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Chapter Seventeen

“Everywhere I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded.”

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

* * *

P hilip froze as a turmoil of emotions hit him. On the one hand, he felt joy. Other than his parents, no one had ever said that to him. On the other hand, he was horrified. Why horror was not clear, other than no one had ever told him that!

He had wanted to win Jane’s love but never had. Since her death, he had had no thoughts or hopes of love, just partnership.

Annabel squirmed before babbling out with high nerves, “I mean I love that you care about my happiness , I love that so much.”

Philip rolled away and sat up. Uncertain what to say or do, he jumped from the bed and walked to the washbasin. Pouring water from the jug, he dampened a towel and dabbed at his face, welcoming the chill as he attempted to gather his thoughts. Bemused, he returned to the bed.

Annabel flinched away from him and scrambled to the side of the bed and turned her back to him while she cleaned herself. “Do not concern yourself. My apologies. I did not mean to say that to you or put you under any pressure, so no need to concern yourself … I-I am sorry.” She slowed down on the last, her voice thick. He perceived she was trying to not cry and felt appalled. What did one say next? It was all … so unexpected, and he did not know how he felt, so how could he respond?

“Annabel, I hold you in the highest esteem. You are attractive and vibrant and smart as a whip. I?—”

“Please, Philip, it is all right. You do not have to say anything. This changes nothing. I am not expecting anything. Can we pretend I did not say it … please!” Her shoulders shook slightly as she lost the battle to hold back her tears. He could hear her muffled sniffs beneath her heaving breath.

His heart was breaking. He did not know what to do in this situation; he was so ill-equipped to handle such emotions. His first wife had despised him, and his new wife had surprised him with a declaration of love he was unprepared to hear. He floundered, staring at his miserable, sweet Annabel hunched in the far corner of the enormous bed. He sifted through his thoughts and tried again.

“Annabel, I admire you. You are courage and loyalty and honor. You fill my life?—”

“ Richard did not betray you! ” she yelled at the wall she was facing.

“What?”

“Jane Marley was born a twin!” she blurted out. “His name was Richard. He died falling out of a tree when they were ten, and Jane was never the same again. She called for him for many months after he died, suffering from nightmares that she woke screaming from. Mary told me all about it when I questioned her after I read about the Marley family in Debrett’s Peerage .”

“What?” Philip felt like his mind was coming undone.

“I am not loyal or honorable. I’m definitely not brave. I did not tell you when I discovered the truth. I hoped you would never find out. So, you see, you do not owe me any declarations of love. I do not deserve them. I wanted to be selfish. I did not want to tell you that Richard might have hurt me, but he never betrayed you. You should find Richard. You deserve to have a friend. The one friend that did not betray you or keep any secrets, as it turns out.”

Philip had not experienced such confusion since his late wife’s illness and death. He could not think until one point flew out to hit him square on.

Richard did not betray me!

He had thrown his best friend out of his house and cut off all communication with him, and Richard had done nothing to deserve it! He had stolen the man’s bride, justifying his desire for Annabel with the fact that Richard deserved it.

“Is this why we had that strange conversation about the Marley family?”

Annabel tensed. Philip waited during the pregnant pause until she finally answered, “Yes.”

“Faith! I need to speak to Richard!”

“Yes.”

“He should be in residence at Saunton Park at this time of the year. If I leave at first light, I can be there by the evening. I must take care of this, and then I will return. I … emotions are turbulent at this moment, and … I think … I think it would be best for us both to spend a day or two clearing our heads, and we can talk when I return. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

Philip barely noticed Annabel’s dull response as he hurried to dress, his mind distracted by the implications of how he had severed a close relationship over a ridiculous misunderstanding. He needed to clear this matter up— stuff! He had just stolen the man’s bride without the slightest twinge of conscience!

The man may have done ill to Annabel, but not himself, and although the outcome would not have differed, the execution could have been more adroit had he known there was no reason to be personally outraged with the man.

* * *

As Philip rushed from her room, Annabel stared vacantly at the wall in front of her. She could not believe what a muck she had made of her promising new marriage. She found she did not like herself as she thought about how she had suppressed her discovery.

And justified it.

Philip had deserved to know about Richard. She should have taken her chances and told him straightaway, put his happiness first. Instead, she had been selfish and hidden the truth. She had broken trust with her husband.

Maybe they could have overcome the discovery, but her subsequent silence had assuredly ruined any hope of trust between them. Annabel dropped her head into her hands as wrenching sobs escaped, tearing through her chest. She knew not if her tears were for Philip’s dismay when she had blurted out her feelings, or remorse for her own despicable betrayal. She knew only that her heart was cracking as she pressed a hand down on it to ease the agony.

Annabel thought about the irony that Richard had remained true to his friendship with Philip, but had brought them together through their misunderstanding. Apparently, the earl possessed loyalty. Perhaps there was just something too unlovable about Annabel to earn any of that loyalty for herself. She simply had not been important enough for Richard to remain true to her. Surely her recent actions in withholding the truth from Philip, a truth that would have helped him regain his friendship, spoke to her unlovable nature. Perhaps she was more her awful father’s daughter than her beloved mother’s.

Things were falling apart, and her mother had never seemed so distant and long gone. For the first time, she no longer could imagine Mama’s voice guiding her. She could not bear to think about what her mother would have to say about her recent behavior.

She sat alone in the empty room and thought about how Mama had passed away and left her. Brendan had abandoned her, Richard had betrayed her, and now her husband would surely desert her. It felt like history repeating itself yet again, but this time, there was no one to blame. Her dreams of romantic love with her husband tasted like ashes on her lips as she realized she had probably damaged any chance she had to earn his love.

