Page 64 of The Work of Art

“It must’ve been a love match,” the young maid had replied.

To that, Violet had made a disparaging noise. “She can’t love him. I’ll wager he ravished her and she were forced to marry him.”

Such an exchange bothered Philly enough that she mentioned it to Mrs. Lamb during their next morning meeting.

The housekeeper’s face set into deep lines of disapproval. “Those two girls have no more sense than a pair of newborn chickens. I shall deal with them, Mrs. Heywood, make no mistake.”

Philly refilled Mrs. Lamb’s teacup, the long, full sleeves of her French cambric morning gown billowing gracefully around her arms as she moved. When the baggage coach had finally arrived, her London-made wardrobe had been scrupulously included amongst her things. She’d thought it a terrible mistake. Surely the servants were only meant to pack the old dresses and underthings she’d brought with her from Satterthwaite Court? She had no claim to the elegant clothing Uncle Edgar had purchased for her.

But when she’d confronted Arthur with the error, he’d quite calmly admitted to arranging it all. He’d repaid her uncle for every fashionable gown, shawl, and stocking. There was little Philly could do to thank him for such generosity except to wear the clothes he’d purchased for her.

“You needn’t reprimand the maids too harshly,” she said.

“What they need is more work,” Mrs. Lamb declared. “If they had enough to do, there’d be no time to stand about gossiping. No. I shan’t be harsh with them, Mrs. Heywood, but I’ll increase their daily duties, you can be sure of that.”

“I don’t begrudge them their gossip,” Philly said. “Heaven knows it must all seem dreadfully exciting. But the simple fact is, I refused an offer of marriage from one gentleman and accepted an offer from another. There’s really nothing more to it, and I hope they won’t waste any more time in idle speculation.”

“Indeed, ma’am, but if you’ll forgive me…” Mrs. Lamb shifted in her chair. “I suspect it’s the identity of the gentleman you refused that has them all atwitter.”

Philly set down her teacup on a small carved table. The morning room was the most feminine room in Heywood House. It was carpeted, papered, and upholstered in soft shades of cream and blue, and filled with delicately made walnut furniture. She briefly admired how well it looked with the sunlight streaming through the windows and everything cleaned and polished to perfection. It was hard to believe that only a short time ago it had been shrouded in holland covers and blanketed with a layer of dust.

“I don’t care for myself, Mrs. Lamb,” she said. “It’s my husband that concerns me. I don’t want him to ever hear the sorts of comments I’ve overheard.”

Mrs. Lamb nodded gravely. “No, ma’am. The master wouldn’t be as forgiving as you are.”

No sooner had Mrs. Lamb spoken than a slight noise alerted them they were no longer alone. Philly looked up to find Arthur leaning against the doorframe. Her heart leapt.

He was clad in his customary country attire of buckskins and top boots, with a well-cut coat and a simply tied cravat. He looked stern and imposing, carrying himself with the same austere, soldierly reserve she’d noticed the first day she saw him in the park.

Mrs. Lamb rose at once. “Captain Heywood, sir, I beg your pardon.”

Arthur gave the housekeeper a dismissive nod. His eyes were only for his wife. “Can you spare a moment to come outside with me?”

Philly smiled. “As many moments as you require.”

Arthur moved out of the doorway so the housekeeper could pass him, his gaze never leaving Philly. He hadn’t failed to notice how she brightened at first sight of him. It was a reaction he’d seen often since their marriage, and one he didn’t think he’d ever become used to. “Have I interrupted something of importance?”

“No indeed.” Philly came toward him, straightening the pale blue ribbon sash that was tied around her waist. “Though I’d better change my gown before we go outside. It wasn’t meant for walking in.”

“We aren’t going for a walk. Not yet.” He offered his arm to her and she took it. “What were you discussing with Mrs. Lamb?”

She glanced up at him. “Nothing important. Why? What did you hear?”

“Enough.”

The dogs had been lying outside the morning room. As Philly and Arthur passed through the hall, they sprang up to follow.

“It’s only silly servants’ gossip,” Philly said. “I’ve asked Mrs. Lamb to see to it.”

“And how do the servants know about Moreland? From William, I suppose.”

“Not necessarily. All of the servants who returned with us from London must know something of the circumstances under which we married. And the footmen who retrieved my things from my uncle’s house must certainly have got an earful about it from the servants there. Any one of them could have relayed the tale.”

“I don’t care to have my servants gossiping at all, but when they gossip about you—”

“All servants gossip. Some more discreetly than others.” Philly squeezed his arm. “I’ll see to these sorts of domestic worries. You needn’t trouble yourself.”

Arthur said nothing else on the subject as he led her outside, steering her in the direction of the stable yard.