Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

" Y ou are a duchess, Marina, and you ought to act like one."

Marina muttered the phrase under her breath, mockingly, as she dressed the next morning. It had been playing on a loop in her mind. At first, she was devastated; Phillip had once claimed to enjoy that she was different from other ladies of the ton, and now, he was weaponizing that fact against her. But slowly, her melancholy made way for anger. Marina felt as though she had two husbands—one who was kind, witty, and adoring and another who was very much like the monsters in children's tales.

There was a knock upon her door just as she finished dressing, and she moved at a slow, dastardly pace to open it. Phillip waited for her, his shoulder leaning against the doorframe. Marina knew that her sister had been right—the Duke was remarkably handsome, and while sometimes the former Lady Linfield found herself captivated by his dark forest green eyes and proud jawline, today she was irritated by the way the sun from the windows seemed to be at his beck and call, illuminating his fine features in just the right way.

"Good morning, Duchess Hayward."

"For what reason have you come to call on me?"

"I have thought quite a bit over these last few days about how to repair things between us." Marina gave him a skeptical glare. "Mathilde has packed our breakfast in a basket, and I would quite like it if you would accompany me for a picnic this morning?"

"A picnic? Where?"

"On our grounds."

Marina frowned, and Phillip hid his chuckle behind his hand. "You wish to hide me away from the world," she accused. "Perhaps I should attend some formal training as a duchess. You should ask my father for suggestions on good finishing schools. I shall be the tallest student there."

"Your jest wounds me, Marina. Come. The sun is bright and warm, and your new dress is splendid. Perhaps after our picnic, we can take a stroll into town and go shopping. Then you cannot wrongly accuse me of hiding you away."

Marina scoffed, but when Phillip extended his hand, she took it and allowed him to lead her outside. They sat together on a blanket on the bank of a small pond near the road to town. From their position, they could see the road clearly, but passersby would not see them unless they walked toward the pond. Marina watched her husband unpack their breakfast and tried, for a moment, to imagine that they were a happy couple as they would seem to onlookers.

She could not bring anything to mind.

"I spent all afternoon out here." Her eyes flickered up to his face, curious. "I was hoping to find a place like this one—like the corners you and Miss Harrington haunt at balls." She had to press her lips together to keep from giggling. He was right. If she had taken Kathrin on a picnic, this was exactly the place they would have wanted to sit.

"Whatever for?" she asked, her pout now pulling at her features just for show. "Perhaps I do not enjoy the same trivialities as a married woman that I once did as a spinster."

"If you are now a married woman, you were never a spinster."

Marina could not help herself—she laughed, a soft and brief sound, but it was enough for Phillip to have hope. He turned from her, so she would not see his smile as he sat down beside her. For a while, they ate together in silence, and it felt as though all was not lost between them. They were still able to make one another laugh. They still possessed the capacity to sit next to one another amicably.

It was all that he needed to know that he could fix this.

At first, Phillip had left their conversation at the Harrington home feeling vindicated. But when he returned to the Hayward Estate and his relationship with Marina grew cold and distant once more, he began to see his father's face when he looked upon a mirror. He had wondered whether they sounded alike. Was the tone he took with his wife the same one the late duke had taken with Phillip's mother?

It took him a bit to come around—in denial, mostly, that he could never be anything like the wretched man who raised him. But it was her—Marina—who swayed him. He watched her while she was in the garden one day, and he recognized his mother—a beautiful woman held captive in her own home by a bitter marriage. He was determined to make things right and end her suffering, one way or another.

"But if it does not suit you to do so, turn your head toward me, so you shall not feel tempted to gossip as you once did before marriage turned you refined and dull."

"Dignified! I am refined and dignified!"

"Ah, so you are."

Marina gave him a small smile that gave him hope. Then, she looked upon the food he had packed and sighed happily, pleased with the array. There was fresh fruit, fine cheeses, and a few items he knew her to enjoy as well as some sweet biscuits she rarely allowed herself to indulge in. He thought, perhaps, it was a bit too obvious that he had been planning this day for quite some time, but then again, maybe it was better that she knew.

