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He sighed with impatience. Yet another delay before he could speak to his lovely wife.
* * *
Philip sped up the stairs to his chambers. As he made his way down the carpeted second-floor hall lined with detailed oil landscapes of Wiltshire, his footfalls became all but silent, with the rich weavings dampening his approach. It was the reason why, when he turned a bend in the hall, his butler Clinton and the new housekeeper did not hear his entrance.
“Witch!”
“Why … why … you old dog!” hissed the short, stout woman standing toe to toe with his tall, slim manservant, her chin raised in defiance. Clinton’s eyes flared at the insult, and they glared at each other. Philip was just contemplating how to make his presence known in order to reach his rooms when right in front of him the two flew into each other’s arms in an embrace, lips smacking loudly against lips. Philip winced and turned to avert his vision. His suspicions were confirmed, but he felt no triumph. It was … repulsive. Not unlike a child discovering their parents kissing.
He cleared his throat to announce his presence and listened to the sounds of consternation behind him.
“Your—Your Grace!” sputtered Clinton, his voice pitching from two different heights as the servant bowed behind him. Philip refused to turn around. His eyes might look down the hall toward the staircase, but his mind could not unsee the two locked in passionate abandon.
“See here, Clinton, I know many households do not allow servants to marry, but it seems to me both you and Mrs. Harris are mature and valued retainers, so if you wish to marry while maintaining your positions, I will have no argument. In fact, we can discuss you taking one of the cottages close to the manor. However, I would appreciate if you took steps to address this … tension between you so that I might travel my halls without the fear of encumbrance. What do you say, old chap?”
Clinton sounded awkward when he gave a muffled cough, presumably into a gloved fist. “I will discuss the matter with Mrs. Harris and let you know, Your Grace?”
“Splendid, Clinton. As you were—wait … scratch that. On second thought, please remove yourselves from my corridor and send my valet with haste. Also, I need to bathe, but I am in a hurry … have a footman bring warm water for my washstand. I need to meet with my duchess, and I would not care to find either of you out here to interrupt me again today.”
“Of course, Your Grace. My apologies, Your Grace.”
“No need to mention this again. Let me know of your decision. Continue on.”
As amused as Philip may have been under ordinary circumstances, as matters stood, the servants’ drama was just another delay to reaching Annabel. His frustration at their long parting was making his skin itch. He needed to see his wife!
* * *
Annabel gazed through the glass walls of the orangery. The air was pungent with the smell of exotic fragrances of dozens of blooming plants along the scaffolding on the back wall and of ripe oranges and citrus growing on the trees dotted around the corners and edges of the windowed room.
Although melancholy still dogged her heels, she had found little projects to do. She kept wondering what the future would bring. Would Philip still want her to accompany him to London and play at being his hostess—not that she had any knowledge for such an undertaking? Or would she remain here at the estate for the coming year? Would he be pleased with her when he learned she was with child, or would it be the perfect excuse to stay away from her and leave for Town? She hoped with all her heart he would forgive her. If not, she had so much love for Philip that she could pass on to a little boy with his intelligent, determined gaze and infectious laugh, or a little girl with his glorious golden curls and serious gray eyes, to fill the void in her very being.
Hearing footsteps on the brick walkway, she looked back, expecting Mary with her tea tray, which Annabel had been taking in the orangery, with its enclosed lawn and charming breakfast area, for the past week. She started when she saw Philip standing near her.
“Your Grace, you have returned.” She stood and dropped a curtsy, holding back a grimace.
Faugh, Annabel! That was not an awkward and inappropriate greeting at all.
“Annabel.” He nodded in greeting before taking steps to sit on the bench at her side. Annabel followed his cue and sank slowly back onto the bench.
He cleared his throat. “I wanted to thank you for the information you uncovered. Richard and I have patched up our relationship. I let him know he is not welcome in our household because of his actions against you, but I am glad we can become acquainted once more. It is … nice to have some sense of the fraternity we once shared.”
She nodded in acknowledgment, guilt twisting her insides at how she had withheld the Debrett’s entry from him and had not intended to tell him about it. She was happy they had reconciled, as she wanted Philip to be happy. That is a lie. I want to go back to the time before he knew what a mistake he had made in marrying me. She felt tears prickling and swallowed hard, looking away while she fought to hold them back.
“I am curious how long you knew?”
She entwined her fingers to control their shaking. “About two weeks,” she choked out.
“Ah, about the time of the strange conversation regarding family ties. Why did you not inform me as soon as you discovered it?”
She flinched at the question. Brave and honest, indeed. Annabel thought about the future she had hoped for, the one where Philip grew to love her, and they became partners for life. Where he visited her every night and stayed until morning, with the laughter of their children filling their days. She knew that was out of the question now. Not only had he realized his mistake in marrying her, but she had betrayed his trust and put her own happiness before his by withholding the truth about Jane and her brother. An act of unforgivable unkindness.
She steeled her resolve. She may have not been brave and honest until now, but it was time to tell the truth with courage and see where it would take her.
“I was enjoying our time together, and I wanted nothing to change.”
“Why would it have changed?”
“I knew the primary reason you wanted to marry me was because of what Richard had done to you and … you would realize your mistake in choosing me as your w-wife.” Her voice broke. She fought for control. “I am so sorry,” she whispered hoarsely, unable to look at him.
