A Porcelain Viscountess by Hazel Linwood

Chapter 17

Phoebe was holding her breath as she watched Hayward kiss her hand. He wasn’t letting the kiss go, holding onto it for as long as possible as he maintained the locking of their gaze.

The horse snorted beside them, impatient, almost asking what they were doing. She glanced his way before turning her eyes back to Hayward as he lowered her hand away from his lips, still holding onto her, but no longer kissing her.

“Why…did you do that?” she asked quietly, still feeling the thrill of his touch.

“Why do you think?” he whispered back to her. The words made the smallest of smiles flicker at her lips, before she remembered everything that had been in Graham’s letter and the fact he had gone to the constables, claiming she had been abducted.

Hayward was in danger because he was hiding here. Whatever it was that the two of them shared…surely it could never be?

“Your Grace…I…” she stammered, uncertain what to say, especially when his hand was still in hers, making a warmth spread through her.

“Yes?” he asked, still staring at her. That gaze pierced her and made her shift to side from side with excitement.

“My Lady, all is set,” a voice said, interrupting them. Hayward jumped away from her, dropping her hand, just as she turned to see the stable groom nearby. He was proffering a small bag to her, with a few snacks and a flask of water, ready for her ride.

“Thank you,” she said a little shakily, taking it from him. He bowed and stayed where he was, having no idea he had interrupted anything and clearly intending to watch her off on the horse. Cantante had hidden the moment of the kiss from the groom’s view, but now the groom had walked around the horse.

Phoebe turned her gaze back to Hayward to see he was backing up even further now, looking more than a little afeared at his own actions.

“Enjoy your ride, my Lady,” he said softly.

“Thank you,” she said, trying to smile at him. She wanted to talk about what had just happened, and not let it go just yet. Nevertheless, the moment was gone, having slipped through her fingers like sand. “I shall see you for dinner tonight?” she asked, planning already to return earlier from her ride than she had first planned, so that she could see Hayward again and discuss this.

“Yes, dinner,” he said distractedly, before walking away. She stepped forward, thinking of going after him, but he had turned away already and was heading back toward the house.

The horse snuffled at her side, pleading to be going. Phoebe turned and laid a hand on the horse, calming him instantly, though her gaze still lingered on Hayward’s retreating figure, thinking on the words he’d uttered when she’d asked why had had kissed her hand.

Why do you think? He’d asked.

* * *

Phoebe was restless as she prepared for dinner.

“You look beautiful,” Louisa said at her side as they gazed into the mirror together.

“Thank you,” Phoebe said as Louisa offered the usual ribbon to hide the bruise at her neck. Phoebe paused before taking it, looking at the bruise that had now faded so much, there was just a small yellow tinge around her neck. “I think I’ll go without it tonight.”

“You will?” Louisa asked, with a great smile on her cheeks.

“Yes, perhaps the gold necklace would be best?” she asked. Louisa nodded with eagerness and hurried off, back to the dresser before returning with a gold chain necklace and placing it around her neck.

“There, it fits perfectly.”

Phoebe smiled as she looked down at the dress. It was not dissimilar to the gown she had attempted to wear the night she had run away from Graham. Yet this gown was pastel pink in color, with a similar deep neckline and short sleeves. She was showing off more skin than she had done in a long time, thankful that a lot of her bruises were finally healing. With the gold chain around her neck, it matched the bracelet on her wrist perfectly, and complimented the small golden clips Louisa had placed in her hair to hold up a few loose curls.

“Beautiful,” Louisa said again, bringing another smile from Phoebe.

“Thank you,” she said softly as she stepped back from the mirror, knowing in her heart why she had taken such care over what she had worn that night. It was for Hayward.

“I’m sure he’ll like it, my Lady,” Louisa said quietly. The words made Phoebe hesitate and look back to him. “Don’t play innocent,” she giggled as she ushered Phoebe toward the door of the chamber. “I saw the two of you yesterday whilst we were shooting. The air practically crackled.”

“It did not!” Phoebe complained, but Louisa appeared not to be listening, pushing her out the door anyway.

“Go enjoy your dinner, my Lady. I am sure you will enjoy your company as well as the food.”

Phoebe tried to clamp her lips together to stop her smile, but it didn’t work. As she left Louisa and crossed the landing, heading toward the stairs, she was very aware of the smile on her features and the restless excitement with which she was walking toward the dining room. As she descended the stairs and walked into the dining room, she found Hayward had beaten her there.

