Page 85 of The Work of Art

Even so, he took no pleasure in their evenings now being a party of four instead of two, and he proved especially disagreeable when the earl or Mrs. Ogilvy invited themselves on one of his and Philly’s walks. In truth, the only times Arthur was in perfect humor were the nights they lay in each other’s arms, and the early morning hours, when they slipped away to the stable to go riding.

Greene had chosen a good-natured gelding named Erasmus for Arthur’s return to the saddle. That first morning Arthur had mounted him with seemingly little difficulty. Yet Philly had known by the subtle change in her husband’s expression that getting on Erasmus was painful to him. It had likely conjured memories of the last horse he’d ridden, the one killed beneath him at Albuera.

Arthur hadn’t said a word. Not about his pain, and not about his memories. He’d simply gathered up the reins as if it had been days and not years since last he rode.

The sight of Captain Arthur Heywood on a horse had quite taken Philly’s breath away. He cut an elegant, purely masculine figure that evoked the dashing cavalry officer he’d once been. Even now, more than two weeks later, she still stole glances at him as they walked side by side in the paddock. Arthur had caught her in the act of admiring him more than once.

Between waking early to go riding and staying up late in the evening with their guests, Philly found herself increasingly tired. Mrs. Lamb advised her to take more rest, and by the end of the first week of the earl’s visit, Philly was retiring every afternoon to her room for a short nap.

Within two weeks even that was not sufficient.

“You’re a married lady now, my dear, and there’s no need to keep these abominable early hours,” Mrs. Ogilvy said one morning, while she and Philly were sewing together in the drawing room. “It’s no wonder you’ve exhausted yourself. You must follow my example and stay abed until well past ten o’clock. Your maid can bring your breakfast on a tray.”

Philly was seated on the settee with her needlework on her lap. She’d been able to do only a few stitches before losing interest. It was unlike her to be so unfocused. She wondered if Mrs. Ogilvy might be right. Perhaps she had exhausted herself. “I can’t abide staying in my room until late in the morning. It’s my favorite time of day to be out of doors.”

“Hmm.” Mrs. Ogilvy considered for a moment. “I had a spell some time ago. An awful bout of malaise. I took two or three glasses of bitters each day to fortify myself. Might you not try something similar for your relief?”

“I assure you, I’m not ill. Although…” Philly hesitated to share too much. “Mrs. Lamb has been giving me a special decoction. It’s meant to help me keep up my strength.”

“It doesn’t seem to be working, my dear.”

“No. Not yet. But Mrs. Lamb is confident I shall soon see a benefit.”

Mrs. Ogilvy picked up Philly’s abandoned needlework to examine it. “And does Captain Heywood know that Mrs. Lamb is looking after you?”

“Indeed not. It would only worry him.”

“I wonder that he can be ignorant of anything that concerns you. He watches you every moment. One would think he was afraid you might run off and leave him.” Mrs. Ogilvy laughed.

Philly attempted to smile along, but found she could not. “I’m sure such a thought has never crossed his mind.”

“You might be surprised, my dear.”

The sun was streaming through the windows of the drawing room. It was a particularly warm day. Arthur had gone out in a carriage with his father to view some of the improvements on the estate. They were due back within the hour, and then she and Arthur were to go for their afternoon walk.

If only she weren’t so dreadfully tired. It was inconceivable to her that but two weeks ago she’d argued to continue her daily rides out on the grounds. Now she was so weary that she couldn’t even imagine going for a gallop on Persephone.

“Naturally I always knew how it would be. And so I told Gordon. A gentleman as solemn and stern as the captain—”

“Oh, but he isn’t,” Philly objected, turning toward her guest. “Not really.”

“No? It’s often the way, you know, when one has an elder sibling who’s gone a bit wild. The younger must needs go the complete opposite direction. The rub of it is, Captain Heywood has no less passion than his brother or his father. More, perhaps. Until he met you, I daresay he expended it in killing people.”

Philly gave Mrs. Ogilvy a look of gentle reproof. “It was war, ma’am.”

“So it was. And everyone always did say what a brutally effective soldier he made. Indeed, I’ve sometimes felt a bit sorry for that godless wretch who came upon him while he was injured. Anyone who knew the captain could have predicted the result of that encounter. Heywood isn’t a man to be trifled with.”

Philly didn’t need to ask how Mrs. Ogilvy had learned of Arthur’s unfortunate experience. Even on such brief acquaintance, it was plain that the earl shared far more with his longtime mistress than mere physical intimacy.

“And now, my dear,” Mrs. Ogilvy continued with a dimpled smile, “instead of war and soldiering, all of the captain’s energies are directed toward you. It’s exactly as I told Gordon it would be. ‘Let him marry,’ I said. ‘That will give him something to think about besides his troubles.’ And so it has. Though…” She paused, her brow puckering. “One might wish he would be a bit less intense about it.”

“You may blame my accident on the riding trail for that,” Philly said. “It’s worried him so desperately. I don’t think he’ll be at ease until he catches the person responsible.”

“Better to leave it all to Pebmarsh, I say. Let him sort out the mischief on the estate. What you and Captain Heywood need is a proper honeymoon. Somewhere away from here. The Lake District, perhaps. Or the seaside.” Mrs. Ogilvy appeared to warm to the idea. “I have it! When Gordon and I leave Heycombe, you and Captain Heywood must accompany us to Bath.”

Philly’s brows lifted in surprise. “I’d no notion you intended to travel on to Bath.”

“It was our plan, but now that Gordon and Captain Heywood have found matters with which to occupy themselves on the estate, one wonders if we shall ever get there.” Mrs. Ogilvy sighed. “Ah, but it’s lovely there this time of year. And the waters would do you a world of good, my dear.”