this over. “You think he has a problem he cannot face?”

“I do. Based on my experience, men often struggle to share what’s weighing on their minds. It can be hard for them to admit when they are vulnerable or hurting. His Grace appears to be grappling with something heavy, and I doubt he will resolve it alone if he has locked himself in his study for three days.”

“But what can I do?”

Mrs. Harris gave her an encouraging smile. “It takes a strong woman to refuse to let such a thing fester. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, my girl, and make that handsome husband of yours talk to you. Remember what your dear mother always said: ‘Fortune favors the bold!’?”

Annabel hiccuped a small laugh as the housekeeper mimicked her mother’s tone. “That is exactly what Mama would say.”

Her mother’s words reignited a flicker of determination. A sudden surge of optimism shot through her as Annabel pushed back her chair and stood. Raising a triumphant fist in the air, she declared, “ Carpe diem! ”

Mrs. Harris blinked, her expression bemused.

“Seize the day, Mrs. Harris, seize the day!”

Annabel marched through the hallways, her slippered feet tapping on the polished floors. When she reached the study, she flung the door open with a bang and stuck her foot against it to keep it from swinging back in her face. She stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, determination blazing in her eyes.

“Husband, we must talk!”

* * *

Philip opened a bleary eye at the interruption and sighed. “Please leave, Annabel.”

He knew he was being unreasonable, but the weight of his memories had him trapped. For three days, he had wrestled with the past, and retreating into solitude had seemed the only way to endure the turmoil. Yet every hour in the study only deepened his despair. He glanced at the decanter, knowing another sip would do nothing to help but feeling too defeated to stop himself.

“No!” Her voice rang with confidence, and Philip turned his head in surprise. Annabel strode across the room with determination, her presence like a breath of fresh air blowing away the suffocating shadows that clung to him.

“When did you last eat?” she demanded, stopping next to his chair and planting her hands on her hips.

Philip blinked at her audacity, then frowned as he searched his mind. “I had coffee this morning. Perhaps some toast.”

“Well, there is a perfectly fine meal waiting on the table, and we are going to eat it. Then, you will come upstairs to rest. In the morning, when you are yourself again, you will tell me what is troubling you.”

Before he could protest, she grasped his arm with a firm but gentle hand and urged him to stand.

“No arguments, Philip. First food, then rest, and then talking.” Her tone left no room for negotiation.

For a moment, he hesitated. Then, seeing the resolve in her gaze, he rose to follow her. As she led him toward the dining table, he felt something shift—a small crack in the darkness that had engulfed him. Her presence was a reminder that he was no longer alone, that he had someone at his side willing to face the shadows with him. He disguised a sigh of relief as his bold, compassionate wife stopped his slide into dark despair, gently guiding him back toward the light.

* * *

Dawn stole its way into her room. She nestled close to her large, warm-blooded husband. She already felt better, even though they had yet to talk. Philip’s color had returned as she had forced him to dinner, his gray pallor evaporating to reveal his usual robust tones. After a quick dinner, they had come to her bedchamber, where a bath had been prepared. She had undressed him and made him wash. Afterward, he had dried himself and joined her in bed, silently wrapping his arms around her before falling into an exhausted sleep.

She opened her eyes and found Philip’s deep gray ones gazing at her in the half-light. The corner of his mouth crooked up in a half-smile.

“Philip, what happened?”

“I think—I think perhaps I was grieving.”

“Grieving?”

“So much has happened the past couple of weeks. It kept me preoccupied. But with a new beginning, one has to let go of the past. Richard’s visit brought the past into the present, and for a moment I got … lost. Unexpended grief, I guess. I did not take the opportunity to mourn when Jane died. At the time, I sort of suppressed all that emotion. Except for my anger at Richard, whom I threw out in a holy fit of rage. A couple of maids quit because of it which I could not blame them for.”

Annabel was silent for a few minutes, thinking. “When my mother died, I was lost. Luckily, I had Mrs. Harris. She forced me to talk about it. My loss, my worries, my pain. Talking helps. Otherwise, the thoughts get locked in your head, and they can get a little disordered trapped in there. When you say them out loud, it is easier to hear the illogic of your thoughts and make better sense of them.”

“Hmm. You make an interesting point. I used to talk to Richard all the time, and I was less lonely back then. When it turned out he had no loyalty, I guess I found myself truly alone. My brother and I are not very close.” He hesitated. “I guess you want to know what happened with Jane. And Richard?”

“I believe it is time for you to talk about it, My Grace.” She threw an impudent grin before continuing. “We tried it your way, and now we need to try it my way, as your way turned you into a belligerent drunk, and I happen to like your grace, not your beastliness.” She nestled closer to him. He put his arm around her and pulled her into the side of his body as he half seated himself against her headboard.

