Phineas softened. If she could apologize, there was hope for them. He set his fingers lightly on her arm. “I, too, apologize for having offended you.” After a moment he added, “And for not attempting a meeting before our marriage.”
She dipped her head in acknowledgment and at last met his gaze. He saw a depth of feeling in those eyes that spoke of passion and sensitivity and spirit that was everything he could desire. But there was reserve there. Through his own mismanagement and thoughtless words, she was inaccessible to him. It would be a betrayal to that passion to force himself on her without her consent. It would only make a bad situation worse.
“I will ring for a servant and get to the bottom of this.”
She nodded, hesitating with her hand on the doorknob. At last, she opened it to enter her room, and his gaze rested on her figure. The embroidered green leaves and vines that covered the sleeves of her gown wove across the back to where tiny pearl buttons closed the bodice. Kitty turned and appeared startled to see him still standing there, and Phineas recollected himself. He bowed and turned.
In his own room, Phineas rang the bell vigorously, and within minutes the servant arrived—the same one who had been hovering near the stairwell. “What is your name?” he asked him.
“Marcus, my lord,” the man answered.
“Do you know why my wife did not have a maid to attend to her before dinner? Why her trunk was not delivered to her room?”
The footman bowed his head. “Miss Sterling arrived while you were eating dinner, my lord. There’d been some turn-up with the coach and—wishing to arrive as soon as possible—she’d set out on foot. But it took much longer than expected.”
Phineas relaxed his shoulders, relieved that there was a logical reason for the maid’s delay, and that it wasn’t mutiny from his servants for having brought home a wife who was not gently born. “And her trunk?”
Marcus gestured behind Phineas. “My lord, begging your pardon. Her trunk is there next to yours.”
Phineas spun around and saw for the first time the trunk that did not belong to him. He had not noticed it in all his pacing before dinner. He sighed and shook his head. “Carry this to my lady’s room. She is expecting it there.”
Marcus did his bidding, and when the door to the corridor was shut, Phineas sat in the armchair near the fire. He could hear voices in the next room, as his wife gave instructions to the footman and thanked him. He heard the maid knock softly, and again the gentle voice of his wife as they spoke. He imagined that the maid was removing her hair pins and brushing Kitty’s thick red hair.
Phineas looked to the small table at his right. Someone had left a decanter of brandy there. He unstopped it and poured himself a small glass. It was going to be a long night.
6
Lord Hayworth had made Kitty angry enough that she forgot to be nervous. It was only now that she looked at the clock and saw that it was still early, and that he had not proposed they go to the drawing room for tea or to play a game of cards as they might have done at her brother’s house. Now that she was alone in her room and her trunk had been delivered, she supposed she knew why and what sort of activity would take place instead—it was their wedding night after all. But she wondered what to expect for all the nights thereafter. Would there be tea and companionship? Games? Conversation … fights? Would there be children?
Kitty’s words had been hasty, and Phineas had objected to them, but he did not appear to be unreasonable. He’d even apologized, which gave her hope. She almost thought he would give her some inkling as to what to expect that night, as he bowed and promised to look into the absence of her trunk and the new maid. In the end, he had simply turned and walked the length of the corridor to his room. Perhaps he needed time to do whatever it was men did to get ready for the night. Or perhaps he was giving her the time she needed. She glanced at the trunk, uncertain.
There was another knock on the door, and her heart leapt with nerves. He had come back. When she opened the door, it was only the maid who had at last arrived.
“My lady, I beg your pardon for my tardiness. There was a wheel broke, and I had to walk. If you wish, I’ll help you out of your dress.”
“Yes, thank you.” Kitty allowed the maid to unbutton her dress and assist her into a new night shift. This one, Kitty had chosen with care, despite how little she had relished preparing for her upcoming wedding. The shift was made of thick white cotton and delicate lace, and was both warm and pretty.
“Shall I brush out your hair?”
“No, I will do it myself. Thank you—” Kitty paused, realizing she did not remember her maid’s name.
“Sterling, my lady.”
“Thank you, Sterling. That will be all.” Kitty did not wish for her maid to still be in the room when her husband made his appearance. It was awkward enough as it was, and she had no need for an audience.
When Sterling left, Kitty’s fingers trembled as she pulled the pins from her hair, along with the decorative string of pearls and green silk flowers that had been hidden underneath her wedding bonnet. The added touch had been visible only to Phineas in the end, since there had been no wedding breakfast in Bath. He had not made any comment about her appearance—or, really, any comments at all. Now, her hair fell down to the middle of her back in thick waves. She peered into the looking glass and was met with large eyes that looked fearful to her.
I must simply get through this. It is no more and no less than what women have been doing since the beginning of time.
Kitty heard movement from the other side of the adjoining door, and she went and sat on the side of the bed, her hands clutched on her knees. No, this would not do. She shot up again and crossed the room to sit on the chair near the fireplace, still waiting. In her husband’s room, there were footsteps crossing back and forth, and eventually these sounds died down. She thought she heard the rustle of covers … was that the sound of him lying down? Kitty clutched her arms around her middle and leaned forward. Why would he be getting into the bed in his room?
