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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?”