She doubted she would have another opportunity now that she had proved her selfish nature. She massaged the ache in her chest, but there was no easing the pain of her breaking heart.

* * *

Philip rode for an entire day in the wrong direction, thinking Richard was at his country seat in Saunton. When he reached Saunton Park, he learned Richard had left three days earlier for London. Philip stayed the night and then was forced to turn back to Avonmead to arrange for his carriage to drive him to London, which caused him to lose yet another day riding back. When he stopped at Avonmead, he had thought he should take a few minutes to ensure Annabel was well, but it was late at night and he concluded she was probably sleeping so would not appreciate him invading her room stinking of horse, sweat, and dust.

He stood at their connecting door, missing her, and concerned about the way they had left things. Raising his hand to turn the handle, he hesitated, then dropped it. He did not know what to say to her, as he had not yet sorted out his feelings, and if he could not return her love, he was going to have to work out how to let her down gently. He wished … perhaps he wished he could just return in time to two nights earlier, when he had been with Annabel in her room, to address her outburst with more compassion. His poor wife had been so humiliated. He suspected he had not handled the outpouring about Jane and Richard Marley very well. He tried to recollect if he had actually responded to the revelations or had just run off to make amends with Saunton.

Philip attempted to recall their encounter, but his thoughts had been a whir after she told him she loved him, followed by the truth of Jane’s defection turning out to be a false assumption.

Annabel is probably fast asleep, so this is not the time to talk.

Instead, he walked away from the door to wash up with cold water at his washstand before changing in a hurry and departing again with the ducal carriage for London.

He needed to find his cousin and make amends for betraying their friendship in such an awful manner. No wonder Richard had been so bitter the last time he had visited Avonmead, interrupting his dinner with Annabel. Philip had not the just cause he believed at the time to steal the man’s bride.

He could only say the man’s bride had begged him to intervene, and he could not bring himself to regret that aspect of the misunderstanding, but he regretted throwing Richard from his home when his friend had been trying to assist him with his first marriage. It was clear now why the earl had refused to enter Jane’s rooms when they had argued in the hall;

Richard had known his presence could not be a comfort to her, as they had no connection to each other.

* * *

Annabel lay in bed. She had heard Philip return, and he was moving around in the adjoining chambers. It was late, but she hoped he would enter her bedchamber to talk to her as he had on their wedding night. He had been gone for two days, and she had barely left her bed. She had been unwell—bilious and fatigued. Feeling guilty and disheartened had not helped. She lay huddled, listening to the sounds from the other room. She almost held her breath in anticipation when she heard him hesitate at their connecting door. But then his soft footfalls had moved away until she heard the far-off click of his door when he departed his chambers.

She thought about tossing the covers aside and racing to confront him, to demand that they talk, but the last thing her husband had said was that he needed to clear his head, and she still felt ashamed by her behavior, uncertain what she would say if she accosted him.

Perhaps her husband thought he had married the wrong woman and regretted their sudden nuptials. Would there be any more special moments in the future, the thrill of sweet kisses in the halls and shared rides on the estate? Or had he decided he had made a mistake in marrying her, and they would have an empty, loveless future ahead while she suffered from his disappointment in choosing the wrong wife?

Annabel knew she was spiraling, but she did not have the energy to fight it. She had elevated her hopes too high, and now she was paying the price for her overconfidence. She swallowed hard as a wave of nausea threatened.

She contemplated the events that had led her to Philip’s study the day they had met, and she did not know whether to hate Richard or be grateful to him for setting her on this path. These had been the best weeks of her life, but at present she was disoriented about where things stood. She never knew such happiness was possible, but were the fates planning to snatch it away?

It was not fate; it was I. I betrayed Philip by concealing the truth for my own selfish purposes.

Annabel accepted the veracity of that statement.

She must recover her strength and go force her husband to have a conversation.

But not right now, she decided spiritlessly and turned to stare at the wall; the morning would be a better time. She would allow Philip to get some rest and then find him in the morning.

Except … disappointment crept over her when she heard the distant sound of a carriage driving away from the mansion and she realized her husband had left again.

* * *

Listless and tired, Annabel drifted in and out of restless sleep all night until midmorning. Prying her eyes open, her head pulsed in agonized exhaustion, her eyes feeling grainy and her lids too heavy to open more than a slit before she groaned and turned over to go back to sleep. She wondered if she had imagined the duke’s almost-visit the night before, because her short bursts of sleep had been interspersed with dozens of disturbing dreams.

Had he really turned away from her door? Her thoughts drifted as if she were weightless in a gray fog. She could not focus long enough to recall the memory. Perhaps it had been a dream. Why would Philip return to Avonmead? All that waited for him here were memories of the first wife he had loved and lost, along with a new wife who had turned out to be devious.

Annabel did not like those thoughts, so she turned her mind back to memories. She drifted around moments with her mother and tried to avoid recent events. She could not think of Philip yet, not without an ache in the region of her heart.

She wondered vaguely whether it would be a good idea to rise and find something to do. Perhaps taking a walk would help.

Why, why did I tell him I loved him? Why did I hide the truth about Richard Marley or trick Philip into that ridiculous discussion about Jane’s family?

She vaguely recollected that she had thought about rising a few moments earlier to take a walk and start clearing her head. However, that would take energy and effort, and her body felt too boneless.

Later … later she would get up and eat. Right now, she would sleep.