Page 67 of The Work of Art

He would hurt Philly.

Arthur stood from behind his desk without pausing to reach for his cane. Awash with anger, he walked several steps unaided before a jolt of pain in his leg brought him to his senses. He retrieved his cane with a muttered oath, and after jerking once on the bell pull, exited the library.

William came across the main hall at a trot in response to the summons. “Yes, sir?”

“Where is my wife?”

William blanched. “She was out in the yard, sir. With her new horse. She may have come in since, but I—”

“Mrs. Heywood is in her room, sir.” Mrs. Lamb’s authoritative voice rang out from the staircase. “Would you like me to fetch her for you?”

Arthur looked up to see the housekeeper descending the final few steps to join them in the main hall. He detected both wariness and alarm in Mrs. Lamb’s hooded gaze. He’d never shown the servants the edge of his temper. As far as they knew, Philly was the cause of his anger. They no doubt feared she was about to receive the full force of it. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “Are the two men from Devonshire still down in the kitchens?”

“They were but ten minutes ago,” Mrs. Lamb said.

“Send them back to the library. They’re not to leave until I see them again.” Arthur started up the staircase. “And tell Crofton I have need of him, as well.”

Mrs. Lamb stared after him. “Yes, Captain Heywood.”

The carpeted hall that led to Philly’s bedroom was empty. Not a servant in sight, nor the sound of one, either. It was not uncommon. The staff at Heywood House wasn’t a large one. Servants were rarely underfoot. Yet now, in light of the anonymous note, the yawning emptiness seemed almost sinister. As if danger lurked in every shadow—in every quiet corner.

As he approached Philly’s door, Arthur heard the soft undertone of her voice. She was speaking to her maid—everything just as it should be.

He exhaled an uneven breath.

What had he thought? That Moreland had spirited her away? That she was already lying dead somewhere? Arthur gritted his teeth against such images, and cursed Moreland, Townsend, and whoever sent that blasted note for conjuring them.

He needed to go back downstairs and talk to the men from Devonshire. He needed to speak to Crofton, to see to it that the servants were all questioned as discreetly as possible. Yet all he could think about was seeing Philly. It should have been enough to hear her voice, to know she was safe in her room, but it wasn’t.

The men from Devonshire, Crofton, and the rest of the servants would have to wait.

Arthur entered the bedroom to find Philly kneeling next to one of the trunks that had come from Satterthwaite Court, her unpinned hair flowing around her shoulders and down her back. On every side of her were the neatly arranged piles of items she’d so far unpacked. In her lap, she held a large, flat velvet jewel case.

He hadn’t seen her with her hair down since their wedding night. To see it now, so unexpectedly, temporarily immobilized him.

“’Tis very fine,” Violet was saying from her place on the floor across from Philly. “Almost as fine as one of the necklaces my last mistress had.”

Philly lifted a strand of garnets from the jewel case. The delicate stones threaded through her fingers. “Yes, it’s very fine.”

“Don’t know where you’ll ever wear such jewels here in Heycombe. Seems a waste to have ’em if you can’t wear ’em—” Violet abruptly broke off, scrambling to her feet. “Captain Heywood!”

He gave her the barest glance. “Leave us.”

Violet offered a nervous curtsy and scurried from the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Philly looked up from the jewel case. “This was my grandmother’s necklace. It belonged to her mother before her, the Countess of Merrivale.”

He dutifully admired the elegant foiled garnets before extending his hand to her. “Come, sit with me a moment.”

After putting away the necklace, she allowed him to help her up and lead her to the settee near the fireplace. They sat down together. “What is it, Arthur? Is something wrong?”

“Need there be something wrong for me to want to see you?”

“No, of course not. But…”

“But?”

“You’ve never come to my room before.”