Kitty did not want a handsome stranger coming into the circumference of her heart. She had one stranger there to deal with already. Kitty was married and must learn to be won over by her own husband—never mind that his appearance was only slightly above average, and his disposition a bit on the cold side. He was the one fate had handed her. She gave the groom a small nod and put her hand in her husband's arm so he could lead her up the stairs. Best she show right away where her loyalties lay.
5
Having presented Lady Hayworth to the servants, Phineas was unsure what to do next. There was something delicate about having just been wed but not married in the true sense, and it was not like he could rush them off to his room to remedy that. They were several hours into their married life, and he still did not know how to approach his wife. As they entered the house, he addressed Mrs. Morley. “I am sure Lady Hayworth will wish to refresh herself after the journey. Tomorrow, you may show her around the manor and acquaint her with where things are kept.”
“Very well, my lord.” The housekeeper appeared to be efficient, if a bit stiff in her interactions with him. She had replaced his grandmother’s housekeeper, who had gone on to retirement, and he had only met Mrs. Morley a handful of times on his brief visits to the estate. He assumed she would soften a bit, now that they had taken up residence at Giddenhall.
Kitty was darting glances in the rooms visible from the entryway, and he wondered whether the house pleased her. “We normally dine at six, but I gave instructions to hold the dinner back one hour so we would not be rushed. I believe Mrs. Morley has found a maid for you?” He turned to the housekeeper with a questioning gaze, and she nodded.
“Bexley’s niece, Anne Sterling, is coming from the village. I sent someone to fetch her as soon as you arrived.”
“It would have been better had she been here to greet her mistress upon arrival as I had requested.” Phineas turned to Kitty. “My lady, you must decide if Sterling suits you for your maid. You may make any changes to the arrangement you wish.”
Mrs. Morley had reddened at the mild rebuke but did not reply. Kitty’s only response was a short nod. He began to wonder if he and his wife would ever have anything to talk about.
“I will show you to your room, then,” Phineas said. “I believe the footmen have already brought your trunk there or will do so shortly.” He lifted his arm for Kitty to take and wished she would grasp it with something heavier than the featherlike touch she’d given each time. It was as though she could not bear to touch even his arm.
Kitty lifted her skirt as they went up the stairs, and he caught a glimpse of a dainty ankle. It was no surprise since the rest of her seemed equally as fragile—well, fragile until she’d begun stripping him with her words. They walked up the wooden stairs and turned left down the corridor that held only two rooms. He brought her to the farthest one and opened the door, their silence seeming to take a more weighted meaning when they were alone in front of her bedroom.
He cleared his throat. “This is your room.” Kitty dropped his arm and entered it, and he stood at the threshold. “I believe Mrs. Morley will send the maid without delay. My room is just next door, and I will be there if you need anything.”
“Thank you.” She turned and gave him a fleeting smile then shut the door, finalizing the barrier between them with the soft click. Phineas walked the short distance to his own bedroom—the one he was in the habit of sleeping in whenever he stayed here, although it had not been as often as he would've liked. The estate could not sustain prolonged stays without the money his marriage had brought into it, and indeed over half the servants that greeted them were newly hired from the money Kitty’s settlement had brought in. There was that, and there were his father’s expectations and frequent demands for Phineas regarding Midlington Estate.
His bedroom was still threadbare. Now that he had a small fortune, he would spend some effort on fixing it up—but he had hoped his new wife would give her counsel on the matter, as they would surely spend some of their time here. Phineas walked over and picked up the razor that sat on the small shaving table, running his finger over the thin shell that covered the handle. Fortunately, he was skilled at shaving himself since the valet that had seen to his affairs until today was employed by Phineas’s father and had refused to leave Bath.
The quiet of Phineas’s room was in stark relief to the loud thoughts that resonated in his head. He hoped Kitty and he could be man and wife in earnest, but he did not know how to close the distance between them. He was a gentleman and would not claim a prize by thievery, which was essentially what she had accused him of. He would only claim a prize he had won fairly. And although he’d found her far more appealing than he had initially bargained for—to the point where he’d begun to hope for more than just a civil contract—he was far from having won her heart. In fact, he did not even know where to begin.
Rustling movements sounded in the adjoining room, and quiet footsteps. He walked over to the door that connected their rooms and listened, but the noise stopped, as if she were listening too. Feeling sheepish, Phineas went back to his wardrobe and selected a coat to change into for dinner. He fumbled with the cravat but managed to tie it at last and, at seven o'clock precisely, he knocked on his wife’s door. He had not dared to use the adjoining door for the purpose, which was too intimate. Kitty opened the door for him, wearing exactly what she had worn in the carriage, never mind that the dress must have gathered dirt from their journey.
Phineas puzzled his brows. Was Kitty trying to make a statement? Did she wish to let him know she did not consider him worthy enough to impress? Perhaps she did not know the ways of Society—that one was expected to change one's dress before dinner. The idea daunted him. How much would he have to teach Kitty so she might fit into his world? The disparity in their cultural education was not an element Phineas had thought to consider when contemplating a marriage for mercenary purposes. The fact that he found her so desirable was only a stroke of pure luck—especially after having had a glimpse of her brother.
