Page 21 of The Work of Art

“Stop!” Philly cried out. “Oh, please stop!”

Moreland took a moment to compose himself, tugging his waistcoat back into place, and brushing off his sleeves. When he turned back to her, his black eyes were as cold and inscrutable as they’d been at the Worthings’ ball. “Come now, there’s no need to make yourself ridiculous over it.” He held his hand out to her to assist her into the landau.

Philly couldn’t bear to touch him. She was in shock, astonished by his brutality.

Her hesitation wasn’t borne well by Moreland. When she didn’t willingly put her hand into his, he forcibly took it. “Miss Satterthwaite, you try my patience. I begin to think you as stupid as my dogs. Come now. Look at them. They’ve benefitted from my correction.”

Her eyes went to the two dogs even as she climbed numbly into the landau. They were sitting in the same elegant way they’d been when first she’d walked out of the townhouse. Rather than set her mind at ease, it distressed her even more. He strikes them often, she thought with a deepening sense of dread. They’ve become used to it. No wonder they snarled and snapped at her.

Moreland climbed into the landau. He took the seat across from her, fixing his gaze on her face just as he had during the waltz. The dogs leapt into the seat beside him, and the footman vaulted easily up beside the coachman.

As the carriage began to move, it occurred to Philly that such a vehicle was ideal for the duke’s purpose. He could keep his eyes upon her for the entire drive.

Unable to face him, she stared unseeing at a point just beyond Moreland’s right shoulder. Her heart pounded against her rib cage, and her hands trembled in her lap. She wanted to go home, but all she could do was sit very still and look out into the distance, realizing that what she’d sensed in Moreland at the Worthings’ ball had been cruelty.

She wasn’t so naïve as to believe such behavior toward animals didn’t exist. Living in the country all her life, she’d seen many cruel acts perpetrated by humans against animals. Indeed, each of her own dogs had come from situations of the most severe mistreatment. However, something in the way the duke had struck his beautiful dog had shaken her to her very core. His face had become a stark, impenetrable mask, and his eyes had appeared void of all emotion.

He hadn’t struck the dog in a fit of anger, she was certain. There was something extraordinarily coldblooded about the act. And suddenly she knew, with a sickening sense of clarity, that the Duke of Moreland would strike his wife as easily and as remorselessly as he would strike his dogs.

If Moreland had any idea of the direction her thoughts were tending, he gave no indication. He said not a word, merely sat back in his seat and looked at her as the landau entered the park and joined the rest of fashionable society, out in force on their daily promenade.

The dull gray of the morning had given way to a bright, sunny afternoon, and the park was filled with all manner of carriages and riders. Philly saw ladies in beautiful gowns with stylish bonnets of every variety, and gentlemen in gaudily striped waistcoats driving sporting curricles. What appeared to be an entire family travelled in a barouche, and smaller rigs carried courting couples or gentlemen driving alone, intent on flirting with any passing female.

“Afternoon, Your Grace,” a young dandy called as he drove by in a brightly colored phaeton, a young lady on the seat beside him.

“Your Grace.” An older gentleman in a carriage bowed his head.

It seemed each person who passed bid good afternoon to the duke, and to every salutation the duke gave a cool nod in response and nothing more. A few who had met Philly at the Worthings’ gave her a greeting, as well. She even saw Mr. Forsythe. He was standing near some trees along the edge of the park, staring at the duke’s carriage as it passed, and looking far more serious than he had when last Philly had seen him.

She expected some form of acknowledgment from him, but Mr. Forsythe didn’t seem to see her at all. He was looking, rather intently, at Moreland.

Not that it mattered. Philly was in no mood for polite conversation. Indeed, whenever she was addressed, her reply was no less coldly civil than the duke’s.

She’d never taken part in this sort of display. If she hadn’t been in such a state of shock, she might have felt self-conscious. From the moment the landau entered the throng, all eyes were upon them. No one made even the slightest effort to be discreet in their stares and whispers.

“All of this attention is for you, Miss Satterthwaite,” Moreland remarked after they’d driven some distance in silence.

It was the first time he’d spoken to her since assisting her into the carriage. Philly forced herself to look at him. The two dogs were sitting up in the seat beside him, their noses in the fresh air, giving every appearance of enjoying themselves. The duke himself looked quite comfortable, showing no sign of being affected by the earlier incident.

“No one has seen your equal,” he said with smug satisfaction. “And they’re not ever likely to.”

Philly wondered how much longer the drive could possibly last.

“You don’t seek attention, do you Miss Satterthwaite? You merely sit there, as still and silent as a statue. As if you were a sculpture carved from stone.” His mouth curved. “Do you have any idea what they’re calling you?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Of course you don’t. I suspect you don’t even care.”

She held her hands tight in her lap, having no desire at all to engage with him in conversation.

“The Work of Art,” Moreland pronounced. “As if you were a Botticelli or a Titian. I expect it was thought up by some young fool while in his cups, but it’s an apt title for you, I must say. When you marry, perhaps your husband will have your portrait painted?”

Philly suppressed a shudder. The Work of Art? She supposed it was meant as a compliment, though it seemed a rather strange one. She was no great beauty. Certainly nothing on par with a famous painting. Perhaps it was merely another society cruelty? An unkindness disguised as a witticism?

Moreland was watching her carefully. However, when she betrayed no interest, he said nothing more, and shortly after, seemed to lose interest himself.

The rest of the drive took place in silence. Philly continued to look off into the distance and Moreland continued to look at Philly, but neither said another word. She was relieved when the landau finally exited the park.