Page 34 of Miss Ridley and the Duke

He went to sit in the stuffed armchair, to stare at the flames in the fireplace that had not yet been extinguished. His household was in uproar and the fire temporarily forgotten, which suited him fine. It reflected his mood.

Chapter Thirteen

"I am alone and miserable; man will not associate with me."

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

* * *

Philip started from a restless doze, his late wife’s pained words blending with Richard’s drunken tirades to form a tapestry of unsettling dreams. Dreams where the weight of solitude pressed on him, threatening to pull him into despair.

The room was dim, the onset of evening casting long shadows. Sconces flickered gently, their light spilling across the floor, while the fire in the hearth danced, painting shifting patterns on the walls. A servant must have entered while he slept, tending the room with quiet efficiency.

He lifted his head, his neck protesting from hours spent awkwardly bent against the arm of the chair. Groaning softly, he reached for the decanter on the nearby table and poured a measure of amber liquid. He heard the faint splash of droplets escaping the glass, but he had no energy to ensure the table was spared from the spill. Raising the drink to his lips, he swallowed deeply, seeking to silence the voices of the past that still lingered in the corners of his mind.

* * *

It had been three days since Richard had burst into their dinner. Annabel knew it had been precisely three days, as this was the third night she was taking her supper alone in the dining room. She kept hoping Philip would join her, but as the hour ticked slowly by, it was clear he had no such plans. He had retreated into his study when he was not out riding in the park. She had barely caught a glimpse of him, other than a fleeting shadow at the end of a passage.

She had never felt so alone.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and with dull detachment, she watched it fall onto her plate. She wished she knew what was wrong. What had Philip and Richard discussed after she had left the room? Why had her promising new marriage suddenly unraveled into … into … into this desolate silence?

Another tear slid down her chin, and she let it fall. She could put on a brave face, but what was the point? There was no one here to notice the effort.

The sound of low footsteps reached her ears, and she immediately felt a flicker of resentment, her earlier instruction to the footmen to leave her undisturbed clearly ignored. Lacking the energy to care, she did not bother to look up as the door clicked shut and a chair scraped the floor beside her.

Mrs. Harris settled heavily into the seat, giving a small huff of exertion.

“What happened, my girl?”

Annabel bit back an uncharitable remark. She could not take her sorrow out on the older woman, who was her only source of comfort in this unfamiliar house. Staring at her plate, she knew Mrs. Harris would not let the matter drop. She sighed and relented.

After a moment, she shrugged. “I do not know. Lord Saunton shouted something about a love triangle—or love quadrangle, or some such nonsense—and then Philip threw me out of the room. He yelled at me. He has not spoken to me since.” Her voice trembled as more tears splattered onto her plate. “Perhaps he regrets marrying me?”

Mrs. Harris sighed deeply, her hazel eyes clouded with concern. “Child, I do not believe the duke would have married you if he didn’t want to. He strikes me as a man who knows his own mind, and no one belowstairs has said otherwise. I suspect something else is troubling him, and he does not know how to face it. According to the staff, his behavior these past three days is entirely out of character. Whatever this is, it is about him, not you. Do not let your mind trick you into thinking otherwise. Sometimes, men just need time to untangle their thoughts.”

Annabel mulled this over. “You think he has a problem he cannot face?”

“I do. Based on my experience, men often struggle to share what’s weighing on their minds. It can be hard for them to admit when they are vulnerable or hurting. His Grace appears to be grappling with something heavy, and I doubt he will resolve it alone if he has locked himself in his study for three days.”

“But what can I do?”

Mrs. Harris gave her an encouraging smile. “It takes a strong woman to refuse to let such a thing fester. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, my girl, and make that handsome husband of yours talk to you. Remember what your dear mother always said: ‘Fortune favors the bold!’ ”

Annabel hiccuped a small laugh as the housekeeper mimicked her mother’s tone. “That is exactly what Mama would say.”

Her mother’s words reignited a flicker of determination. A sudden surge of optimism shot through her as Annabel pushed back her chair and stood. Raising a triumphant fist in the air, she declared, “Carpe diem!”

Mrs. Harris blinked, her expression bemused.

“Seize the day, Mrs. Harris, seize the day!”

Annabel marched through the hallways, her slippered feet tapping on the polished floors. When she reached the study, she flung the door open with a bang and stuck her foot against it to keep it from swinging back in her face. She stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, determination blazing in her eyes.

“Husband, we must talk!”

* * *