In the end, Phineas was unsure how to broach the subject, so he extended his arm once again. And once again, she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow before taking three steps and pulling away.
“If you don't mind, I am accustomed to walking on my own when we are indoors.”
Phineas felt heat creep up the back of his neck. What a bumbling fool he was! Would he ever be at ease with this woman? He had only been trying to find a way to close the distance, but now that she had fled from his touch, his efforts seemed worse than feeble—they seemed an essay in ridicule.
Phineas and Kitty ate their dinner in relative silence, on opposite ends of the table, with only commonplace remarks and the clink of silverware to break the silence. When their dessert had been served, Phineas knew he had to surmount the barrier that separated them, and that he could only do so by opening a conversation that held more than just commonplaces. Kitty was capable of it. She had shown him so on their carriage ride, even if that had ended in tears.
However, once the footman left, Phineas was at a loss. How did one begin a conversation that led to intimate knowledge of another person? He was not a man of words, and as he was more likely to cultivate male friendships over female—an easier feat in his eyes since it did not require any degree of intimacy—he remained stupidly silent.
Kitty nibbled on an orange meringue and raised her eyes to his. The light in them was not exactly warm and inviting, but to his relief, it was no longer hostile—or tearful. She spoke first, sparing him the indecision of what to say. “Where did you attend school?”
“I was at Harrow, then Cambridge.”
She looked down and dipped her meringue in the glass of ratafia, and the graceful way she slipped it between her lips entranced him. He almost missed her next words. “I know next to nothing about your family. You have no siblings, I presume?”
Phineas sipped at the port that had been brought to him. He’d given orders that he wo
uld take his port at the same time as dessert since he had no intention of loitering at the table while his wife sat alone in the drawing room. “None. My parents are not overly fond of one another.” This disclosure he let slip with a little grimace.
Kitty seemed to understand his meaning at once, and she did not pursue the thread of conversation but picked at another biscuit, although she did not eat it. Phineas’s muscles were tense as he struggled for a way to set his wife at ease. He hadn't thought this through—hadn't realized how hard it would be to go from the actual ceremony to everyday life as a married man. For him, it had been nothing but a business arrangement from which he certainly did not expect love, knowing what a fleeting and elusive notion that was.
However, there was something so flesh-and-blood about Kitty that drew him to her. Her tears had touched him, for he knew they did not flow from artifice but rather from a heart that beat warmly. Each fresh glance at her unexpected beauty filled him with desire. He had to find a way to uncover who his wife truly was. The silence had gone on long enough, and it was up to him to break it.
“The children I saw at your … at our wedding ceremony, I imagine they are your brother’s offspring?”
A fleeting smile crossed Kitty's face. “Three of them are. Edward is seven, Helen is five, and William is one. However, the oldest boy you saw—Samuel—he is my half-brother. He’s eight.”
Phineas’s eyes widened. He had not realized she’d had another sibling—not that it would have mattered. He just assumed the only blood relation left to her was her older brother. “I presume it was your father who married again?”
Kitty nodded and rubbed her fingers on her napkin. “My father married a woman much younger, who was barely out of the schoolroom herself. Samuel was only a year old when my father died. Erasmus and Mary were newly married, and when Samuel's mother proved unfit to care for the baby, they took him in.”
“How old were you?” As soon as the question left his mouth, Phineas did the math. If Kitty was now twenty, she would have been twelve when her father died.
As if to confirm his guess, she answered. “Twelve. And since my own mother died when I was three, I had spent nine years without a female figure in the house, apart from my governess, who essentially raised me.”
Phineas lifted his brows at the revelation. So, she’d had a governess. Of course. It would make sense. The refinement in her voice and manner was an unexpected surprise and could only have been brought about with proper training. “Did your governess stay on to help raise Samuel?”
“No. To my dismay, for I was very fond of my governess. Erasmus dismissed her when he married. It was thought that Mary could achieve the rest of my training, but she was disinclined to do so, I believe.” Phineas detected a flash of something—irritation, or perhaps irony—in her features.
Their brief conversation was certainly revealing, and Phineas had a better idea of her upbringing, even from the things she left unsaid. Kitty had not expressed any of the bitterness she would have every right to feel. “It was your father, I believe, who began the shipping business?”
Kitty absently crumbled the meringue biscuit into powdered dust on her plate. “No, it was my grandfather, although neither he nor my father can claim to have truly built the business. No one has had as much success—or passion—as Erasmus has had to transform the company into something this thriving. It is to him we owe our fortune.”
Phineas had finished his port, and when Kitty was not more forthcoming, he coaxed more from her. “I imagine Samuel and his cousin must be great friends, for they are of the same age.” Phineas could almost be envious of them. He had grown up alone, and although he had Bartholomew as his cousin, and some distant female cousins, with whom he was rarely in contact, he and Bartholomew had never been particularly close. He blamed it on his father's brother, who seemed to think that fate had aligned itself against him by giving the inheritance to Phineas’s father.
