And to hear that he hadn’t even mentioned their wedding tohissister?
Well, that stung. It made her feel… cheap.
It reminded her that she’d bargained herself away to him.
It didn’t matter that she’d bargained herself directly into luxury. The duchess’s rooms were beautiful, appointed with all the finest things. The bed—which Phoebe threw herself upon with a fit of melodramatic pique—was soft as a cloud. The rest of the house was as sparsely decorated as his country house had been, but this room was sumptuously decorated.
It was delightful. Warm. Lovely.
She punched the pillows until she was tired.
And then she waited. She waited for her refusal to appear at dinner to anger him. Then, when that failed, she waited for him to come to exercise his… marital duties.
He was so focused on duty after all. Oughtn’t he care about that?
But he didn’t. She waited and waited, and he never came.
And so, when she fell asleep, it was with an empty sort of feeling in her chest.
CHAPTER 14
“What’s wrong with you?”
Phoebe’s back stiffened.
It had been a long day. A long, mostly lonely day.
She wasnotin the mood for any—anygufffrom her new husband.
She’d woken up alone, still wearing her clothes from the night before. This was insult enough in more ways than one—not only had she waited for him until she’d fallen asleep, and not only had he never come, but she waswretchedlyuncomfortable from a night spent wearing her stupid, thrice damned wedding corset.
When she’d finally wrangled herself free from that death trap of a garment, she’d felt like her ribs were shrieking in relief.
Since ribs were unfairly lacking in voices, she decided to show her displeasure by stamping around the house, ‘settling in’ in the most obtrusive way she could manage.
Unfortunately, that was actually very difficult because the staff was overall lovely and accommodating.
“I shall have to redecorate,” she said loudly to a parlor she’d thought was empty—and then yelped and nearly toppled over backward when the housekeeper appeared out of nowhere.
“Oh, howlovely, Your Grace,” said the slate-haired Scottish woman, clasping her hands in front of her delightedly. “I’m Mrs. Abermale; so nice to meet ye. Now. About the redecorating. It’s been an age since we’ve had things freshened up in here. The previous duke—His Grace’s brother—didn’t marry before the good Lord took him, the poor soul. And the duchess prior wasnae one for the décor though she was a sweet enough woman, may her soul be at rest. But ye! If ye would like to change things, I’d be best pleased to send one of the lads out for some samples.”
This was all said with such robust cheer that it nearly knocked Phoebe flat on her bum with its force. She was like… Father Christmas, except a woman. Mother Christmas? Phoebe didn’t know; she hated Christmas.
She wasn’t going to take that hatred out on this sweet old woman—she was a grouch, not amonster—but still, this level of good spirit was far, far beyond what she could manage at the moment.
“Oh, uh, that’s all right,” she said, backing slowly away from the housekeeper’s smile. “I’ll tend to that… later. It’s not the time, since it is… winter.”
This made absolutely no sense at all, but Phoebe had, by that point, gotten far enough away that she could bolt.
The rest of her day did not get much better from there.
Everywhere she went, she tried to do something—anything—that would annoy and provoke her husband, only to be met with a seemingly endless slate of happy and helpful staff.
And there was no glimpse of Aaron at all.
She had avoided breakfast, just to be difficult, but she deigned to go to lunch…
Only to find that Aaron wasn’t there.
