Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I s it morning already? Why is it still so dark?
Phoebe squinted into the dark void of her rooms, noting the thin sliver of sunlight that managed to dance past the tiniest gap in between the thick curtains that her husband demanded she kept closed at all times.
Even during the daytime.
“Good morning, My Lady.”
She turned to find Amelia walking into her rooms, balancing towels and a basin in one hand. In her other hand, she held a lit candle.
No doubt it is the only way to navigate through this darkness!
Without another word, Phoebe slid her feet into the waiting slippers and dashed towards the windows. She flung the curtains open, smiling widely as sunlight flooded her bedchamber.
“Milady!” Amelia gasped in horror. “What are you doing?”
She turned to the horrified maid with a satisfied smile. “Come now, Amelia. You cannot possibly expect me to languish in the dark like this. Humans need sunlight, too, you know!”
“But-but, His Lordship— ”
“Well, His Lordship can keep his curtains closed, if he wishes,” she told the maid firmly as she happily turned her face to the windows, letting the soft morning sunlight wash over her face. “I, on the other hand, shall have sunlight in my rooms.”
Amelia looked as if she might faint at any moment, but Phoebe just laughed and spread her arms out wide. She twirled a little before that bright, sunny window.
“See? Nothing bad is going to happen just because I opened a few curtains!” she beamed. “And is it not much better to work in the light than in total darkness?”
“Well, it was not total darkness, milady—”
“Yes, but a few candles in these vast rooms might as well be.” Phoebe smiled as she took the basin from her maid, pausing only slightly to blow the flickering flame from a nearby candle, before she sauntered off to the windows. “You can bring the mirror and towels over here, Amelia. And if the Marquess says anything about it, tell him that I cannot wash my face merely by the light of a candle!”
The maid smiled helplessly at her as she set the candle down on the table and hastened over with an armload of fresh towels. After Phoebe had washed her face and her hands, Amelia helped her into a blue dress the color of the summer sky.
“How would you like me to do your hair, milady?” she asked Phoebe, smiling hesitantly at her from the mirror.
“Oh, you can just put it up in a simple style. Nothing too ostentatious, as I will just be staying here in the manor.”
Amelia nodded and Phoebe soon learned that the maid was not only possessed of a great skill in doing hair, her hands were the gentlest she had ever felt on her scalp.
When Phoebe emerged from her bedchamber, she found that the rest of the manor was still shrouded in darkness, although she could see the sunlight peeking in through some of the thinner curtains. She walked past a row of portraits of the previous Marquesses of Wentworth and some of their Marchionesses, wondering if the Montgomery ancestors were somehow looking down their noses as she walked past them.
I would be in a rather glum mood myself, if I was to be forced into a lifetime of darkness, she thought to herself.
She paused and looked up to a portrait of a rather pale woman and smiled.
“I shall talk to your descendant about opening up some of the curtains,” she promised the lady in the painting with a soft smile. “Perhaps you will feel better once you have had some sun.”
“Paintings generally do not fare well with constant exposure to sunlight,” a deep baritone admonished her.
Phoebe jumped a little and turned to find the Marquess of Wentworth— her husband —with the same stoic expression that seemed to be permanently etched into his handsome features.
Her heart quickened beneath her breastbone as her eyes slowly took him in. His jacket was slung casually over his broad shoulders and he had dispensed the use of a cravat this morning. Instead, he had left his shirt open at the throat—the sight of which made her blood heat and her own throat run dry.
She felt warmth creep up her cheeks. “Good morning, My Lord.”
“I am your husband now. It would be unseemly to refer to me thus.”
She tilted her head to the side with a curious smile. “How should I refer to you, then?”
He paused, looking as if he had not considered it himself.
“ Charles ,” he finally said.
“Charles, then,” she nodded with a soft smile. “I am Phoebe.”
He frowned. “I already know that.”
She laughed a little. Of all the conversations she had partaken in ever since she made her bow, this had to be the most unusual .
