A Porcelain Viscountess by Hazel Linwood

 

Chapter 1

“What in God’s name are you wearing?”

Phoebe looked up as she reached the bottom step of the staircase. Her husband, Graham Colborne, the Viscount Ridlington, was standing in the middle of the entrance hall and staring at her with perfect shock set in his features.

Phoebe tried to stop the trembling of her hands that she always felt around him. She stepped away from the staircase and made to walk past her husband toward the front door.

“It is called a dress,” she said very quietly, half hoping he wouldn’t hear her. She had learned before not to talk back to him; it never ended well, yet the temptation was there all the same. Her heels clicked on the black and white tiled floor as she walked past him, echoing back at her off the mahogany wooden paneled walls.

In truth, she hated the house. Everything about it was dark, painted black or deep brown, a little like how she imagined the insides of her husband’s heart to look.

“What did you say?” Graham snatched her wrist as she walked past, stopping her from going any further.

“Ow,” she said quietly, trying not to make too loud a pained sound. If she did, he would only hurt her more. He used the pincer-like grip on her hand to tow her back toward him until she collided against his chest.

“What did you say?” he said again, clearly expecting an answer. His long auburn hair was tied up into a slick ponytail at the back of his head, and his almost black eyes were pinned on her, the anger in them plain without him having to raise his voice.

“It is just a dress,” she said, lifting her chin toward him. “What is wrong with it?”

“You dare to ask that?” he asked. The grip on her wrist became even more painful as he dragged her across the entrance hall.

She breathed a sigh of relief, thankful to no longer be so close to him, even if that relief was momentary. As he dragged her across the hall, she caught sight of the butler and the footman standing by the front door, purposely with their backs turned toward her.

Why do you always pretend it is not happening? She thought angrily. It was always the same. The Viscount’s staff pretended they did not know about his cruelty. The only person who acknowledged it in that house was her maid and closest friend.

“Look. Look at yourself!” Graham ordered. He spun her round forcefully, changing his hold so that his pincer-like grip was on her upper arms as he forced her to look in the mirror. “What do you see there? Do you see the Viscountess Ridlington? Or do you see a bawd?”

“A bawd!?” she repeated in horror, looking down at the gown. She already knew there was nothing wrong with the dress, nothing at all. It was a fine pale blue gown that was gathered high on her waist with a deep neckline and short fashionable sleeves. The entire outfit was fashionable for the time, and hardly revealing. Above the dress, she could see her panicked face staring back at herself. Her light brown hair was beginning to fall out of its updo, her bold lips were trembling, and her green eyes were watery. “There is nothing wrong with it.”

“You are arguing with me?” he asked, leaning his head down toward her and connecting their gazes in the mirror. She shuddered at his touch. “Anyone would think you are trying to take a lover. Look how deep the neckline is.” He went to grab the neckline of the dress.

She tried her best to wriggle out of his arms, fighting against him. How has it escalated to this?

In her panic, she managed to stop him from adjusting the neckline and grabbing her gown, but instead he took hold of her upper arms, forcing her back against him and looking at herself in the mirror another time. She breathed heavily, trying to keep a lid on her fear.

“You want a lover, don’t you? That’s why you would dress this way. You would humiliate me so,” he leered in her ear, his lips so close to her skin that she veered away, trying her best not to be touched by him.

She had already shared his bed too many times for her liking. Whenever she was touched by him, even simple touches, made her run from him, repulsed.

“I will not have my wife be so disloyal,” he said, standing straight.

“I am not being disloyal,” she pleaded for him to understand, finding her voice. “It is just a dress. It is of the fashion, I thought you would like that. I didn’t choose it to embarrass you in anyway –”

“And you think I’d believe that?” he asked, cutting her off.

“I’ll change,” she said quickly. “I will go and change now. Please…just release me.” She knew she was begging. His fingers were clenched so deeply on her upper arms that he would undoubtedly leave bruises. She had no choice but to opt for a dress at the very least had long sleeves, to hide the marks.

“You’ll change into something demure,” he ordered her. “Something that does not belong on a bawd in a brothel. Understood?”