He was walking up and down the dining room, his feet taking him back and forth beside the table. He appeared equally restless, unable to settle, fidgeting and scratching the back of his head. That was until she made a sound, clearing her throat a little to show she had entered the room. His gaze snapped up to her then.

“Your Grace,” she said, bobbing her usual curtsy.

“My Lady,” he said, bowing to her as he held her gaze. He took a step toward her across the room, the anxiousness in the move made her breath hitch, wondering if he would kiss her hand in such a way again.

Then there was movement behind her in the corridor. She turned and moved away as the butler stepped into the room, along with the servers carrying trays ready to serve their food. The appearance of others made Hayward step away as well, moving back to the head of the table, as though he had not been about to run to her side.

“Thank you, Carling,” Hayward said, nodding his head at the butler. “What have we got tonight?”

“Roasted venison, Your Grace,” Carling said as other trays and plates were brought in with steaming vegetables and potatoes. As the plates were set down on the table, Phoebe slowly walked around them, heading to her usual place beside Hayward.

He stepped forward right away, pulling out her chair in a kind way to help her sit down. She smiled at him her thanks, holding his gaze, unable to say words that had been lingering on her tongue for the last few hours, ever since she had gone on her ride earlier that day. As Hayward moved away, he dropped a hand down, brushing her arm softly. It was a brief thing, there one second, gone the next, but it brought a heat to her skin and made Phoebe’s eyes follow him as he turned to his own seat.

The servers moved away, leaving the room, though the butler lingered for a while.

“Claret, Your Grace?” Carling asked, placing two glasses down on the table for them.

“Thank you, yes,” Hayward said. Carling moved to the side of the room and collected a carafe of wine from a drinks cabinet before returning to the table and pouring the wine out for the two of them. “Thank you, Carling, that will be all.” The dismissal was polite, but an insistent one. The butler nodded politely and then moved away, heading toward the door.

Phoebe felt her body tense as she waited for the butler to leave. As soon as he had left, she turned her head to Hayward. Neither one of them seemed interested in food, their eyes were only on each other instead.

“You kissed my hand,” she said softly.

“Gentlemen often do kiss ladies’ hands,” he said mischievously with a small smile. She arched her eyebrows at him, showing exactly what she thought of his words.

“Not in that way!”

“Maybe not,” he accepted, sitting forward in his seat and leaning toward her. She found her own body leaning toward him, closing the distance between them. “Are you surprised? You have been flirting with me almost as much as I have with you.”

“Your Grace…” she paused, closing her eyes for a minute. “This is so complicated. What even is this?” she asked, opening her eyes and gesturing between the two of them.

“I do not know,” he said softly. “I do not have words for it.” Yet he reached for her hand again, entwining their fingers together and pulling her toward him a little more. “All I know is that I seem to pin hopes on seeing you every day. I look to you in hope to see you smiling, happy, no longer afraid.”

He paused with the words as Phoebe itched forward in her chair toward him.

“What is it you see when you look at me?” he asked softly. The tone was teasing, yet his expression suggested he was truly serious. She leaned toward him a little more, still clasping tightly to his hand.

“I see the best man I have ever met,” she confessed. She couldn’t deny it. He had rescued her when she was in a dark place, and since then had spent every day determined to make her smile and keep her safe.

His movements were suddenly anxious. He turned his chair a little more toward her and lifted her hand up to his mouth, kissing the back again, just as he had done earlier that day when she stood with Cantante. He closed his eyes this time, indulging in the kiss as he held her close to him. She leaned toward him all the more, basking in his touch and nearly falling out of her chair in her anticipation to be closer to him.

“Your Grace…” she paused, trying to hold onto the moment, yet Graham’s face bled into her mind. She was married to another man. Nothing could undo that at this moment. “We should not be –”

“Do not say it,” he pleaded with her, lifting his lips just a little off her hand. “For one minute, I wish to suspend reality.” His whisper was a desperate plea, making her heart ache in longing for him. He turned her hand and lifted it higher once again, this time he placed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. It was an even more intimate touch than the last, making her bite her lip.

“We cannot suspend reality forever,” she whispered. Her words made him lift his lips off her skin and hang his head a little, though he clutched to her hand still all the same.

“Tell me something then,” he pleaded, keeping his head down.

“Tell you what?” she asked.

“That I am not alone in this,” he whispered softly. “For it’s all very well telling myself that you are off limits to me, my Lady. That I should not feel what I do feel, but I do not seem to be able to stop how I feel anyway.” He lifted his head this time with the words, looking at her with his eyes wide, waiting for an answer. “Can you?”

