Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
I had thought that being in Wentworth Park would be a bit more exciting than this…
Phoebe stared out glumly as she sat on a swing in a corner of the gardens. After breakfast, Charles had not stayed long enough for even a short conversation. No, he just went right up to his study.
To work.
The day right after his wedding.
Well, I suppose that with a wife like myself, he could only bury himself in his work while he was supposed to be on his honeymoon , she sighed inwardly.
She was a spinster for a reason. Well, several of them, actually.
She was not conventionally beautiful in that delicate and charming way that young ladies were supposed to be. No, instead she was much too tall, which did her no actual favors at all, for it only accentuated her awkward nature.
She was also outspoken and clumsy. Her conversational skills left much to be desired, and she was wholly inept in the art of flirting and seduction.
With all that, it was no wonder that her husband did not come to her bedchamber on their wedding night. No doubt, he could not bring himself to even consummate his marriage with such an ungainly creature such as herself.
Phoebe let out a heavy sigh. She had been so looking forward to her wedding night, too, although she did not truly know what it was she was supposed to expect.
She had heard of it—the affairs between men and women—discussed in such hushed whispers, that it titillated her. But then again, her mother had often admonished her and her sisters to refrain from being too inviting with their suitors.
Not that Phoebe had any suitors to invite. She was woefully inexperienced in that regard.
Still, she had hoped, at least, that her husband would be patient enough to bring her education up on that matter.
I should have known better than to think that , she mused with a heavy heart. After all, he is so handsome, whereas I… well, there is not much to talk about, is there?
“I just wish I had someone to talk to,” she muttered to herself.
She looked out, her eyes softening as she beheld the gardens and the manor house beyond it. Just beyond the wall lay Townsend House, the place where she had grown up and spent most of her life. She would have loved to have been able to talk to her sisters, too.
Unfortunately, Charles had expressly forbidden her to go out.
“I wonder what they are doing right now,” she murmured to herself. “My marriage should have saved Daphne from ruination. Minerva, too, should not have to feel so frightened about her own coming out…”
She could imagine Daphne calling for their mother, for Minerva… anyone , as she panicked once more about which dress she should wear to this ball and that dinner party…
Minerva, on the other hand, would be doing her best to avoid being roped into such decisions. She would be tucked away in her room or some isolated nook in the house with yet another book…
As she sighed and listlessly kicked at the ground to swing herself, she heard a soft purr a short distance away. Almost immediately, she felt her spirits lift when she saw the tip of a coal-black tail waving in the bushes.
“Whiteson!” she called out excitedly, shooting up from the swing. “Whiteson, is that you? Come here, you naughty little cat!”
She made her way over to find that it was indeed Whiteson, the mischievous stray that often visited her in the gardens of Townsend House back when she was still merely Miss Phoebe Townsend, and her life was much simpler.
“Oh, Whiteson!” she cried out as she scooped the black cat into her arms. “You cannot possibly know how glad I am to see you!”
The cat let out an indignant meow and struggled for a bit, but Phoebe was already used to his attitude. She only laughed as she fished something out of her pocket and held it out to him.
“Here,” she said, waving the bit of sandwich she had brought with her. “I know you particularly adore these—perhaps much more than you do those tasty rodents in my husband’s… room , or whatever that is.”
She shuddered a little when she recalled that room beneath the trapdoor, with its ominous ambiance, complete with chains on the wall and a pervasive chill that never seemed to go away…
Perhaps I have been reading too many stories , she told herself with a shake of her head. I suppose every old estate has these sorts of rooms.
Perhaps her husband simply never had the time to… spruce things up a touch in that area of the estate—if he was ever inclined to, anyway.
She smiled as she saw the cat’s eyes light up happily at the sight of the food she offered. It swiped its paws in the air and Phoebe laughed.
At least some things never change, she thought to herself. Whiteson is still the same adorable little glutton he has always been…
“I hope you have not been to that dreadful room again,” she chastised the mischievous feline. “He was particularly cross when we went there the last time, remember? I daresay, he will give us quite the tongue-lashing should either of us find ourselves in there once more.”
She handed the last bit of her sandwich over to the cat, who happily gobbled it up.
“One would think that you have been starved since last I saw you,” she smiled wryly. “Well, it is a good thing you are a cat, then, and cats hardly have the need for other feline companionship. I suppose you do well enough on your own, hunting mice and birds and whatever you decide dinner should be.”
I, on the other hand, must contend with so many rules and restrictions…
“If only I was a cat just like you,” she sighed as she stared off into the direction of Townsend House. “Perhaps then, no one would mind so much if I went out and visited my sisters…”
She smiled as Whiteson, satisfied with her offering of the sandwich, finally relented and allowed her to stroke the silken fur on its head. It let out a soft, contented purr as it lay down on the grass beside her—a reminder of much simpler times, as well as her first meeting with Charles.
“I daresay that he is not as terrible as most people seem to think him,” she continued wistfully. “He might be a little… well, odd , but nothing at all like the raging murderer Miss Thomas portrays him to be.”
Phoebe pursed her lips, recalling how the other spinster had been so adamant about proving her wrong the last time they had met. She wondered if her marriage to Charles shocked the other members of the Spinster Club. After all, they had all been resigned to the fact that they were on the shelf , as it were, with no marriage prospects.