She saw no point in arguing with him further, so she just nodded. Arguing with him would only incur more of his anger, and maybe even more bruises.

“I-I’ll go change now,” she stammered, tired of having to suffer her own fear. He released her, allowing her to stumble away. In her effort to be far from him, she tripped on the hem of her dress. She fell to the floor, hands planted on the diamond-shaped black tiles.

“Pathetic,” he murmured behind her. She tried to move to her knees and stand again when she abruptly felt a hand on the back of her dress.

“Graham, no!” she pleaded. He was using the dress to tug her back to her feet, it pulled awfully on her corset, restricting her breathing.

She had never known this fear before of him. She had always been afraid of him, since the day her father had announced the betrothal, but since their marriage, every day it had grown worse and worse. Never before though had he constricted her breathing. She wasn’t even sure he knew that was what he was doing, the point was he didn’t care enough to notice. He just tossed her around like she was some kind of ivory doll that one would buy for a child to play with.

Instinctively, as she stood straight, she kicked out at him. Her foot made contact with his, forcing him to release her. She stumbled away, breathing deeply around the corset.

“You have spirit tonight, don’t you?” he asked rhetorically as he walked toward her. “You do not usually fight back,” he whispered, making a grab for her.

“No,” she dived away, only just escaping his hold. “I’ll go change now, Graham. I promise, I will only be a few minutes. I give you my word.” She ran up the stairs as fast as she could, gathering the skirt of the gown and holding it around her ankles as she ran.

Behind her on the stairs, she could hear Graham following her, taking the steps two or maybe even three at a time. When she reached the top of the stairs, she didn’t look back to him. She just concentrated on running, all the way to her chamber.

As she burst through the door, she found her maid inside, Louisa, tidying up. The young fair-haired woman’s head snapped toward her, eyes wide with fear, suggesting she could hear Graham’s footsteps running down the corridor too.

“Louisa, quick, find me another gown,” Phoebe ran inside. “Anything with a high neckline and long sleeves. Ah!” She couldn’t help yelping as the door burst open. Phoebe backed away from the door as Louisa ran to the cupboard nearby, pulling out a gown.

Graham hurried toward Phoebe, backing her up against the chest of drawers nearby. She collided with it, barely aware how close it was in her desperation to be away from her husband.

“I’m changing now,” she said quickly. “I’ll be ready in just a few minutes. Please, Graham.”

It didn’t matter how many times she pleaded with him. Graham marched toward her and grabbed hold of her skirt. With one hard tug, he pulled at the material, ripping it.

“Graham!” she cried at him, but it did little use. He started to grab different parts of the dress, ripping it at a piece at a time in a frenzy. “Please, stop.”

Phoebe could barely see over Graham’s flailing arms, but she could just make out Louisa on the far side of the room with a new dress in her hands. The poor maid’s lip was shaking, and she had turned pale, watching what was happening.

“Please, my lord, stop,” Louisa started to walk across the room.

“Be quiet!” Graham snapped over his shoulder.

“Louisa, get back,” Phoebe begged her maid to abide by her wishes. It was always a fear that her husband would turn his anger on Louisa instead of her. The thought was too horrific. Just because she suffered at Graham’s hands didn’t mean that anyone else should. “Graham, please.”

Her begging was left unanswered. He just continued to rip her dress until her corset was exposed and the sleeves were torn off her body. She pushed against his chest, trying to find some strength to save herself from him, but he was far taller than her and outmatched her in strength by far. At her shove, he pushed one of her hands away and then laid that hand against her throat.

She fell still as he pinned her back against the chest of drawers, fixing her in place. She tried to breathe deeply around his hand, but the effort was now strained. She stopped fighting him and just stayed perfectly still. The only movement was in her eyes as tears began to trickle down her cheeks. She didn’t try to stop them, what would be the point?

He was evidently unmoved by her tears. He was staring back at her, his cheeks almost as red as his auburn hair from the animation of his attack on her. He moved his face toward her as he held her in place with her throat.

“I will not have a disobedient wife,” he whispered with venom in her ear.

Phoebe closed her eyes, feeling the fear ricochet through her body so much that her legs were wobbling beneath her, and her palms were clammy.