Philip sighed, his thick blond lashes fanning his broad cheeks as he searched for words. “I am unsure where to begin …”

He was silent for several moments before continuing. “Jane was the perfect debutante. Proper, lovely, and sweet. I was in love at almost first sight. She was everything I thought I wanted.” He went quiet, his expression bemused as his thoughts returned to the past. “As soon as we married, the trouble started. Our wedding night was … turbulent.”

“How so?” she blurted, then felt sheepish. “Sorry, it is your story.”

He looked down at her and pressed a quick peck to her forehead. “She was not prepared for our … ahem …” Philip sought the right word. “… relations? Her mother died when she was young, and I do not think she had a Mrs. Harris to talk to her about the wedding night. It was most unpleasant. I upset her greatly, as I mishandled it, being much more experienced than she.”

Annabel blushed at the direction of the conversation. Drawing a fortifying breath, she asked the question at the foremost of her mind, the answer that Philip needed to express to let go of his past mistakes. “How did you mishandle it?”

Philip looked away and cleared his throat uncomfortably. “It started with kissing. I thought I was gentle, but I must have been too amorous, which shocked her, and then it was downhill from there, so I stopped that night since it was clear it was too much for her. I tried to have a talk about what to expect, which resulted in her weeping. She thought it all sounded beastly, so I left her alone for about a week until I tried again. I had to coax her over two months until we finally consummated the marriage, at which point she started avoiding me. If I tried to visit her, she threw recriminations at me until I floundered for anything to say. To calm her.”

“It sounds like the problem was not you, Philip. There must be history there for your late wife that made her so timid.”

“That is what I thought, but I am afraid events unfolded to prove me wrong. I started leaving Jane alone, because she appeared calmer when she was not in my presence. I attempted to bridge our relationship by meeting her at breakfast and being especially gentle in dialogue and whatnot. But after three months, Mrs. Thorne came to me and asked if I knew Jane was with child. I was flabbergasted. She must have conceived the one time we … engaged … and had never told me. So I wrote to Saunton and asked him to visit, as I felt I was going out of my mind trying to work out how to save my marriage. I needed to talk to someone to work out some sort of strategy—a tactical plan—to bridge the chasm between us, and he was the only one I could think of. We were close back then.”

“That sounds like it would have been a good idea.”

“Yes, you would think so. However, it made it worse. Saunton arrived, and we discussed the matter. I assumed that as a renowned rake, he knew much about women of every kind. I thought we came up with a good plan of action where I would court her and perhaps hire a widow as a companion. An experienced woman who would keep her company and give her a better perspective on … ahem … marital relations.”

“That is actually an inspired idea about the companion—a sort of mother or older sister figure to help guide her and campaign on your behalf. Whose idea was that?”

“Richard’s.”

Annabel was impressed, despite detesting Richard. “He just rose slightly in my estimation.”

“Not when you hear the rest.” Philip pulled a face. “I tasked my man of business to find a suitable companion while I renewed my courtship. Richard remained on hand to guide me each step of the way. After three weeks, Jane seemed happier—I thought we were improving—until one night she took ill after dinner. Mrs. Thorne and Mary were taking care of her while we awaited a doctor, but by the early hours of the morning, she had a raging fever and was delirious. The doctor said we could not do much other than feed her liquids and sponge her regularly. We took turns to keep vigil, although I barely left her room even when I could. That is when I discovered Richard’s true intent in visiting. The reprobate had not enough women in London. He wanted my beautiful Jane, too!” Philip’s voice rose in anger as he recounted. Stopping, he clearly struggled to collect himself. “She started crying out for Richard.”

Annabel stilled in horror. “You mean …”

“Yes, they had clearly started an affair during his visit. So you see, it was not marital relations she could not abide, it was me.” Philip’s face displayed a strange mingle of anger, grief, and shame. “My sweet wife thought I was a beast. She would not stop calling for Richard, crying out how she needed him, loved him, that he could not leave her alone. For hours, I tried to calm her in her delirium while she called repeatedly for another man. Finally, I had Mrs. Thorne seek Saunton out to summon him to the room. Anything to calm Jane down. We met outside this room in the hall, and I told him I knew of the affair and that Jane needed him. The cad denied everything and refused to enter the room. Eventually I returned and pretended I was Richard, taking her hand and comforting her that I was there, and I would not leave her.”

“Oh, Philip! I am so sorry.” Annabel’s eyes moistened at the pain in her husband’s voice. She wanted to tell him to stop his recounting, as it was too painful to bear, but she could not. Philip needed to relate it, and she could not display the depths of selfishness that Saunton had. She must permit the duke to finish his story if he was to achieve relief.

