Page 60 of Wedded to the Cruel Duke

“You have to make sure it is safe.” He did not want Phoebe slipping and injuring herself.

Both men nodded again.

“And tell the kitchens we will be having fish tonight.”

He caught O’Malley turning towards Huxley with a look of utter confusion, before directing his bewilderment back to Charles.

“Fish, milord?” he stammered. “You want fish served for dinner tonight?”

“Yes. Fish.”

“But, My Lord,” Huxley told him politely. “You have had fish for the past two nights already.”

“Does it matter if I still want it tonight?” He turned to them with a raised eyebrow. “Besides, the Marchioness told me she had a particular fondness for it.”

“Oh.”

“As you wish, My Lord,” Huxley bowed. “I shall inform the kitchens of your preference for dinner.”

His footman and butler shared a look, and Charles had the distinct idea that he could get away with almost anything as long as he told his staff that Phoebe desired it. Everyone in the estate simply adored her—from the butler and the housekeeper, down to the smallest stable boy. She had managed to charm every maid and footman within Wentworth Park and he would have it no other way.

“If there is nothing else, you may both leave,” he curtly dismissed the two men.

Moments later, after Huxley and O’Malley had left him to his own thoughts, he turned towards the window once more, frowning at the rain that pelted the glass.

He really wished the rain would stop soon.

Phoebe crouched in the shed just outside the kitchen, balancing a bowl of warm milk and some leftover fish from last night’s dinner while struggling to keep her umbrella over her head. She looked up at the angry clouds overhead and sighed.

It would seem that the rain was not about to stop anytime soon.

She knew that such dismal weather was necessary—crops needed the water to grow and all. However, she also knew for a fact that cats absolutely hated water and she feared that Whiteson might have been caught in the downpour.

Or the rain could have restricted his rodent-catching exploits.

I hope he managed to find shelter before the downpour started, she thought to herself.And if he did, then I hope nobody shoos him away.

She sighed as she set the bowls down and began to quietly call for the cat. She doubted he could hear her or if he would even come to her at all, in spite of the dismal weather.

However, moments later, she heard a plaintive meow coming from outside, just before a wet and unhappy Whiteson ambled over to her. He walked over to her and affectionately nudged her hand, his luminous eyes lighting up at the sight of the two bowls she had set down for him. He immediately went over and beganto attack the shredded fish, and when he was done with that, he proceeded to delicately lap at the milk.

“Oh, you poor dear!” she crooned as she petted him. “Where have you been? I do hope that it has not been so hard for you these past few days.”

Whiteson let out a loud meow of complaint and rubbed his furry body into her skirts.

“You poor thing, it must have been so very cold outside,” she murmured, scooping him up into her arms.

This time, he did not protest being coddled and even nestled into her warmth. When he began to purr, she knew there was no way she was going to just turn her back on him and send him on his way out into the rain.

“Charles does not seem to be overly fond of animals,” she sighed. “But he never said anything about me not being allowed to have a pet…”

Whiteson mewled pitifully and raised his eyes to hers. Phoebe felt the corners of her mouth tip into a smile.

“You must promise to be very quiet, though,” she warned him. “And no wandering about—I know how you tend to go gallivanting where you are not supposed to.”

She thought of how she had gone after him that one fateful night, following him right under the trapdoor of Wentworth Park. She smiled when she recalled just how frightened she had been when Charles found her there. It could be said that it was truly Whiteson who led them both to each other.

“In any case,” she continued, “he is not as bad as they say he is. He is just…different, I suppose. But then again, so am I, so I should understand very well how it feels.”