Page 107 of The Work of Art

“But not one who arms his wife’s servants and sets them to guard her, surely.”

“I’d like to say no, but….” He gave a wry smile. “Now you’re with child, I can’t promise anything.”

A tap at the door announced the arrival of Violet. She entered the room with a nervous curtsy. “You rang, ma’am? Sir?”

“Take all of this away,” Arthur said. “And bring Mrs. Heywood the same again. Hot.”

“A fresh pot of coffee, as well, Violet,” Philly said in a gentler tone.

Violet cleared away the dishes on the table, her hands trembling.

Philly watched her. “Is everything all right?”

A cup skittered out of Violet’s hand. She scrambled to retrieve it. “Yes, ma’am.”

Arthur waited impatiently for the maid to leave.

Violet balanced the breakfast things on a tray and turned to go. She got as far as the door, and then stopped to look back at them. Her face was stark white. “Beg pardon, Mrs. Heywood. Is it true what happened to you yesterday…that it were the horse’s fault?”

Philly smiled. “Yes. It was an accident. Nothing more.”

Arthur glowered at the nosy servant. He’d have said something to hurry her along, but one look at his expression and she shot out the door all on her own.

“You scare the servants on purpose,” Philly observed.

“Do I?” Arthur’s ill temper faded quickly now he was alone with his wife again. “Then they shall be glad to be rid of me when we leave for Bath at the end of the week.”

“Bath!”

“There’s no need to sound so astonished. It’s an easy journey from Heycombe, and I daresay you’ll find it as fine a city as when you were last there with your grandfather.”

“I saw nothing of the city then. I was all of fifteen and hardly left our lodgings except to go with my grandfather for sweets at Molland’s.”

“In Milsom Street.” Arthur’s spirits lifted at the chance to please her. “I’ll take you there if you like.”

Philly’s face shone with pleasure. “I’d like that very much.” And in a rustle of muslin skirts, she was out of her chair and in his arms. “Will we stay with your father?”

Arthur settled her on his lap. “If you don’t mind it.”

“Naturally I don’t. But will you enjoy it?”

He gave her a wry smile. “Enjoy is a rather strong word.”

“It’s an unexceptionable word. And you needn’t pretend to hate it. It’s perfectly all right for you to enjoy the company of other people again.”

“Again?”

She stroked her fingers through his hair. “Your father says—”

“If my father has been telling you that I was sociable before the war, I must inform you that he’s been embellishing the truth beyond all recognition. I fenced, I boxed, I shot at Manton’s, and on occasion, if forced, I attended a ball. That was the sum total of my life in town before I left for the Peninsula—and even then, I was as moody and cross as I am now.”

Philly’s blue and amber eyes glimmered with laughter. “Moody and cross. What nonsense.”

Arthur returned her smiling gaze with one of sudden solemnity. By heaven, but she was beautiful. More than beautiful. She was radiant. Glowing. From the sparkle in her eyes to the luminosity of her creamy skin. If he hadn’t known for a fact that she’d been injured the previous day, he’d never have believed it. “When we’re in Bath, I shall engage a miniaturist to paint you just as you are now.”

“Will you indeed? And what need have you of my likeness when I’m always with you?”

“Not always.”