Her brow puzzled, Kitty went over to her own bed, which suddenly seemed rather large and cold. She climbed under the covers and bunched them around her, sitting cross-legged as she waited, listening … The cold draft on Kitty’s back soon had her curling up in a ball under the covers. Surely Phineas would come? She must have misunderstood or misread the sounds of him lying on the bed. Perhaps he would come to her in the middle of the night—or shortly before morning.
The exhaustion of the day, the strangeness of being yoked to someone she did not know, the emotions of their conversation, the long travel and painful dinner she had undergone finally overcame Kitty. Sleep was calling to her with such force, she did not have time to feel desolate. Her bare head was cold, so she scurried over to her trunk and retrieved a sleeping cap and pulled it over her hair then got back into bed. She likely looked a fright, but Phineas had only himself to blame since he had not come when she was ready for him. With the blankets tucked securely around her, her head now warm, Kitty began to relax and think that perhaps everything would be all right. Apparently, she was to be a viscountess to the outside world, and a spinster in her own home. But there was not so much to complain about, after all. It would not be so very different from her life before.
Still, the ache inside became pronounced as she reflected on the stark reality. She was friendless.
A dim light creeping through the curtains woke Kitty the next morning. And if she awoke feeling much more cheerful than the night before, she was just as confused. Her husband had not come in the end. A momentary sense of well-being settled over Kitty as she stretched her bare toes in the warmth of the sheets, before an unpleasant thought assailed her. Did Phineas truly marry her just for her fortune? Did he have a mistress elsewhere to meet all his other needs? Kitty turned and buried her face in the pillow.
It could only be because she was not a lady. He must have married her solely for the money, because no daughter of a peer would receive such an insult o
n her wedding night. And yet, Kitty was supposed to accept this sham marriage as her lot in life. On one hand, the realization brought some relief. She would not be bothered by a physical relationship but could enjoy running a household, if Phineas fulfilled his promise to let her do as she wished. On the other hand, gone was the hope of something good coming from the match. Gone was the hope of children. Kitty bit her lip. Perhaps there was still hope of that at some point, but he hadn’t come to her on their wedding night, had he? What else could it mean?
The match had been arranged in a cold and calculated manner between two men, each to achieve his own end.
Kitty rose from bed and rummaged in her trunk for a morning dress. Her new maid would need to come and put her things away so she could find them easily. She glanced around the room, found the bell, and rang it. Within a short time, Sterling appeared.
“Is my husband in the breakfast room?”
“I believe he is, my lady. I saw him go from the library to the breakfast room as I was coming up.”
Kitty did not want to miss him. Being so thoroughly out of her element, she had no choice but to take her cues from Phineas as to how she should spend her day and what role she was to have here. Kitty’s heart beat in her throat, however. There was something else she needed to ask him, as well, for she could not bear having to continue to guess on the matter. She needed to know what kind of marriage they were to have.
“Assist me quickly into this gown. I should not like Lord Hayworth to finish his breakfast before I have made my appearance.”
The maid smiled to herself, obviously misinterpreting the words to mean that theirs was a love-match. Kitty would allow Sterling to think that. It would be less painful than the truth, which was sure to come out soon enough. Servants had an uncanny ability of knowing exactly what went on in the house, and what was worse—speculation was always ripe.
In short order, Sterling assisted her into a rifle green walking dress with puffed sleeves near the shoulder and a patterned empire sash with tiny burgundy flowers. Kitty knew it was one of her better dresses. She sat, and Sterling pulled Kitty's thick hair into a simple, attractive chignon, curling tendrils of hair near her temple with an iron rod the maid had placed in the fire. It was imperative that Kitty look her best. Phineas might reject her intimacy, but he would know what he was missing.
“I will unpack your trunk while you are at breakfast, my lady,” Sterling said, arranging the brush and pins on the dressing table.
Kitty made her way downstairs on embroidered, satin-slippered feet, with much trepidation in her heart. She opened the breakfast room where Phineas sat with his plate nearly empty in front of him. He looked up, and—was that admiration she saw in his eyes? Oh, I hope it is. Her husband quickly got to his feet and bowed.
“Good morning, my lady.” He waited for her to go to the sideboard to fill her plate.
“Good morning, my lord.” She curtsied then chose a soft roll and spooned jam and butter on her plate, sitting as the footman walked forward to fill her cup with coffee. Phineas sat as well, his eyes not leaving hers. Kitty was so aware of the awkwardness that attended their situation, she knew her face must reflect it. She could not bear to look at the footman, who had gone back to stand near the wall, his expression closed. She wondered if everyone knew she had slept alone that night.
Phineas addressed the servant. “That will be all. If we need something, I will ring for it.”
The footman bowed and took his leave, and Kitty was alone with her husband. The breakfast room was cheerful, with a serge linen rug underneath the table, and several tall windows overlooking the lawn, which held hints of green and brown on the shrubbery and frozen grass.
Kitty attempted to eat her breakfast, darting glances at Phineas, who seemed equally as conscious of her presence as she was of his.