“Well, who cares what Miss Thomas thinks, right, Whiteson?” she snorted delicately. “I have much, much more to consider now than her opinions. I am, after all, the Marchioness of Wentworth now—for whatever that is worth…”
Not to mention, she was also married to one of the handsomest men in all of London. The thought of it made her blush.
And those particular fantasies were what led to my situation now—not that I regret it much.
Charles, for all his idiosyncrasies, was still considered quite a catch by many ambitious Mamas. For a title and an acceptable enough fortune, many were quite willing to overlook the fact that the man hardly left his estate.
They probably think Wentworth Park is so grand that he never feels the need to grace lesser mortals with his presence, she laughed to herself, shaking her head.
“I am really, really glad you came to see me today, Whiteson,” she sighed softly. “It just gets a little lonely at times…”
The cat rolled over and looked pointedly at her, as if to say, “Well, why don’t you do something about it?”
Phoebe just wrinkled her nose. “I suppose it is much simpler because you, my dear, are a cat , and you may come and go as you please…”
Whiteson let out a miffed sort of sound, as if he refused to believe her.
“…while I must stay here and abide by the rules,” she finished. “Now, do not look at me like that. You cannot possibly—”
She trailed off and looked at the low wall that separated the two estates. That night, it had hardly taken much effort to scale the wall, even in the darkness.
I suppose I could…
Phoebe shook her head. Of course not! I really should not!
After all, she was already a Marchioness and Marchionesses simply did not scale walls to visit their families. No, a Marchioness was supposed to do the proper thing and walk up to the front door, preferably having sent in her calling card earlier in the morning to inform her family that she intended to visit…
“But then again,” she murmured, more to herself than to Whiteson. “It should not take me so long to visit. Nobody would even notice my absence, right?”
Whiteson let out a soft meow before it rolled back up on its feet once more. It nudged Phoebe’s hand in an affectionate way—well, as much affection as an independent feline like Whiteson could muster—and then, it was on its way.
Phoebe could only watch as it effortlessly scaled the wall and in mere moments, it was running through the grounds of Townsend House once more.
“And what has the Marchioness been doing this morning?”
Huxley and O’Malley looked at each other as their master questioned them within the confines of his study. Charles was seated behind his large oak desk, his fingers folded into a sort of steeple as he watched them both with a steely expression, daring them to lie or miss out on a single detail.
“Her Ladyship spent most of the morning out in the gardens, milord,” O’Malley reported. “She sat on the swings…”
“…and she seemed to be petting a cat,” Huxley finished.
“A cat.”
Both men nodded.
“A black creature of the feline persuasion, milord,” the butler confirmed.
Charles recalled the first time he had met her, when he had been doing his nightly patrol of Wentworth Park. She had managed to scale the wall that divided his estate from that of her family and crawl right into the trapdoor in search of a creature she had called Whiteson.
But the cat in her arms had been as black as coal.
In all honesty, he hardly understood what went on in Phoebe’s head most of the time. Just this morning, she had flung open the curtains in her rooms and decided to do the same thing to the rest of the manor, after he had let it be known that they were not to be opened under any circumstances .
Still, he could not help but agree to her request. He had already posted more footmen to watch the perimeters of the estate and now, with her spending the greater part of the morning outdoors, the whole manor was in an uproar.
His wife seemed to just court danger at every turn, but it was his responsibility to make sure that she was safe.
“I suppose that she is merely accustomed to spending her time in the gardens,” he muttered, more to himself than to his staff.
“Should we have more men to watch Her Ladyship, milord?”
Charles had initially thought of it and stopped. If Phoebe found out that he had men watching her, that would only lead to more questions. The more men he assigned to her, the more likely she was going to find out about it.
“I do not think that is necessary,” he finally said slowly. “Just the ones we have currently assigned to her will suffice.”
“As you wish, milord.”
With nothing more to say, he waved them off and went back to perusing the documents before him, adopting the air of a man who was too busy to deal with anything else.
Or something to that effect.
As soon as both men left his study, however, he walked briskly to the large windows that looked out to the gardens. The curtains were still closed, even though it was noontime, when the sun should be at its peak.
It had been a long time since his study had seen the light of day. In fact, he had never opened his curtains since he came back to Wentworth Park…
Gingerly, he pushed the drapes aside, wincing when a streak of sunlight shone in through the small gap he had created in the curtains.
Why am I acting like some creature of darkness, balking at a little sun?
Charles was almost affronted by the direction of his thoughts. However, he was a man who had a great respect for facts, and it was true that he had thrived for several years under the cover of darkness, subsisting merely on candlelight and the light from his fireplace.
He looked out into the gardens where Phoebe had been reported to have spent most of her morning. He could see the old swing where he used to play as a child, now too small—in more ways than one—to accommodate the man he had become.
He frowned when he realized that it might not be as stable as it probably was when he had been younger.
It would be so easy for someone to saw the branch off halfway , he thought to himself. Or maybe even do something to the ropes…
He had seen far too many accidents to know that a great many of them were premeditated, and not by fate.
Of course, he could also tell Phoebe to keep well away from the swings, but he had the distinct feeling that she would not heed his warning. He pressed his mouth into a grim line as he turned away from the sight of it with a sigh.
It was going to be a great effort to keep his wife safe, but that did not mean he was not going to try.
Besides, it had been quite some time since he had a challenge, and he was more than up for it.