Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

P hillip made good on his promise and began to show his face around the estate more and more often. It seemed that the more they interacted, the less able he became to stay away from her, despite his inhibitions. He enjoyed her company and her conversation, but he was also enthralled with the way she'd taken to becoming the Duchess of Peterborough.

It started with the staff. The lady's maids she chose were of impeccable quality and did their job well. They fell in with the rest of his staff almost immediately, which was no small feat—the staff at Hayward Estate had remained the same these last ten years but for a departure or two. He had expected that they would not take kindly to expansion, at least at first. But they all adored Marina, so it followed that they would feel amicable toward her choice of maids as well.

The Duchess had replaced the dark curtains throughout the house with more stylish ones and had them drawn back each morning to allow the sunlight to stream in. With his permission and under Mathilde's guidance, the garden flourished. Marina had seasonal flowers planted and delightful stone furniture and statues added to liven it up. They began to take tea outdoors whenever the weather permitted. She was breathing new life into the place.

She was breathing new life into him .

"You have rendered my childhood home unrecognizable," he told her one night over dinner. "It feels…Well, in truth, Marina, it seems a place that I am more reluctant to leave than ever. I would be content to stay here and never look upon the faces of the ton again."

Marina beamed then stifled her giggle with a napkin over her mouth. "You flatter me, Your Grace."

"I have never uttered an embellishment in your name," he insisted. "You are turning out to be a better duchess than I could have hoped."

"Did you doubt it?"

"Do you mean while we were engaged?"

"I do."

"Yes, of course."

"You wound me, Your Grace," she teased.

"I do not mean to," he chuckled. "We did not know each other then, but we have come a long way since then, have we not, dear wife?"

"We have, dear husband."

After dinner, Phillip did not retire to his study for the night. Instead, he walked around to where Marina was seated at the table and held his arm out for her to take. "I know that you have been asking to promenade, and I have been resistant."

"You have," she agreed, giving him a curious look.

"In lieu of being stared at by our friends in the ton, may I kindly ask that we tour your new garden? It has not escaped my notice that your plants have flourished. I can see them from my study window. I would like to hear more about the selections you have made."

The way that Marina's eyes lit up made Phillip's heart skip a beat. He was wholly unprepared for how much happiness it would bring him to see her so excited. Occasionally, she even made him consider a more active social life. As a duke, he was required to attend certain events, and Marina was always eager to go along. She, like him, did not favor a place as the center of attention. She preferred to watch and to listen. He had learned from sitting with her in their theater box that her wit was swift and charming. There was never a dull moment with her.

The week prior, the Duke had asked Marina to attend a play with him. A certain parliament member wanted to converse, and Phillip had invited him to share their box for the night so they might conduct business. It was also important that they be seen together—his guest would play a prominent role in Phillip's work and his public support would go a long way in making that easier. Marina invited her sister to sit with her as well. For the first half of the show, they spoke to their respective guests, but at intermission, they were left alone with one another.

It was the first time that Phillip had taken Marina out into society and found himself entirely alone with her, and he was originally quite nervous. But his wife was remarkably funny. She spent the entire evening whispering to him about their equals, explaining the significance of who sat in whose box. She was even able to give him an account of the previous night's ball, courtesy of her friend Kathrin who had called on her earlier in the day. She was able to draw lines between the events of the night before and what they saw before them in that present moment. Her perception of others and her ability to find humor in the social activities of the ton, which he felt everyone else took far too seriously, warmed him to her even more.

It turned out that the Haywards had more in common than Phillip could ever have assumed before their wedding. Marina's desire to be seen in public did not come from vanity, greed, or jealousy as he expected of most of England's elite. She enjoyed observing and interacting with others. More importantly, she was deeply involved in Olivia's romantic prospects. He overheard Marina more than once giving her sister sound advice about her love life, whispering carefully over the players' lines so that he had to strain to hear her.

"I would still like to promenade," Marina answered him swiftly. "People will whisper that we have been hidden away from society for far longer than is natural. However, tonight, I will indulge you happily."

"How long does this hiding occur naturally?"

Marina's eyes twinkled with mischief as they made their way to the garden together slowly, her hand resting gently in the crook of his arm. "Well, I suppose it depends. We did not court for very long, so it should come as a shock that we have hidden at all. I believe that the general opinion is that ours is a marriage of convenience."

"And if it were? Why would it be abnormal for us to hide?"

"My dear, newlywed couples who disappear from society right after their marriage for a period of time—perhaps a fortnight at most—do so because they are so enjoying one another's company that they cannot resist choosing privacy over social outings."

Phillip thought, for a moment, about what she was saying then became flushed when he realized the implication of what Marina was telling him, and of what others must think of them. He recovered quickly.

"Then let the ton think that we enjoy one another's company very much, for all I care. There—that bush near the table where you write in the evenings. What is that called?"

Marina giggled. "It is not a bush at all. Those will be gladiolas when they bloom. They're stunning. I had the gardener plant them there specifically because it is the best place to sit and write, and I would very much like to draw or paint them one day."

"What makes that the best place?"

"The direction of the light. It is obscured a bit by that tree over there—" she pointed to a laburnum tree nearby, "—but still bright enough. And just there, along the path, are the gooseberry bushes. I'm quite excited about those though there is some debate between myself and the gardener about when they will fruit."

"Is that so? Then I agree with you. I wish to be on the winning end of the argument."

"Phillip! You do not know the details. How could you make up your mind so crassly?"

They stopped walking and turned to look at each other, Marina's nose crinkled playfully, and Phillip's eyes were bright with joy.

"Fine, then. Tell me what the argument is. But I stand by what I said before."

"The gardener believes that they will take the full three years to bear fruit. He has said that the person I purchased them from was a lazy starter."

"I have never heard of a lazy plant starter," Phillip chuckled. "So what of you? When do you believe that the gooseberry plants will fruit?"

"By next year. Late summer."

"So, the gardener believes you to be an optimistic fool. He must not think they will make it at all, and he likely intends to change them out next year before you notice that they have died."

Marina's eyes widened. "What? How would you know that? Have you been speaking with him?"

"No," Phillip laughed. "I have not been consulting with the gardener behind your back about your fruit bushes, Marina. I have merely known him for the duration of my young life. He told me once that he often did the same for my mother. She was often beside herself if one of her plants withered or died. He said he was sick of her sobbing in the garden. Gardens, he says, are happy places."

"Not always," Marina disagreed with a cluck of her tongue. "There are not always nice things in gardens. Grasshoppers, for instance."