“I trust that you slept —”
“My lord, I should like to —”
Phineas smiled, which made him seem more approachable than the stern look he had given her last night—or the smug look in the carriage. “Please, what is it you wish to say? Also, may I remind you to call me Phineas when there are no servants nearby, if you are amenable to the idea.”
Kitty nodded and sent him a fleeting smile. She did not know how she dared to bring up the matter that was closest to her heart. It was so vulnerable, and the idea of voicing it seemed shocking to her. She stalled for time. “Growing up, did you eat breakfast with your parents?”
Phineas looked surprised at her question. He had clearly expected her to say something else, but her true question would only surprise him more if he knew.
“Not generally.” He looked down briefly, as he cut the last of his ham then glanced back at her. “My parents kept to their own habits and did not often dine together. My father was an early riser, and my mother a late one. So it was pure chance if we met for breakfast.”
“Are you an early riser of nature?” she asked.
“That depends,” Phineas answered. “I generally have much to keep me occupied. But I will not deny that there are days when the greatest pleasure imaginable is to spend a longer time in bed and not have to rush out of it.” He looked at her with such a significant expression, Kitty blushed—shocked.
Had he infused that sentence with the particular meaning she thought he did? Had she read that correctly? With one corner of his mouth lifted in the smallest way, as if hiding some private source of amusement, he bent his eyes to his plate and kept them there. If he had indeed found something to amuse him, Kitty was not sure she could share in the joke.
Phineas had finished his breakfast, and Kitty knew she had to speak before he left to do whatever it was he did. It was her chance to set their marriage on the right foot, and she was not one to hold back from expressing what she thought. There was just enough openness in his answers—just enough in his expression to give her hope that they might be able to converse more freely with time.
Kitty glanced at the door, hoping there were no servants hovering nearby. No, she could not do this sitting so far from him. They were a respectable distance apart, on the opposite ends of the table, as was fitting for a lord and lady of an estate, she supposed. Seated thus, she could not raise her voice to ask the question that was burning inside of her. However, she would not give up her opportunity to begin their marriage in the way she wished for it to continue.
“Phineas, may I come and sit at your side to ask you a question?”
He looked up, startled, and she thought she saw an eager light come to his eyes, a hint of color in his cheeks, a tiny lift to the corners of his mouth. But he remained motionless. The expression was so subtle, she was not sure if she had imagined it.
“You may.”
Kitty stood, leaving her half-drunk coffee and unfinished roll on her plate, and she walked around the table and took the chair at his side. They were now close enough that if they both turned, their knees would touch. She shifted in her seat to look at him, and he put his napkin down, his arm outstretched on the table. There was something in his eyes that sparked in her breast the hope of connection. He waited for her to speak, and she took a convulsive breath before saying the words.
“Why did you not come to me last night?” Kitty met his gaze, but embarrassment, nerves, and fear kept her from holding it. Head lowered, she waited for his answer—a victim of the misery and hope that battled within.
Phineas was silent at first, and when he spoke, his voice held no trace of the smile she thought she had seen. “You said you were forced into this marriage. I blame myself for not attempting to see you before we were married to ascertain how you might feel. I am not a man to claim a prize I did not earn squarely, and I will not force myself upon you. I will not come to your bed unless you invite me to it.”
Kitty's eyes grew round in surprise, and she could not hold back the words that sprang to her lips. “But Phineas—you must have an heir. Surely your purpose in marrying was not just for money, but also to secure an heir for the
estate.”
With the hand that was extended on the table, her husband reached for his napkin and twisted the cloth into a ball. “Truthfully, I did not think that far ahead when I made arrangements to marry. The idea of having an heir was not my foremost objective in seeking a wife.”
A sense of dread crept into Kitty’s heart, even though it was no less than she had suspected. Her gaze crept back up to his face, and she feared the answer to her next question. “And what was your foremost objective?”
Phineas appeared to see nothing wrong with his reasoning, for he shot her a cool glance and replied without hesitation. “To save my estate from ruin and free myself from the control of my father.”
Kitty looked down again. The implication of his words brought a sense of doom. Whatever she had read in his open gaze upon entering the breakfast room was now but a fleeting hope. This marriage would not bring her happiness or love. It would not even bring her companionship. She inhaled, fighting against the despair until she could seek the privacy of her room.
“However”—her husband’s voice coaxed her gaze back up with its tenderness—“as little as I thought about securing an heir when making the arrangement, that is an objective with me now.”
Kitty's heart started to beat wildly, and she furrowed her brow. “I see…” She did not know how to express all the questions that were whirling around her head or beating in her heart. If he now wished for an heir, what could she expect from him? An heir required certain … arrangements. Yet he had decided not to impose himself upon her. In her confusion, Kitty could only repeat herself. “So why did you not come last night? If having an heir is now one of your objectives?”
“I meant what I said,” Phineas replied with the ghost of a smile. He glanced at her hands clasped on her lap, then up again at her face, and there was something rueful in his expression. “I will come when you ask me to.”
His Disinclined Bride (Seasons of Change Book 7) Page 6
