Page 57 of The Work of Art

“His name is Hyperion.”

“Hyperion,” she repeated to herself. “Is he the blood bay Lord Edgeworth mentioned at my uncle’s dinner?”

“He is.”

“How did Lord Edgeworth know of him? I didn’t get the impression that the two of you were particularly good friends.”

“Indeed not. Hyperion is by Titan, a rather famous stallion that once belonged to my father. Titan sired only three foals before he died. No doubt Edgeworth considers himself an expert on the bloodline, along with everything else on which he’s an authority.”

Philly smiled faintly as she scratched Hyperion’s heavily whiskered chin. “He certainly gave his opinions very freely. And very loudly.”

“He and his wife are well suited in that regard.”

After a few more cursory pets to Hyperion’s velvety nose, Philly stepped back from the loose box and looked up at him. “Would you like to come for a walk with me?”

Arthur was taken aback by the invitation. She’d scarcely been able to meet his eyes. The last thing he’d expected was that she’d want to spend any more time in his company.

“I understand if you don’t wish to—”

“I’m completely at your disposal.” His leg was throbbing with pain, but he wouldn’t have refused Philly for the world. “How far did you have a mind to go?”

“Not far.” She retrieved Fox from an empty loose box, where the disheveled little terrier had been resting comfortably on a pile of fresh straw. “Mrs. Lamb told me of a path through the woods that leads to a pond. She said it was a lovely prospect.”

“I know it well.”

Philly came to stand at his side, and before he could offer it, she took his arm, pressing herself to him as determinedly as she had that first afternoon in the park. “Well then, sir, I shall let you be my guide.”

Philly hadn’t anticipated feeling so shy in Arthur’s presence. She was a sensible creature, and had fully expected that, when they met again, she’d talk to him as normally as she had on any other occasion. Instead, when he approached her in the stable, all rational thought had fled. Her stomach had fluttered with rampaging butterflies, and her mind had filled with memories of his kisses, his caresses, and all the sweet words he’d spoken to her the night before.

Was Arthur feeling the same way? She didn’t think so. He’d said precious little to her since they set out, and as they walked together, he remained solemn and quiet. Philly suspected that, rather than reflecting on the intimacy of their wedding night, he was still excoriating himself over what had happened when he woke from his nightmare.

She didn’t try to draw him out of his melancholy. Not yet. But she held tight to his arm, intermittently moving her hand along the sleeve of his coat in unspoken reassurance.

The path they took into the woods led them through a vast, overgrown wilderness, dense with wildflowers, shrubs, and trees that bowed overhead. Shafts of sunlight shone through the branches, and the intermingled songs of warblers, wagtails, and tree pipits filled the air.

At the next bend in the path, the woods opened up quite unexpectedly into a clearing, at the edge of which was a large tranquil pond. It curved gently against grassy banks, flanked with crumbling benches of old stone, and strewn with fallen leaves and flower petals.

Mrs. Lamb was right. It was a very lovely prospect indeed.

Philly removed her arm from Arthur’s. “Shall we sit awhile?”

“If you like.”

As they made their way to one of the stone benches, a squirrel burst out of the underbrush and ran ahead of them. Basil, Jasper, and Dash happily gave chase. Fox wriggled in Philly’s arms. She carefully lowered him to the ground. Without hesitation, he tore off after the three larger dogs, putting tentative weight on his injured front paw with every stride.

Philly watched him go. “I’ve been waiting for such a moment.”

“For him to walk on his own?”

“Fox could have walked months ago had he wanted to.” She made her way along the edge of the pond. The water was dark green, and the depths were murky, appearing limitless beneath the surface. Had the sunlight not sparkled so invitingly across the water, it might have been rather ominous. “All he lacked was the will.” She sat down on one of the stone benches. “I was hoping that one day something would reignite it.”

Arthur took a seat beside her, resting his cane against the edge of the bench. He massaged his leg. “He must have seen many squirrels before today.”

“It wasn’t the squirrel that brought him back to himself. Not precisely. It was simply the right time, and the squirrel acted as a spark to the tinder.” She turned slightly so she could face him, intending to say something more about Fox, but when she met his eyes, she couldn’t summon a single word. A deep blush worked its way up her neck and into her face. Flustered, she turned her attention back to the pond.

“Philly.”

A tremor of awareness coursed through her at the sound of Arthur’s voice. It was low and grave, different from the tone he’d used with her before.