However, Kitty dispelled the ideal he’d conjured in his mind by shaking her head. “Samuel and Edward…”
She paused and took a trembling breath, and Phineas’s gaze shot to her face in surprise. He had not thought to bring up a delicate subject when he’d spoken of her little brother, but only to express his interest. He waited for her to continue.
“They are not as close as one might hope. I believe there exists a great deal of competition between them, urged on by Edward’s mother. Unfortunately, Erasmus considers domestic affairs beneath his notice, so he does not take a hand in Samuel's upbringing as perhaps he ought.”
“Will your brother attend school?” Phineas asked. It was a ready solution to an unhappy home. Going away to school would remove him from the clutches of a complicated family environment.
“He has a place at Harrow next year, so yes, he will go.” There were two spots of color on her cheeks, and Phineas stared at her in concern. He had not intended to stir the deep emotions he now saw rising. “But I very much worry about him. We are quite close, my brother and I. And although I dearly love my nephews and niece, they have their own mother to look out for their interests. Samuel has no one but me. And—” She broke off with a sharp breath, as—to Phineas’s dismay—the tears started to leak out of her eyes again.
He got up from the head of the table, walked around it and went to sit next to her, pulling his handkerchief out of his coat. “I beg you will not distress yourself. I had merely meant to make conversation.” He handed the handkerchief to Kitty, and she used it to wipe her eyes.
“It is simply … if I had only myself to sacrifice in marriage to appease Erasmus, I could abide by the decision.” She paused as she fought to gain control over her tears. Sacrifice? The word goaded Phineas, both striking him as unjust while also touching a nerve and filling him with guilt.
“However,” she went on, “in this case, my brother has been sacrificed as well, for there is absolutely no one to look out for him. This morning, before we walked to the church, he confessed his fear and uncertainty about being left behind, and he is not one given to hysterics. It was painful to witness.” She met Phineas’s gaze briefly. “I am very sorry to treat you to such a waterworks, which I am sure must be distasteful to you. It is just that this change is more difficult than I had anticipated.”
“It is of no matter,” Phineas replied—words he knew were vastly inadequate, but he could do no more. He could not offer to host her brother with relations so tense and new between him and Kitty. He needed to bring this dinner to a close, for all that had been accomplished was to remind him of his errors in conducting the engagement. There seemed little chance for recovery, at least not for tonight. “Shall we … retire?”
He glanced at her, certain his nervousness was obvious, fearing he appeared ridiculous. If she noticed, it could not have eclipsed her own, which was evident. She swallowed and stood. “It appears I now have a second handkerchief to render you, which I will do as soon as it is washed.”
Phineas knew better than to offer his arm, and he opened the door, allowing her to precede him into the corridor. There was a footman at the base of the stairs, but he stepped back into the shadows. They climbed the steps and Phineas, who had been searching for a topic to dispel the awkwardness, grasped at the first that came to mind. “I have been thinking to raise the matter with you, Kitty. As a general rule in Society, we change our dress for dinner. I thought you should like to know it to spare you future embarrassment, although I am sure there is much you must learn about our ways, and it need not be rushed.”
His wife stopped suddenly at his side, and he paused to look at her, suddenly uncertain of the wisdom of his words. Her eyes blazed with indignation.
“I assure you, I do not need lessons on etiquette or how to dress for dinner. My governess was a baron's daughter, and though her family had fallen on hard times, she taught me everything I needed to know.” Kitty’s lips went into a straight line. “But I found it very difficult to change my gown when I had neither my trunk delivered to me
in the two hours I waited, nor a maid to assist me into it. I beg your pardon for having offended your sensibilities.” She continued up the stairs and, after a moment, thunderstruck, Phineas hurried after her.
“I had no idea your maid had not appeared. I understood she was to arrive at any moment. I will send someone to learn what happened. And your trunk as well? I am all astonishment, and I will do what I can to find out what the problem is. I assure you, I meant no offense.” Phineas’s words were conciliatory, but his irritation rose. He had not bargained on such a prickly wife for a spouse—and he so mild-mannered, himself!
“I am sure you did not mean to offend.” Kitty continued to her room at a brisk pace, her voice low, but no less passionate. “It is only that you think me so beneath you and ill-equipped to live in your world that you need instruct me. I can scarcely wonder at your having agreed to the match at all. Well—until I remember what figure you were given to take me.”
They had reached the door to her room when her final words were spoken, and Phineas felt the blow of them in his chest. He faced her. “Stop. You have gone too far. I will accept the blame that I did not take the time to court you and turned the marriage into a business transaction—even if that is nothing out of the ordinary, you must own—but I did not sacrifice you, or purchase you, and I have no intention of treating you with anything less than respect.”
She stared at the doorknob instead of at him, and the silence following his words was deafening. “I apologize.”
His Disinclined Bride (Seasons of Change Book 7) Page 5