They sat together and ate in silence for a while. When they were both full, though, they remained on the lawn enjoying the warm sun and the gentle breeze. Marina watched people walk to and from town down the dirt road and smiled. Occasionally, he saw a glimmer of humor in her eye and knew that she had noticed something peculiar about someone, but she did not share her thoughts.

"What brought this on?" she asked him at great length.

"The picnic?"

"Well, yes, but I mean you."

Phillip raised an eyebrow in confusion.

Marina seemed to hesitate as if she wasn't sure whether or not she could say what she wanted. "You are sometimes this way," she started, slowly, gesturing to their surroundings. "But you are other times affected by a certain displeasing disposition. You have been that way for some time. I am curious what brings about the switch between the two."

Phillip found himself frequently shocked by the honesty of Marina's observations and the frank delivery of her opinions. It was, he supposed, the saving grace of their marriage. If she were less forthcoming, they would still be avoiding each other in the halls having not spoken since she moved in.

"I was not aware that I partook in such, ah, polarizing behavior."

Marina nodded, reaching for another piece of cheese. He watched her eat before she spoke again. "Yes. I have been trying to determine the difference myself, but the switch does not seem to have a pattern to it. I must admit that I am surprised to learn you have not noticed."

Philip snorted his laughter, amused at the clinical way she assessed his character as though she were talking about a character in one of her novels. He knew that he should probably take offense to her, but it was endearing. She had, unwittingly, admitted to him that she was trying just as hard as he was. At least, that was what he hoped it meant. His feelings for his wife had grown complex and difficult to navigate, and although he still had every intention of keeping her at arm's length in order to protect them both from his secret, he realized that alienating her altogether was not the way to do so.

"Perhaps I can offer some insight, and you can tell me what you think."

"Please do."

"I planned this outing because I am exhausted by the idea of a wife who feels she must tiptoe around her own home. I do not wish to be the man I have been lately. I wish…I wish for us to come to some sort of agreement."

"An agreement? You make our marriage sound like a property deal."

"Perhaps, but I am unsure how else to approach it."

"What could you mean?"

"Marina, I…I cannot offer you much in the way of romance or love. I cannot offer you anything, really, in that manner. There are scars on my heart that are too deep to mend. But I…I hope that we might be friends, nonetheless."

Marina's eyes wandered away from him and took on a thoughtful glaze. She hummed pleasantly while she did, and Phillip thought that he could watch her all day. And this was precisely the problem.

"Perhaps, then, it is that you have closed yourself off to me in times when you feel I want or need more from you than friendship."

"Perhaps."

"Phillip, you should share thoughts like this with me more often."

"Should I?"

"Certainly. If I had known this before, I would have reassured you that I find you utterly repulsive."

"I beg your pardon?"

"As a man, I mean. When I first learned that you were coming back to London, I felt fear seize my heart for every young eligible lady in the ton. Now, I know, it was my duty to keep you from them by marrying you first. You need not worry. I am content to befriend you."

Phillip looked away from her, not sure if he should be sore or amused by her declaration.

"Surely all of London speaks of your bravery nightly at their dinner tables. I hear talk of a statue."

"Your Grace?"

"Yes, Marina?"

"Why do you feel that you must keep us at such a distance from one another? Perhaps if you could draw some clear lines between what it is you believe to be friendly behavior and non, we might have somewhere to start."

"I would not know how to go about it."

"Simply—if you feel as though I am acting untoward, say so. And say why. I shall correct my behavior accordingly."

Phillip looked at her, and she recognized that emotion again. The one she had seen just a few times before. Her heart began to beat quickly. Could it be, she thought, that that particular shade of Phillip was colored with longing for her? Was he perhaps more the problem than she?

The Duke, for his part, was thinking the same. He did not trust himself to be around Marina and did not allow her to be affectionate towards him. He wanted her affection and at times felt that he needed it. She made him feel as if none of it mattered—not his title, his fortune, or his reputation. He felt as though he were special to her and could not fathom a reason why. He knew that it would be too easy altogether for his resolve to dwindle if she were too near.

However, neither of them would get to hear the end of this conversation.