Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
T he Duke of Cheshire had already been rather frail since before their wedding and had even been unable to make the journey to Wentworth Estate. He had sent in his congratulations, however—a fact that had cost Phoebe some of her dignity as there were some who speculated that His Grace did not look favorably upon his only son being forced to marry her due to a scandal.
Yet, Phoebe had given him the benefit of the doubt and graciously accepted his congratulations without a word of complaint, choosing instead to find some humor when the Duke had exhorted his son to “treat his bride with much care”.
For Phoebe, he had not found many words, save for the hope that she would be able to bring Charles happiness and peace.
She looked up at her husband, who had taken to staring out of the windows of the parlor with a cold look in his dark eyes, his mouth pressed into a grim line. His broad shoulders stood out in stark relief as he clasped his hands behind him.
“Charles,” she murmured, as she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
He seemed to stiffen at her touch, before turning to her with a softer expression. “My father and I did not share the closeness that you had with your family,” he told her softly. “He was a very strict man and demanded only the very best of his heir.”
“He must be very proud of you.”
Charles let out a laugh tinged with bitterness. “I would not really know, my dear. He was not exactly fond of displays of emotion, in spite of what he wrote in that letter of his for our wedding.”
Phoebe had heard of many men like the late Duke of Cheshire—men who shuttered away their emotions to paint a portrait of strength to the whole world.
“I am certain he was,” she insisted gently. “He…was just not very good at showing it, I suppose. Most men are.”
He smiled a little at that and ran a finger down the side of her face. “Have you always believed the best of everybody?”
“I believe that people always have a choice,” she replied. “They can do good or evil. I just hope they make the right choices.”
It was a very optimistic view of the world, and one that his experience might not have necessarily aligned with. For Phoebe, however, it was better to live with such hope than to believe only the very worst in people. Such an existence would be nigh unbearable to her.
“You know what this means,” he sighed, covering her hand with his own.
She nodded. It meant that they must head to London, so that her husband could settle the affairs of his father with the Duke’s solicitor. The man had already sent in his card and a letter to Charles, along with the news of his father’s death.
“I will go with you,” she told him firmly. When she saw that he was about to refuse, she pressed a finger to his lips. “I will feel better knowing that I am beside you at this time.”
He groaned and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into his tight embrace. “What did I ever do to deserve such a wonderful wife?”
Phoebe smiled and buried her nose into his chest. “On the contrary, one should ask what sort of vile mischief I had done to be married to you.”
His answering laugh was soft and a little hoarse, but she was thankful for it, nonetheless. She wanted to be able to always make him laugh. To open the curtains into the bleakness of his dark world.
“You should see your family before we leave early morning tomorrow,” he murmured.
“I already have. I won’t be leaving your side again.”
Whatever happens, I will be with you until the end , she promised him softly as she hugged him back.
They arrived at the heart of London to find the city oppressed with such dark clouds and an overall dreary atmosphere. The grand estate that had been the seat of all the Dukes of Cheshire felt so empty that their footfalls resounded in its walls as the butler led them to their rooms.
If anything, the staff of Cheshire Hall were extremely well-trained, for in the brief time that had elapsed, they had managed to clean out the bedchamber of the late Duke in preparation for Charles and Phoebe’s arrival. When Mosley, the Duke’s faithful butler showed Phoebe to what would be the Duchess of Cheshire’s bedchamber, Charles immediately blocked him.
“She is to share my bedchamber,” he told Mosley.
The butler looked at him in surprise. “Y-Your Grace?”
“The Duchess’s things, however, can be arranged in her boudoir in the adjacent suite,” Charles continued. “As for the Duchess, she will share my bed.”
“As you wish, Your Grace,” Mosley complied with a bow. He turned towards the maid that trailed behind him and relayed Charles’ instructions. The maid bowed her head, but not before Phoebe saw her eyes sliding towards the sight of her hand clasped securely in Charles’ larger one.
Phoebe knew that it was unusual for a married couple of the aristocracy to share a bed, when most of them could hardly stand each other. It must have been a strange sight for them to see them both so comfortable with each other, but well-trained servants would never speak of the business of their masters.
“This manor feels… different,” Charles sighed once they were alone. “Even when he had fallen ill, his presence filled the whole place. Now, it’s just…”
“Empty,” Phoebe finished, looking up at him. “It feels empty.”
He nodded, drawing her close to him with a shuddering breath.
