A Porcelain Viscountess by Hazel Linwood

Chapter 9

“It is the Marquess of Dodge, Your Grace. It seems…there has been an incident at his house. Your sister…” Mrs Goodman trailed off and lifted her hands to cover her face, not saying anymore.

No more need to be said. Phoebe felt her body stiffen, just as Hayward hurried off. He didn’t even glance back at her, he just rushed away, heading straight toward the house.

Phoebe’s body lost its frozen state as she shook herself into action. She practically ran after Hayward as he sprinted into the house. Mrs Goodman had only needed to say those few words in order to put the fear into her heart, and evidently Hayward’s too. Phoebe bundled the skirt of her gown in one hand as she ran, keeping it out of the way of her feet. She passed through the courtyard, following in the wake of the puddles of water that Hayward was leaving behind him.

He hurried in through the front door, dampening the floorboards with his wet shoes as Phoebe struggled to keep pace with him, running behind. In the hallway, no longer able to see him, she had to follow the sounds of a door bursting open and a voice that followed.

“Why are you all wet?” the Marquess of Dodge asked. Phoebe sprinted in the direction of the voice, emerging in the drawing room a second later, breathing heavily as both men turned to look at her. She leaned on the doorframe, unable to say words as she struggled to catch her breath. “What happened to you?” the Marquess asked, pointing back to the drenched state Hayward was in.

“Call it an accident,” he said with a wry smile. “I’d make more of a joke on the matter, but you are here for a reason, yes? Mrs Goodman, she said something has happened to Diana?”

“My Lady,” the Marquess turned his attention to her. “Come in, close the door. We do not need any more of the staff to hear of this.”

Growing only more and more discomforted by his words, she hurried in, closed the door and leaned against it.

“Something has happened?” she said, hearing how strained her own voice was.

“You could say that,” the Marquess said with a sigh as he dropped his hat down on the nearest settee and sat beside it heavily, resting his chin in his hand. “Your husband turned up at our house, in what you could describe as the very early hours of the morning.”

“What does that mean?” Phoebe asked, nervously chewing her lip.

“It was barely light yet,” the Marquess explained, before turning his eyes back to Hayward. “It was as we thought. He suspected Diana and I of being the ones to take Lady Ridlington away. He insisted on seeing you,” he said, nodding his head back to Phoebe. “When we explained that you were not there, that we knew nothing about it at all…he played a card I did not expect him to make.”

“What was it?” Hayward asked. His deep voice had become even deeper than before, drawing Phoebe’s eyes to him.

“He brought constables with him,” the Marquess’ words appeared to make Hayward reel on his feet. “It seems he has claimed to the constables that his wife must have been abducted.”

“What?” Phoebe asked, veering away from the door and stumbling into the room.

“It seems your husband is so much of a fool that he cannot even believe you would willingly leave him yourself,” the Marquess said with a shake of his head.

Phoebe couldn’t understand it. Graham was a demon, she had often thought that, a demon born to a human body, but to be so willfully blind too? It did not make sense.

“No, that is not in his character,” Phoebe said, finding her voice. She could see her sudden words had surprised both the Marquess and Hayward.

“What do you mean?” Hayward said, turning his bright blue eyes on her. She stilled for a minute, thinking of those blue eyes and the fun she had been having with him just minutes ago in the estate. She wanted that happy feeling back, yet it felt as far away as the stars above her now, out of reach.

“I mean I think he made such a claim for his own end,” she struggled to explain. “He is not so dumb. He knows I could well leave him of my own choice, but by making a claim to the constable that I was abducted –”

“Ah, he seeks to punish someone after all this is said and done,” Hayward said for her. “Whoever is hiding you, he wants punished. That would be me, on this occasion,” he said dryly, gesturing to himself.

“I’m so sorry,” she hurried toward him, across the room.

“No apologies, my Lady, I beg of you,” he said. He took her hand. The touch startled her, she hadn’t been expecting it, even though she had been the one walking toward him across the room. It was not an intimate touch, just the press of his hand against hers, like two friends meeting in the street after a long time apart, yet the touch made her feel safe. She didn’t pull away from his grasp. “I knew the risk I faced last night when I agreed to hide you here,” he said calmly.

She looked away from his blue eyes, down at the ground as she lifted her other hand to her neck and fiddled with the ribbon that hid the bruise there.

“You said something about Diana?” Hayward prompted, releasing Phoebe’s hand as he turned his focus back to the Marquess. Without his hand, Phoebe took a step away, startled by the power that had been in his warm touch.