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the image of him for a minute. She knew exactly what she had felt for him. It had somehow developed without her really realizing. Each flirtatious comment, each kindness he had shown her, had made her more and more attached to him.

“No, I cannot stop it,” she said, opening her eyes again. He lifted her hand another time, placing a quick kiss to her wrist before pulling her forward.

She was certain he was going to kiss her properly this time, his head bending towards her. God, she wanted it. She wanted to know what a kiss of true affection could feel like, but this was somewhere she could not go.

As he leaned toward her, she reached out and placed a hand in the center of his chest, stopping him from coming any closer. He frowned a little in surprise.

“We cannot, Your Grace,” she said, whispering. “I am married to another, even though I do not wish to be.”

He hung his head forward, the muscles in his jaw twitching slightly in a manner she could not quite fathom.

“Is that your only objection?” he asked, still not looking at her. “You may yet obtain your separation.”

She thought of Graham’s last letter. The mere thought of it made tears spring to her eyes.

“Do you think my husband will really allow it to happen?” she asked, not really expecting an answer. “I think he will go a long way to ensure I am never allowed to leave him. Besides…what of your trip to Egypt? And your travels abroad?” Her words made him sit straight, leaning away from her though he still kept one hand in hers, connecting the two of them. “You are to leave England soon, Your Grace. You have always intended to do so. And I must stay. Our lives are on different paths.”

She hated saying the words, even though she knew they were the truth.

“You think you will go back to him, don’t you?” he asked, holding her gaze. The tears threatened to fall all the more now, stinging her eyes. “You think it will happen.”

“The lawyer made it clear that the law is not on my side,” she said softly. “I might have to go back to him, even though it is the last thing I want to do.”

Hayward slowly disentangled his hand from hers. Feeling it gone, she was bereft, like a part of her was missing. He turned back to his plate, looking as sad as she felt, though he didn’t serve himself any food, nothing at all. He just stared at the China plate before him, those muscles in his jaw ticking.

“I am sorry,” she whispered, wishing she had been able to say better words to him. Words of admiration, of devotion too, but her head would not allow her heart to say them.

“Me too,” he said softly, though he kept his gaze down.

There was a tap at the door. Phoebe blinked a few times, desperately trying to stop the tears from falling. There was a handkerchief presented before her eyes, another of Hayward’s as he gave it to her.

“Take it,” he urged her softly. She smiled her thanks and dabbed her eyes, stopping the tears. “Come in,” he called to the door.

Carling opened the door, walking back in with a letter clutched in his hands.

“Forgive me for the interruption, Your Grace,” Carling said, striding across the room. “An express messenger has just delivered this, riding so fast that the horse nearly had an accident on the drive.”

Phoebe lowered the handkerchief from her eyes at these words and looked up, seeing the way that Hayward took the letter. His eyes widened a little as he read the address on the letter.

“Thank you,” Hayward said, nodding his head at Carling, clearly in expectation for him to leave. The butler bowed and left. As the door closed, she turned her eyes on Hayward.

“He had to leave?”

“He did,” he said in reply. “Look.” He turned the letter for her to see the address. Not only was Hayward’s name on there, but her own, ‘Lady Ridlington.’ She grimaced at the sight. If the butler had paid attention, he might well have realized who she really was.

Hayward ripped into the letter, pulling it open. In the dim candlelight coming off the candles in the center of the table, it was clearly difficult to read, for her had to lift the letter a little higher. His expression altered, the brow furrowing harder as her read.

“What is it?” Phoebe asked, feeling fear jolt in her stomach as Hayward looked up from the letter.

“I am so sorry,” he whispered quietly then presented the letter to her.

She took it quickly, reading it as fast as she could.

Dear Lady Ridlington and His Grace, the Duke of Hayward,

It is with great regret I have to inform you that the Viscount of Ridlington has this evening replied to my letter along with the paperwork requesting the separation. As we feared, he has refused to grant the separation. In fact, the paperwork was returned with not only a bitterly worded letter, laying threats at not just Lady Ridlington’s door, but my own as well, but the paperwork was damaged, ripped into shreds. It does not affect our request, for I have already submitted copies to the registrar office as proof of the request of separation, yet it is testament to his feelings on this matter.

I fear the path ahead is much more difficult than we even expected. I beg you both to visit me tomorrow so we can discuss our next steps.

Yours et cetera,

Mr Norman Preston.

Phoebe lowered the letter as she looked up to face Hayward.

“What does that mean?” she asked quietly.

“It means you’re going to court.”