Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
P hoebe was still shamefully nodding off when she walked into the breakfast room the next morning, a full half-hour later than she was accustomed to.
If her maid had not inadvertently roused her for her morning toilette for the second time in two days, she had no doubt that she would still be abed, dreaming of the sorts of things that she would never be able to say out loud.
What had unfolded in that room beneath the trapdoor had been an education of sorts for her. She had never thought her husband capable of such stormy passion—or that she would be able to respond to it with such wanton abandon… And then the events that unfolded at the library showed her the opposite side of him too and only served to catapult the feelings tenfold.
Her cheeks heated up at the mere recollection of it. Yet, she could not help but long for more of the same.
I do not think it is wrong for me to desire my husband at all, she defended herself.
It was most certainly unusual—most ladies did not particularly express a great liking for their husbands. Tolerance, perhaps, but nothing like the toe-curling, spine-tingling anticipation that Phoebe was now feeling.
So lost was she in her thoughts that she was greatly surprised to find Charles already seated at the head of the breakfast table, keenly engrossed in that morning’s paper as he usually was. Sunlight spilled into the room, bright and golden.
The curtains have been pulled back , she realized in wonder. And where is O’Malley?
The footman, who reveled in partaking in his share of their meals, was nowhere in sight. Nor was Huxley.
“Good morning, Phoebe,” he greeted her with an arched eyebrow.
For one with an aversion to sunlight, he looked exceedingly pleased with himself.
“Ah… good morning,” she murmured, suddenly feeling coy. She sat down as she usually did across the table. She stole a glance at him as she unfolded her napkin and to her mortification, she found him smirking at her.
Smirking!
Oh, you must be so proud of yourself now!
“I trust that you had a good night’s rest,” she remarked in as casual a tone as she could muster.
“No better than yours, I would think.”
She dropped the toast onto her plate with a look of surprise. Was he… actually bantering with her?
Fighting to hide her smile, she shrugged her shoulders in as nonchalant a manner as she could muster. “I would beg to differ—physical exertion is most conducive to sleep, or so I have heard.”
“You have heard well, indeed,” he nodded sagely. “But there are other things that could fatigue a body—”
She dared him to finish his sentence with a cutting look placed from right across the table. If he thought he could have his fun at her expense, then he was sorely mistaken!
Was it even appropriate for him to make light of her inexperience?
Fortunately, Charles took the hint and decided not to finish his sentence—but not without a subtle quirk at the corner of his lips. She could tell he was thoroughly enjoying their exchange and the knowledge of it made something delicate unfurl deep in her belly.
If he so much as smiled—a real, full smile—she had no doubt that a horde of butterflies would take flight in her stomach.
He was being insufferable, to be sure, but Phoebe found that she liked this side of him also. Well, there was probably no side of him that she did not particularly like, anyway, but that was beside the point.
The most important thing was that Charles was actually talking to her and not about his countless rules at that!
They continued to eat in companionable silence. It was as if they had known each other for so long that words need not be said between them.
Except that she had an awful lot of words that she had been longing to say to him.
“You know,” she said, putting her knife and fork down as she looked up at him. “I do not know why we must be at the opposite ends of the world when we sit down for our meals.” She gestured towards their seats at the opposite ends of the table with a rueful smile. “It does get tiring having to shout at you if I want to say anything at all.”
This time, Charles did not say anything. He merely glanced pointedly at the maid that stood a slight distance away from the table and Phoebe wondered if she had just broken yet another rule of his.
If I bother with all the rules he has imposed upon himself and this house, I fear I shall go mad, she sighed to herself.
But if she never spoke out, then things would never change and that was something she was not willing to countenance—not for the long run, in any case.
However, she was grateful for her small victories. After all, every journey began with a single step and she had taken a fair amount of them already. She could feel them both getting more familiar with each other.
The only question was how many steps would it take to bridge the distance between her and Charles.