“You know Diana has little patience when it comes to conversation. Least of all when it comes to an argument,” the Marquess said with arched eyebrows. “Finding the Viscount of Ridlington in our house, she happily marched down the stairs and said though we weren’t hiding his wife, she was thrilled to hear that her friend had finally left him at last. Lord Ridlington did not take kindly to it.”

“No…” Phoebe turned her head back to the Marquess, terrified of his next words. “Tell me he did not harm her.”

“No, my Lady. Even he is not so great a fool as to lift a hand to another gentleman’s wife,” the Marquess said calmly. “But he threatened her. I have never seen Diana so angry, nor so scared.”

Hearing her friend was scared, Phoebe turned away and covered her face with her hands for a second, finding the memories of all the pain Graham had caused her in the past not match up to this moment.

It is the fear. The fear that he will harm someone else.

“I should go home,” she said softly.

“What?” Hayward’s voice was so loud, the sudden word echoing back off the drawing room walls that Phoebe spun back round to face him. She found him standing surprisingly close to her, making her back up a step. “You want to go back to him?”

“Of course not,” she said quickly, “but do I have a choice? I cannot let him harm Lady Dodge.”

“So you’d let him harm you instead?” Hayward asked, crossing his arms. The logic of his statement she found surprisingly frustrating.

“Better that than let him hurt my friend,” Phoebe said, matching his stance. She could see she had surprised him. His lips parted a little as he tilted his head to the side, watching her. “What is it?” she asked.

“There are few who would sacrifice themselves so,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“The sacrifice is not necessary,” the Marquess said as he stood to his feet. Both Phoebe and Hayward turned their eyes on him, though they did not move their bodies away from being angled toward one another. “Like I would ever let anyone harm Diana. No man will come near her, least of all Lord Ridlington.”

“Do you hear that?” Hayward said, turning his gaze back on Phoebe. “So, there is no need to make such an impulsive decision to go back to him.”

“But…” Phoebe paused, looking between the two of them. “He may hurt Lady Dodge.”

“It will not come to that,” the Marquess said again, before tapping her shoulder. “Believe me, I would never let that happen. I came to speak with you as you should know that constables are involved now. Best stay indoors or on the estate as much as you can.”

“Thank you,” Phoebe said, trying to smile through her fear though it was difficult.

Hayward went to say goodbye and escort the Marquess out as Phoebe stayed in the drawing room, marching up and down the space. She tried to think of something else, anything else, but it was no good. She could imagine Graham’s face easily when he made that threat against Lady Dodge. The mere thought of the words and his reddening cheeks prompted her to adjust the ribbon that covered up her bruise.

She looked to the doorway and dropped her hand from her neck as the door opened again, revealing Hayward.

He said nothing for a minute, though he rested his weight on the door as he closed it behind him. When he said nothing, she went back to pacing, unable to let her fears settle.

“You look as though he is on my driveway right now, come to take you back and…well, lord knows do what!” His words made her flinch again. “I am sorry, I did not mean to scare you further with that.”

“No, no, you didn’t,” she said hurriedly, holding up her hands. “This fear is different. Do you not see?” she asked, turning to face him. He moved away from the door and walked toward her. “I am not the only one in danger now. My friends are. Lady Dodge is. And…and you are. For hiding me here.” With the words, their eyes connected. It felt a far too intimate look, so long and intense that had it been seen in public it would have been deemed scandalous.

She looked down at the floor between them, breaking the connection.

“I cannot bear the idea of any of you suffering because of me,” she said softly.

“Lady Ridlington, please listen to me, I beg of you.” He stepped toward her, until his damp boots appeared in her vision.

“You’re creating a puddle on your carpet,” she said, lifting her eyes to him at last.

“I know, so listen quickly before I end up destroying any other nice rugs around here with how drenched I am,” he said, the seriousness in his face breaking into a small jest of laughter before it faded away. “Your husband does not have any power now. He cannot hurt any of us.”

Phoebe felt her stomach tighten in objection to his words.

“You cannot know that for certain,” she said in a whisper.

“Yet I believe it,” he said, his voice strong as he took another step toward her. “Now, I want you to believe that nothing will happen to you here.”

“You can’t know that for certain either,” she pointed out with arched eyebrows.

“I can give everything I have to ensure it is the case,” he said. The depth of the meaning of his words made her breath hitch. “You’re safe here, Lady Ridlington. Believe that. Please?”

She wanted desperately to believe him.

