Page 90 of The Work of Art

“Lady Eliot!” The earl’s face reddened with outrage. “The Battersby creature? Bloody unmitigated nerve. Damned adventuress.”

“Now, Gordon, you’ll have an apoplectic fit if you keep on this way.” Mrs. Ogilvy took his arm. “We shan’t mention the woman’s name again. Isn’t that right, Captain?”

Arthur paid no attention to Mrs. Ogilvy’s addresses or to his father’s ire. He started up the stairs to Philly’s bedroom without a backward glance, his hand clenched tight on his cane.

He didn’t know which of the callers troubled him more. Townsend’s daughters had no doubt brought tales of their father and Moreland. Caroline couldn’t speak without levying barbs. And as for the two gentlemen, they were the type who considered married women fair game for romantic liaisons. For all he knew, Darly and Forsythe might have spoken to Philly improperly, attempting to impose themselves on her in some way.

When he reached Philly’s bedroom, Arthur opened the door and stepped inside, his boots and cane soundless on the thick carpet. Jasper rose from his place in front of the fireplace to come and greet him. The rest of the dogs remained where they were, lying down at various points of the room as if keeping silent guard over their mistress.

The heavy curtains were drawn across the windows, blocking out the bright afternoon sun. Philly’s small figure was just visible in the dim light, lying in the giant mahogany bed, a quilted coverlet draped across her.

Arthur went quietly to her side. As he gazed down at her, he felt a fierce rush of tenderness. She looked much younger than her three and twenty years. The ruffles and ribbons of her nightgown enveloped her frame, and a cascade of dark hair veiled her face. She’d buried her cheek determinedly into her pillow, much as she often did against his bare chest when he held her at night.

He smoothed the hair away from her face. She’d been overtired of late and had been napping in the afternoons, but she’d yet to miss one of their walks in order to do it. He’d have to insist she rest more. No more catering to his father and Mrs. Ogilvy. No more fretting over the running of the household. And under no circumstances would he allow her to exhaust herself entertaining groups of parasites come down from London.

He straightened the coverlet around Philly’s shoulders and stroked her cheek once more before leaving her room and going into his own. He’d see her again at dinner. And this evening, after they bid their guests goodnight, he’d at last be at liberty to take her in his arms.

Philly didn’t know how she’d managed to get rid of her callers. The last ten minutes of their visit was nothing but an unpleasant blur. She remembered standing and bidding them good afternoon. She remembered Abigail clasping her hands and Lord Darly saying they’d come back again soon in hopes of seeing Arthur.

And then they were gone.

She’d told Crofton quite calmly that she wouldn’t be going for a walk with Arthur. That she was retiring to her room for the afternoon and wished not to be disturbed. And then she’d curled up in her bed and promptly burst into tears. She’d wept until she fell asleep, only to wake several hours later just as heartbroken and miserable as she’d been before.

At quarter past six, Sara came to her room to help her dress for dinner. The little maid blinked in surprise at Philly’s tearstained face, but she said not a word. Instead, she set right to work fetching water for Philly to wash with, helping her to dress in a beautiful blue muslin gown and arranging her hair into an elegant array of soft curls.

But no sooner had Sara placed the final pearl encrusted pin in her hair than Philly’s courage deserted her.

No matter how well she looked, she couldn’t go down to dinner. Not tonight.

Sara looked at her with undisguised disappointment. “They’ll all be in the drawing room for sherry by now. Couldn’t you go down for just a minute or two? You look ever so pretty, ma’am. ”Tis a shame for no one to see it.”

Philly made an effort to compose herself. “Perhaps I can wear the same for dinner tomorrow. I’m certain I’ll feel better by then.” She sank down in a chair by the fireplace. Basil came to lay at her feet, and Fox, Jasper, and Dash reclined on the carpet near the hearth.

“Shall I help you to undress? Or fetch Mrs. Lamb with your special tonic?”

“You needn’t trouble over me, Sara. Go on ahead to the servants’ hall. I wouldn’t have you miss your own dinner. I’ll ring if I need anything.”

Sara made a small curtsy. “I’ll send word that you won’t be coming down this evening.” She opened the door to leave. “And I shall tell them all you’re not to be disturbed.” On that pronouncement, she left, shutting the door behind her.

Philly lifted Fox onto her lap and wrapped her arms around his wiry little body, her handkerchief still clutched tightly in one hand. She’d been tired long before her callers had arrived, and now, after so much weeping, she was as weak as a kitten. She should eat something. Call for a tray or send for Mrs. Lamb’s decoction. But Philly was incapable of motion. All she could do was think of Arthur and Caroline Eliot.

She didn’t know how she could have been so blind. So foolish. Arthur had always loved Lady Eliot. Everyone in London said so. And he hadn’t been the one to break their engagement. Why, if Lady Eliot had remained true to him, he’d be married to her even now.

It was on this dispiriting subject that Philly was ruminating when Arthur’s low-pitched voice sounded from the doorway.

“Philly,” he said, as he entered her room.

Jasper and Dash sprang up from their place near the fireplace to welcome him, but Basil and Fox didn’t move. Philly didn’t move, either. She might have known he would come to ask after her. How long ago had Sara given him her message? Minutes? Seconds?

As he crossed the floor, Philly steadfastly refused to look at him. Even when he came to stand in front of her, her eyes remained downcast, focusing on the embroidered handkerchief she held in her hands.

“Are you unwell?” he enquired.

“I’m a little tired, that’s all.”

His gaze drifted over her, taking in her gown and the decorative pins in her hair. “You’re dressed for dinner. Would you like me to escort you down?”

Her fingers tightened on her handkerchief. “No, thank you.”