“Don’t you think we should at least have brought O’Malley with us?” she asked him quietly. Due to the suddenness of their journey, they had had to leave the faithful footman behind with Huxley to manage matters that had been left back at Wentworth Park.
“I have entrusted some tasks to him that require his presence at Wentworth,” he replied. “Do not worry so much about it. I have Ambrose with me and he has served me for quite some time.” He smiled mirthlessly. “It is not like we will be attending any social events soon, in any case.”
Phoebe chose not to say anything. Instead, she just hugged him tighter. Sometimes, words were not necessary. This was one of those times.
“I have rushed you unnecessarily,” she heard him sigh before he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
She smiled as she looked up at him. “I would rather be with you than anywhere else in the world.” She frowned a little. “Are you not going to rest as well?”
Charles shook his head with a grim smile. “There are some things that require my immediate attention.”
“Oh.”
“But I shall join you for supper,” he reminded her. “And after that as well.”
She felt her face heat up slightly at that and she looked down before he could see the blush creep up her cheeks. “I do not think that our, um…activities would be appropriate, considering that your father just passed…”
“I know my father, my dear, and believe me, he would have been ecstatic at the prospect of me applying myself most assiduously to the continuation of the family line,” he responded dryly. “Although if it causes you to be uncomfortable, holding you would suffice—for the moment, that is.”
She laughed lightly at that. “All right. For the moment.”
She had no doubt, however, that if Charles was to ‘apply himself assiduously to the continuation of the family line’, she would be unable to resist him. Still, the almost oppressive air that hung over the entire manor all but dispelled any desire in her. She could only imagine how a young Charles might have felt living in such a grand but empty home.
Some things needed to change in Cheshire Hall, but those could wait until after the mourning period had passed. For now, perhaps, she might be able to convince Charles to open the curtains to let some sunlight in.
A few more moments in his embrace, and Phoebe was loath to see him leave for the study his father used to occupy, while Amelia accompanied her to the bedchamber to freshen herself up after the long journey.
Wentworth Park was a long way from London, but she and Charles had chosen their swiftest horses just so they could arrive shortly after the sun rose. Be that as it may, the journey had taken its toll on her, not to mention Charles, who had barely recovered from his illness.
“Your Grace,” Amelia murmured quietly as she handed Phoebe a towel that she might wipe her face with. The young maid looked on at her with concern shining in her eyes.
Phoebe could only smile back at her as she accepted the towel with a quiet thanks. When she married Charles a little over two months ago, she had not expected to become a Duchess so soon. She had even looked forward to meeting her new father-in-law sometime in the future.
Meeting him at his own funeral had not been in her plans.
She sighed as she handed the towel back to Amelia and stared out into the dreary clouds that hung over London. Even the weather mirrored the gloominess shrouding Cheshire Hall.
“Your Grace… It seems Mr. Jones has brought Whiteson over,” Amelia announced.
Phoebe turned around just as the cat leaped out of Amelia’s grasp and hurried over to her, jumping onto her lap and nestling into her with a loud purr.
“Oh dear, I hope the journey was not too tiring for you,” she sighed. “Poor kitty. You have been so well-behaved. I am sure Charles will not be disinclined to reward you for your suffering.”
A small smile tilted the edge of Amelia’s lips. “Mr. Jones might beg to differ on that account, Your Grace. Whiteson has not been overly friendly with him and nearly bit him just now.”
Phoebe frowned as she stroked the furry head. “Now, why would you do that to poor Mr. Jones?”
In response, Whiteson let out a spiteful hiss, as if he could not bear to hear about Charles’ valet.
“I found it odd as well, Your Grace,” Amelia admitted. “Whiteson has always been a good-tempered cat.”
Phoebe found it odd too, as the feline had even taken a liking to Charles, who was as ornery a human as could have been. She had read once that some creatures were more sensitive when it came to judging people.
From what she had seen of Ambrose Jones, he was a man who was diligent in doing his work and not given much to conversation. He had resided with the rest of the staff at Wentworth Park but rarely made himself seen. What could Whiteson have seen in him for the cat to react so vehemently?
Or it could simply have been that the valet might have chased Whiteson out in the past, before she and Charles officially adopted the cat. The world was not exactly kind to strays, especially a black cat such as Whiteson.
She sighed at the cat happily dozing off on her lap. “Have I now become as suspicious as Charles?” she wondered softly. “I should hope not… it would be such a dreary existence to go on doubting the sincerity of everyone around me.”
In any case, she might have to observe his interaction with Mr. Jones a little bit more.