One of these days, he may end up killing me.

* * *

Francis arrived at his sister’s house with a spring in his step. He hadn’t seen Diana for months, not whilst he had been travelling across the continent, nor her husband, his good friend the Marquess of Dodge. As he waited for the door of the townhouse in London to open, he leaned on the doorframe, listening to the voices beyond.

“That will be him!” He could hear Diana’s voice calling excitedly. “He’s here at last. Jenkins, don’t worry, you do not need to get the door. I’ll answer this one.” She clearly addressed the butler with her last statement.

“You’re running like an excited puppy,” her husband was chuckling at her.

“He’s my brother, I haven’t seen him in almost a year. How else do you expect me to behave?” she laughed just as she flung open the door. “Francis!” She burst out of the door and barreled into Francis’ arms.

He was so startled he nearly fell down the front porch steps as he caught her. He laughed too, amazed at his sister’s strength in her delight to see him again.

She looked up at him, her smile even wider than his. The blue eyes they shared were darting up and down his figure now, clearly trying to take him in.

“You look tanned, and very happy,” she said, smiling up at him. Unlike himself, her hair was a touch lighter than his, with dark brown hair swept up into an ornate updo.

“You look…incredibly regal,” he said and held out his sister’s hands, examining her dress as she led him into the house. “Well, the Marchioness of Dodge certainly has some fine clothes now.”

“You are too kind to me,” she said, taking his arm as she led him further into the entrance hall. “Why did you not tell me you were back sooner? Your note said you arrived yesterday.”

“Yesterday evening. I needed sleep after the journey,” Francis hurried to explain. “If I had come to see you then I merely would have fallen asleep on your settee.”

“Well, we would have thrown a blanket over you,” Josiah’s voice urged Francis to look around. His good friend and brother-in-law was standing before him with his hand outstretched. Francis eagerly took Josiah’s hand for a shake. “How are you?”

“I miss travelling already,” he said with a dramatic sigh.

“You have only just got back!” Diana pointed out with evident affront. “Or are we really so boring that you would tire of us so quickly?”

“Do not be silly,” Francis said with a laugh. “Of course, I am delighted to see you again, and I missed you dearly.”

“That’s more like it,” she said, squeezing his arm. “Say more things like that and I’ll be asking you to stay in England forever more.”

“That, I cannot do,” he admitted wryly, much to her upset. It was what he did, and what he loved. A life seeing new places, adventuring and seeing what the world had to offer. Who wouldn’t want that life? “I will be in London for a few months, but I will soon be back to the continent again.”

“We must get you married,” Josiah said jovially, “then that will give you a reason to stay.”

“Oh, do not get us started back on that old argument,” Diana declared, throwing her hands up in surrender. Francis couldn’t blame her for wishing to avoid the subject. It was a topic he avoided at all costs himself.

I will never marry. He had once quite liked the idea, but that was many years ago. No woman had turned his head for some time, and he certainly could not picture binding himself forever to any woman he had ever met. No, a single life was for him, one where he could adventure the world alone and free.

“We must get ready soon,” Josiah said, picking out a pocket watch from his waistcoat and checking the time.

“Francis, do say you will come with us tonight,” Diana pleaded, already heading toward the stairs to change.

“Come with you?” he asked, startled. “I came this evening to see you. At home.”

“Well, we will not be here,” Diana pointed out. “If you want to see us, you will have to come with us on our outing.”

Francis shifted between his feet uncomfortably, noticing as Josiah watched him, chuckling.

“I see you haven’t changed,” Josiah whispered to him.

“You know I do not like the events of the ton,” Francis complained quietly.

“It is the done thing when you’re in London,” Josiah pointed out with a sigh.

“So, Francis? Are you coming with us?” Diana asked, pausing and turning to look back at him halfway up the stairs.

He had travelled a long way to see his sister and his friend. He may resent the events of the ton and find them quite odious, but he was not going to miss out on the opportunity to see his sister.

“Very well, I’ll come,” he agreed, watching as Diana jumped for joy on the stairs.

“You have made her as happy as marchpane does,” Josiah said beside him with a laugh.

“Where is it we are going then?” Francis asked.