“Well, that was a wonderful breakfast,” she beamed at him after she wiped her lips with a napkin. “My Mama always did say that a good breakfast made for a wonderful start to one’s day. I suppose she was right.” She looked out the window and sighed a little. “On days like these, we would have picnics in the gardens or by the creek…”
She turned back to Charles, blushing a little when she found him looking intently at her.
“I think,” she smiled wistfully, “that I would very much enjoy going on a picnic with you someday—if you are amenable to the idea of course.”
His eyes widened at her suggestion and she felt her heart sink just a little, but she picked herself right back up.
“You do not have to do it, if it causes you such discomfort,” she told him gently as she stood up. “I hope I see you again at supper this evening, though.”
Her relationship with Charles was a fragile thing, like a flower that had barely managed to unfurl its petals in the soft sunlight. No matter how giddily excited she was, she knew she could not rush him.
These things will take time , she reminded herself.
Fortunately, they both had a lot of that on their hands.
Charles watched her leave first, admiring the slight sway of her hips as she exited the breakfast room. His hands curled over the armrests of his chair, recalling how they had roamed those lush curves last evening. How he still itched to do the same thing all over again.
Well, not exactly the same thing—he wanted more .
He shook his head as he reached for his half-forgotten coffee, nearly spitting it out when he realized it had gone cold and become rather unpalatable. Watching her feast had become a far more pleasurable activity. Before Phoebe, he could never have imagined that conversing with someone over a meal could be an activity he so thoroughly enjoyed.
“Oh…Her Ladyship has already eaten?” O’Malley looked at the seat that Phoebe had occupied just a few moments earlier.
Behind him, Huxley let out a long-suffering sigh. “We sincerely hope you were nicer to her today, at least, My Lord.”
Charles glared at the irreverent duo. “You both seem to have forgotten your place.”
The footman just smiled impenitently at him. “I hope that breakfast was at least a more pleasant affair this morning, My Lord?”
“It was pleasant enough.”
Charles had the footman accompany him to the breakfast room half an hour before the said breakfast to supervise the testing of the food, and before Phoebe came down for breakfast. After that, he had settled himself into his chair and waited for her.
“Huxley.”
“Yes, My Lord,” the butler bowed at his side.
“I seem to recall that there is a small brook in this estate,” Charles told him softly. “The Marchioness has expressed a desire to go on a picnic. Make sure that the area is secured in the next few days.”
Huxley’s face softened. “I shall see to it, My Lord.”
“And tell the kitchens to prepare food… appropriate for a picnic,” he instructed.
His knowledge of picnics and outings of the sort was woefully inadequate, but his staff should know. Heaven only knew that they had enjoyed going down by the brook a few times already.
“Her Ladyship will most certainly appreciate your gesture, My Lord. A happy wife will ensure a happy life.”
O’Malley wrinkled his nose at that. “Well, what would you know about wives? You have never been married, Huxley.”
The butler sniffed at the footman. “Precisely. I have a keen awareness of my own faults and failings—enough to conclude that I will most assuredly fall short of any woman’s expectations, so I dare not disappoint anyone with a paltry attempt at matrimony.”
Charles smiled wryly. A few short weeks ago, he had been of the same mind as his butler. Now, he could say that he knew better.
For a start, just a month ago, he would never have considered opening the curtains of his manor to please his bride. Even more inconceivable would have been the very notion of him planning a picnic for her enjoyment.
These were the little things, he had to admit, but he dared not make overly grand gestures that would only shock her and make her even more wary of him.
They had started off on the wrong foot, but that did not mean that they had to suffer each other for the rest of their journey.
He smiled softly as he pondered on his butler’s words. A happy wife indeed made for a happy life and right now, he truly felt as if his happiness was, in a way, tied to Phoebe’s.
What if instead of just existing together, we decide to make a life for ourselves with each other?
The thought of it made him smile just a little bit more.