“I meant,” she said a little more gently. “That you may refer to me simply as Phoebe, since I shall be calling you Charles henceforth.”
“Very well… Phoebe .”
“There now. That was not so hard, was it?” she smiled teasingly at him. “Are you headed down for breakfast, Charles?”
His only reply was a wooden nod.
Phoebe sighed inwardly and decided to do the most audacious thing she had ever done—she looped her arm around his and grinned up at the surprise etched clearly on his features.
Now, that is much better than the dull expression he always wears , she mused with a fond smile.
“That is just as wonderful since I am headed to breakfast myself. We can go together, then.”
He seemed a little stiff at first, but he did not disentangle himself from her, nor did he express anger or irritation. He even allowed her to all but drag him down to the dining room.
And she enjoyed every single moment that her hand curled lightly against his muscled arm.
“Phoebe,” he said a little sternly. “You might want to slow down.”
“What? Oh.” She felt crimson heat creep up to her cheeks and she let out a little nervous laugh. “I apologize for behaving quite childishly.”
“It is no matter. Just,” he paused and cleared his throat. Phoebe detected a slight tinge of red rising from his collar. “The dining room is not going to move, you know.”
“Well, I suppose you are right,” she giggled. “Ladies must conduct themselves in a more dignified manner, after all…”
Inwardly, she began to chastise herself. Just because Charles was a bit eccentric did not mean that she could conduct herself so shamelessly. She was his wife now, and she must not do anything to embarrass him in front of the servants…
“That is not what I meant,” he told her simply. “You may do whatever you wish as the Marchioness of Wentworth and the lady of this house. It is just that such boisterous activity right before a meal might upset your stomach.”
“Oh…”
Phoebe looked down, suddenly feeling a little shy. She had thought that a man like Charles, who was so handsome and fastidious in all things… certainly, he would not want someone as clumsy and unruly as her for his wife. She had thought that he would find her behavior embarrassing.
Instead, it would seem that he was more concerned for her well-being.
“In that case, thank you so much,” she smiled up at him. “For warning me about it, I mean.”
“You are welcome.”
She saw the corners of his mouth tick up in what appeared to be a subtle smile and felt something unfurl in her belly.
A warmth. A strange fluttering.
She slipped her arm a little until her hand rested in the crook of his arm. When his hand automatically covered hers, she could not help but look up at him, before looking away, feeling suddenly reticent.
She did not know why but that one action of his made her feel safe. Protected.
How could they ever think him a murderer? Phoebe wondered as they walked into the dining room together. I have not even been here for two days and already, he is so gentle towards me…
Miss Adeline Thomas was, quite simply put, an extremely bad judge of character.
But then, she remembered the room under the trapdoor, and she wondered if perhaps the man beside her was simply putting on an act for her benefit.
Or maybe that room was not what she feared it might be.
She cast him a brief, sideways glance and her fingers curled reflexively in his arm once more.
One of these days, she might have to find out what that room was truly all about…
“We should open the curtains here, too! What a waste of perfectly good windows if we kept them closed like this with the sun so glorious as it is today!”
The breakfast room was shrouded in veritable darkness, what with the thick curtains, although more than enough candles had been lit to provide ample lighting. For Phoebe, however, it seemed that this was simply not enough.
The servants looked to Charles in confusion, but he merely nodded at them in a cue to do as the Lady of the House wanted. Within a few minutes, the entire breakfast room was flooded with the full strength of the sun at eleven o’clock.
Charles squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light. It must have been years since anyone had opened the curtains in Wentworth Park so early in the day and the effect was jarring , to say the very least. Even some of the servants who had pulled the curtains open flinched none too discreetly at the sudden change.
But Phoebe had already thought it odd to find the curtains closed—he did not want her catching on to all the other oddities in his estate as well, so he might as well concede on this one issue.
Lose a little to gain more , he reminded himself as patiently as he could.