* * *

Francis was tired of seeing Lady Ridlington still afraid. He had spent that afternoon attending to business in his library and now that the two of them were sat at dinner, he had discovered her manner hadn’t changed since that morning. Any sign of the happy woman who had ridden across the estate and jested with him had gone. In her place was the woman who had appeared the moment that she’d heard of Diana being threatened.

It was sort of like seeing Lady Ridlington’s reflection in a darkened mirror. Not appearing as she should be.

“You are still afraid,” he broke the silence between them as the butler left them to go and collect more claret at Francis’ request.

Lady Ridlington looked sharply up from her place, with her face lit by the candles that were in the center of the table. The soft orange glow lit her cheeks and shone on her green eyes, making them appear almost golden. He was somewhat lost in admiring the beauty in those features for a minute, before she spoke and interrupted his thoughts.

“I do not have a choice in the matter, Your Grace. Fear can claim you,” she said, holding his gaze. “Do you not think fear is like some kind of monster? It clings about our shoulders and the more you fight with it and tell it to go, the more it hooks its claws into you.”

“You have a remarkable way with words,” he said, sitting back in his chair and drinking the last of his claret. “Most people would say something simple, like fear is out my control.”

“Is it odd to say more?” she asked.

“Quite the contrary, I was admiring it,” he said, lowering the glass back down as he held her gaze again. There was the flicker of a smile in her features before she turned her eyes back to her plate. “Either way, my original point still stands.”

“What was your point?” she asked as she cut up some of the roasted chicken on her plate to eat.

“This man has made you live in fear whilst you were under his roof, I will not let him make you live in fear whilst you are under my roof. Oh no, that I cannot accept at all,” he said, suddenly feeling animated. Perhaps it was down to the claret, or the effect of seeing that small smile break through on her cheeks, but he was feeling playful.

“What do you intend to do about it?” she asked, looking up with her brows knitted together.

“Well, perhaps I should charge myself with the responsibility of being your entertainer as well as your host for the time being?” he asked, gesturing to himself.

“You would do that?” she asked.

“Of course. I saw last night when I met you, dancing with you, that a smile suits you infinitely more than this fear you wear about you, like a cape from your shoulders, as you so describe it,” he said, motioning to her. “Oh no, we need to see a smile there again.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and pointed to her face, seeing the way she had flattened her lips together, as though teasing him, denying him the very smile he wanted to see.

“How do you intend to accomplish that?” she asked, lifting her chin in defiance.

“A game!”

“A game?” she asked.

“Yes. Riddles,” he said, alighting on the perfect idea.

“Oh, you have picked the worst partner for this game,” she said, sitting back in her chair. “I am dreadful at them. You’ll win very quickly.”

“Then it looks like I’ve picked a good partner. I do like to win,” he said, jesting and watching as a smile finally broke through on her lips. Feeling the jolt that had occurred in his stomach as with every other time he had seen her smile, he decided it was time to push quickly on. “I will go first, here is your riddle for you. I have hands, but no feet. I make a noise but say no words and you look at me constantly. You will hear me of every second, of every minute, of every day. What am I?”

He thought he had offered her an easy one at first, though she screwed up her face as she thought, making her small nose even cuter to his mind. “Too difficult?” he asked with a laugh.

“Give me a clue,” she pleaded.

“Very well.” He looked away from her, toward the grandfather clock at the far end of the room. She had to follow his gaze a couple of times before she sighed in realization.

“A clock,” she said.

“Well done, see? Not so bad at this game after all. Your turn.”

“Right, let me think…” she paused and looked up at the ceiling before lowering her gaze back to his. “I can be broken, yet I can still go on beating after that. I can be given to another, though easily lost. What am I?”

“It is a heart,” he said, smiling.

“You are too quick!” she said, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table. “How is anyone supposed to beat you at this game?”

“Ask Diana, she will confirm I was the undisputed champion when we were children,” he said with a laugh. “Going on your theme, I have a final one for you. I can be given as a sign of love, yet I can also be the giver of life. What am I?”

As he waited for her to answer, he was aware how close they had come, leaning toward one another on the table.

“I cannot answer it,” she said whispering, her eyes looking between his. He found they had completely forgotten their food now, both too absorbed with staring at one another, wrapped up in their game.

“The answer…is a kiss,” he said simply, watching as her eyes darted down to his lips. “The kiss of life, or a lover’s kiss.”

The idea of what it could be like to kiss Lady Ridlington took over him. He didn’t doubt it could be the finest kiss he’d ever had, someone who made this fluttering feeling tremble within his stomach could certainly have power in such a kiss.

What am I doing?