Page 68 of Watching the Earl

“Your wife visited a Lady Rose at Lord Harewood’s residence, and then she visited your mother.”

“My mother? Why did she do that?”

The valet raised his brows. “Perhaps because it’s polite to do so when newly married?”

Of course it was, but he still didn’t like it. “Is that all the footman said?”

“It may not be my place, but shouldn’t you simply ask your wife?”

Gibson didn’t know what happened before Georgina had left, and Philip wasn’t about to tell him. “I will.”

“Good. Because there’s more.”

“More. Like what?”

Gibson moved to the door. “Ask your wife, my lord.”

“Tell me or I’ll let you go.”

The door closed behind his valet.

Philip curled his fists. Damn valet knew he’d never be let go. What more did Georgina do while out without him?

He stilled. Was that what bothered him? That he wasn’t with her? He’d certainly had no interest in calling on her friend Lady Rose, nor on his mother. Yet he didn’t like that she went about without him. That was ridiculous.

Though in his brain it was absolute nonsense, his heart seemed to think otherwise. It wasn’t as if they had to be together all the time. It must be that he had become so used to being in her company that he didn’t like being without her. It was just a habit.

But even as the thought occurred, he knew it to be the falsehood it was. It was no habit. He enjoyed his wife’s company. He’d best not let that get out at White’s. At least now, thanks to Gibson, he had a reason to visit his wife in her chambers. It was only polite to find out how her day had been…and what happened.

He strode through his dressing room and quietly opened the connecting door to hers. The door to her bedchamber was open, and he quietly leaned against the frame to watch her.

She stood looking out the window at the darkness, the lantern light throwing shadows on her dressing gown as she flapped the belt of it back and forth. He grinned. She couldn’t seem to be still unless watching birds. “Are you looking for a night bird?”

She spun around, startled. “Philip.”

He stiffened at the name, but let it pass as he walked closer. “What do you ponder out there in the darkness?”

“Many things. I wish to speak to you.”

His stomach tightened, but he held his arms out. “I’m here. What would you like to discuss? Your day, perhaps.”

She didn’t move toward him. “No, I wish to discuss your father.”

He stiffened. If she planned to tell him he had no reason to feel guilty like his mother had, she wasted their time. “I’m listening.”

“My friends accuse me of playing devil’s advocate too much, but it’s the only way I can understand a problem. If you had come home the first time your father wrote to you, what would have been the outcome?”

He straightened in the doorway, no longer able to appear relaxed, not when a surge of guilt had his spine stiffening almost to a breaking point. “I told you. My father might be alive today. Or he might have lived a year longer. He needed my help with Crestfield, and if I’d done so, it wouldn’t have taxed him so much.”

“Which is it? A year longer or alive today?”

He frowned, confused. “What does it matter?”

She walked to the bed and leaned against the post. “As I said, I’m trying to understand everything. This event was important to you, and as your wife, I need to understand it.”

Fear flew through his chest. Did she mean that if she understood correctly, she’d no longer wish to be in his company? “Based upon how my father looked when I did arrive home, I think he might have lived an additional year.”

“So if you came home and helped, your father would have lain in bed for a year while you ran the estate?”