Rather difficult with a wife who tempted him at every turn, though…
That morning, she had donned a simple yellow dress that brought out her flawless complexion, giving it a vibrancy that was both natural and alluring. Her thick gold locks had been coiled into a chignon at her nape, highlighting the delicate column of her neck.
And her lips—God above, there was nothing he wanted more for breakfast than to feast on their rosy ripeness…
Charles inwardly shook his head and blamed the brief lapse of his sanity on the sunlight. Tamping down the sudden infusion of desire that coursed through his veins, he walked Phoebe over to her seat.
She smiled happily as he pulled the chair out for her. He still recalled how to treat a lady—he was not a complete barbarian.
Even if there was nothing civilized at all about his thoughts towards her.
“Thank you, My Lord,” she beamed at him, her eyes wide and bright.
Perhaps there was some benefit to having so much light , he thought to himself, feeling slightly dazed as she looked at him like that.
But then, his gaze dropped to her smiling lips, curled so invitingly that they were practically begging him to taste them. To take them into his own in a stormy kiss, right here in his own breakfast room…
Something strange unfurled in him and Charles could do nothing but nod curtly before walking over to his own seat at the head of the table. He sat down before anyone could notice the sudden discomfort he was feeling in his breeches.
As soon as he did, O’Malley began their usual ritual of testing all the food on the table.
Charles would have picked up the newspaper that had been prepared for him, if Phoebe had not been looking at him so intently.
What is it now? Does she want something?
He never could tell what she was about to do next.
Charles should have found this particular trait irritating—he liked having things a certain way, after all—but then, he found himself enjoying these little quirks of hers. Anticipating them even.
Thankfully, she did not say anything on the matter, merely looking in with a more curious air until O’Malley finished with the routine.
Charles could not recall a time when he looked forward to eating as much as he did at that moment, if only so the food could put a halt to Phoebe’s queries.
As he motioned for O’Malley to hand him some of the ham and pour his favorite coffee, he could not help but ponder over what just happened.
It was clear that he could not underestimate Phoebe, nor her powers of deduction, but he could not disclose certain aspects of himself to her either. He had thought, initially, that she would accept his explanations and that was that .
Apparently, I was mistaken in assuming this , he thought to himself as he stirred his coffee with a thoughtful expression. I would need to be more careful in the future, so she does not suspect anything out of the ordinary.
“By the way, My Lord,” Phoebe smiled at him from over the table. “I had thought that we should open the curtains in the mornings, at least. I tried to bring it up with Amelia in my rooms, and she seemed quite horrified at the prospect.”
Charles nearly choked on his food.
“The curtains are closed for a reason, Phoebe,” he told her pointedly.
“Yes, I suppose you did not shroud the entire manor in darkness for no reason at all,” she replied with a casual shrug. “But houses that have been left to fester in darkness… well, they get ill too, you know.”
He frowned. A house could get ill? Where did she ever get that notion?
“Us humans need sunlight,” she continued. “It is why God, in His infinite wisdom, saw fit to provide us with a sun. But houses need to be aired regularly, as well, or… well, they might get musty and that simply would not do.”
Charles paused and looked towards his footman. For years, Wentworth Park had kept its curtains and windows closed off from prying eyes.
Was he supposed to open it all up—and the people inside it—to the rest of the world and their enemies?
The thought of it made Charles shudder.
However, as he looked at his wife happily buttering her toast and enjoying breakfast without a care in the world, he had the rather ominous feeling that this was only the beginning of the changes that he would have to accommodate just to keep her from asking questions.
She was nothing at all like the vapid young women who could hardly hold a conversation beyond the latest fashions and gossip. She was clearly intelligent—which was a blessed relief.
He just did not anticipate that she would question the rules he had already set in stone before her arrival.
He sighed inwardly as he sipped at his coffee, glancing briefly at the curtains that were kept open for now.
He might have to increase the security of the entire manor, just to keep Phoebe from asking more questions.
As well as go on more routine inspections of the entire area just to make sure he did not miss anything.
Having a wife, it would seem, was a lot more work than he’d initially bargained for.