Philip shut his eyes tightly, a lone tear still escaping down his cheek to drip off his chin. “I felt so betrayed, but there was no time to have any feelings about it. My wife was gravely ill. I had to be by her side. It only took another day, with Mrs. Thorne and I doing our best to ease her before she expired. My sweet, darling wife who hated me so, and our unborn child. Both gone before I ever formed a meaningful relationship with her. That is when the rage hit me. I hunted Saunton down—he was still here—and I threw his treacherous behind out. He lied the entire time, protesting that he would never touch the wife of such a close friend. I could still hear Jane calling for him over and over again in my mind while he refused to help. I threw him out the door and told him to never darken my doorstep again.”

Annabel ran a soothing hand over Philip’s chest as he trembled with repressed emotion. “I am so sorry, husband. You suffered far worse at Richard’s hands than I.”

Philip’s eyes were sightless as he gazed into the past, his mind still lost in the mists of time. He took his time responding. “Thank you for giving me a chance to talk. Do you mind if I go for a ride? I need to clear my mind.”

Annabel nodded and slowly rolled away. Philip stood and gathered up his clothes from the night before, exiting through their connecting door.

Annabel looked around her luxurious duchess chambers, filled with warm ivories, rich mahoganies, and splashes of deep red, imagining the beautiful former duchess isolated in these same chambers to avoid her lovelorn duke. Philip’s true love. Her heart sank as she quietly accepted that Philip had, indeed, married Annabel in an act of revenge. She had suspected such since their wedding day, but hearing it confirmed was … depressing.

She brooded on what she would do next. She had chosen the hand she had been dealt, choosing this life with Philip rather than a loveless marriage with Richard as the female equivalent of a cuckold. Was there even a word for a woman who was cuckolded, considering the social norms her father claimed existed for men of Richard’s station? Perhaps the word for a female cuckold was simply … wife? Or, without a doubt, Richard’s wife .

She admitted to herself that she was lost. How was she to guide her marriage into the happy future she had envisioned? She had chosen this path, and she needed to make the best of it. Philip’s experiences were heartbreaking, but now it was time to pick up all of these pieces of life they had and build with them. Being someone’s incarnation of revenge was better than being someone’s cuckold … was it not? She needed to be careful to not pin too many hopes or expectations on her husband. His past clearly haunted him, and he still suffered from the loss of his great love.

She would need to devise a plan for their marriage while not becoming too invested in the outcome, lest she be horribly disappointed. She could not afford another stab to the heart, such as the devastating moment she had discovered Richard in the stables. Despondent, she sat up to peer sightlessly in the direction of the window, lost in a gray interior world of thought.

Was she doomed to never be loved? Did she just not have that quality or beauty that would attract a man’s unfailing adoration? Perhaps the baron was correct about her. Perhaps she was not as unique as Mama had always claimed, but rather, she was just odd. Not to mention small-minded, to be stricken with jealousy of a tragic dead woman.

* * *

Annabel had finally made it back to the library. She had not seen Philip since he had gone riding that morning. Settling into her role as duchess seemed daunting, but with Mrs. Harris excelling in her duties, Annabel resolved to begin her own training in earnest. She picked up a red leather-bound volume of Debrett’s Peerage, trying to ignore the uneasy thoughts that Philip’s revelations about his late wife had stirred. Perhaps understanding the past could help her navigate the future.

She was still absorbed in her thoughts when she heard soft footfalls behind her. A familiar pair of arms encircled her gently. Startled, she jumped slightly, but then relaxed as Philip rested his chin on the top of her head.

“Hello, wife,” he murmured warmly.

Annabel turned to face him, her heart lifting at his affectionate tone. His windswept appearance and bright eyes gave him an invigorated look she had not seen before.

“Hello, My Grace,” she replied, smiling up at him.

“What are you up to, duchess?”

“Spending time with you, I hope,” she answered lightly.

A wide smile spread across his face. Taking her hand, he coaxed her to stand. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, the tenderness in his touch sending warmth through her body.

He led her to the Grecian library sofa and seated her gently before lowering himself beside her. His expression was thoughtful as he gazed into her eyes, his hands encasing hers.

“I have missed you,” he confessed softly.

Annabel’s chest swelled with emotion. “I missed you too.”

He raised a hand to caress her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across her skin. “These past few days have been a storm in my mind, but you bring the calm.”

Touched by his words, she leaned into his hand, closing her eyes briefly before meeting his gaze. Slowly, he leaned in, capturing her lips with his. The kiss was tender but intense as he poured his emotions into the embrace.

They parted, their foreheads resting together. “Philip,” she whispered, “I want to build something good with you, but we must talk more, share more.”

His gray eyes softened, and he nodded. “We will. I promise.”

He pulled her into a close embrace, holding her against his chest. The rhythmic beat of his heart was steady and reassuring. Annabel felt hope blooming within her. They could build a life together, one step at a time, leaving the shadows of the past behind.

There was a future for them—a future of trust, understanding, and perhaps, love. Annabel’s spirits soared. They could build a future of their own creation. She thought, just maybe, they could one day share a marriage of love rather than revenge. They could make this work … as long as Richard stayed away.