Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

M arina and Phillip avoided one another for days after the ball. Each of them believed the other to be in the wrong, and neither was willing to swallow their pride. Phillip felt as though she had, once again, betrayed him by entertaining even a few moments of conversation with his uncle and that she had lashed out at him needlessly when she was pressed up against a wall and could not deny her wrongdoing.

Marina was convinced that her husband was having affair and that his uncle had come to her to tell her as much and been turned away. She could no longer deny that it was the only thing that added up—Phillip's behavior was bizarre, and she had no reason to believe otherwise. He kept strange hours, he refused to tell her where and when he was coming and going, and he was desperate to keep his uncle away from her.

She wanted very much to speak with someone about it all, but there was no one to turn to. She had burdened her friend and sister enough as it was. The one person she wanted to speak to most of all was gone from this world forever, and the second was her father, who could never be reasonable when it came to Phillip. If she went to him about her concerns, he would surely keep her from ever returning to the Hayward Estate.

It pained her to admit, but that was not what she wanted. As heated as she was after what had transpired at the ball, Marina still had a last shred of hope that she was, perhaps, wrong. Initially, she wanted to wait Phillip out—perhaps he would come around after some time to think alone and realize that she needed to hear the truth about the dark-haired young lady he spoke to.

But the silence stretched on between them with no apparent end in sight. Marina remembered her mother talking to her about marriage briefly when she was younger. She often said something to the effect that men were rarely as honest as they wanted to be, for they spend much of their time wondering whether their honesty will hurt those they love.

It was this sentiment, though not one she wanted to dwell on, that brought Marina to Phillip's study in the dead of the night. She held her hand aloft to knock on his door, but before she could, the door creaked open.

The Duke and Duchess stood before one another. Phillip took in her appearance then, without a word, stepped aside to let her in. Marina took a few steps inside the dimly lit room and stopped, hands clasped in front of her and head bowed, waiting for him to speak.

"What brings you here?"

"I wish to speak with you."

"Then speak. It is late, and I would like to retire to bed."

Marina almost lost her nerve right then, hearing his cold tone wrap around her throat and threaten to silence her. He did not sound tired, exactly, but he did sound as though he would rather not have this conversation.

"I was hoping that I might…apologize for my tone in the carriage on the night of the ball."

Phillip sighed, crossing the room to his desk and sitting behind it. He gestured for her to sit as well, indicating that he was prepared to make this conversation longer than he had initially stated. "There is nothing to apologize for," he said at length as Marina took her seat. "We were both unkind to one another."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Marina, what could you mean?"

"Just that—why do you think it is that we continue to speak to one another with such hostility?" Her eyes were big and earnest, begging him to look upon her and into them though he did not. His own gaze rested squarely on the papers on his desk. "It is clear that we regard one another as good friends—we get along well, and we sometimes work together well. What is it that drives us so violently apart when we are cross with one another?"

"I have been hoping you might determine that for yourself and let me in on the knowledge," Phillip scoffed.

"Do you think perhaps we have great tempers?"

"Not particularly."

"Do you think that we must secretly loathe each other?"

At last, Phillip looked up, and his eyes found hers. He looked more than cross with her—he looked as though he regretted starting this conversation at all, but she was determined to see it through. Marina did not back down.

"No, Marina. I do not believe that we secretly loathe one another."

"What is left, then?"

"I am not sure."

"I have an inkling. Would you like to know?"

"Yes, Marina. What is it that you believe to be the source of our one major difference?"

"A guarded heart." He raised an eyebrow, unwilling to give more of an answer. "Or two," she continued, reluctantly.

"All hearts are guarded to some degree."

"Yes, of course, but some hearts have felt deeper wounds than others and are therefore carrying much stronger armor."

"Marina, please?—"

"I am. I am getting to the point. I just…I have been trying to find a way to say this for quite some time now, and I still need a moment to put it all together."

Phillip looked exhausted as he watched his wife, his eyes heavy and the skin beneath them dark with sleeplessness. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, sending a silent prayer up to her mother to give her strength. Marina had no idea if she was about to say the best or worst possible thing that she could for her marriage, but it was her last hope.

"We are, both of us, accustomed to independent responsibilities, Your Grace, and I believe that we have engaged in a battle for control."

"Control?"

Marina nodded vigorously. "Yes. I have spent the last several years of my life picking and pinching at the truth, shaping it in such a way that my sisters, brother, and father could remain happy and avoid suffering. In everything—I have been their barrier between their hearts and the life which affects them. Before we were married, I assured my sister every day that my spinsterhood would not prevent her from finding a husband. I was very likely wrong, but in the end, it did not matter, due in no small part to you. When my sister scraped her knee or fell on her bottom, when my brother upset our father or made his governess cross, when my father was worried that he was leaving too much of the household duties in my hands—whatever ailed them, I painted a prettier picture, and it allowed them to move through it all the better."

"Marina, I am afraid that I do not follow."

"When you look at me as though the world sits upon your very shoulders, I am not inclined to let you feel its full weight if in whatever way I can lie to shave off a bit extra."

Phillip's expression shifted, barely, but it did, and Marina pressed on, hopeful that she was at last getting through to him.

"There are times, Phillip, when we are speaking or arguing, when I want you to share each and every intricacy of the truth with me. There are other times when I can see that you are deliberately concealing it from me, and I know that I am happy to have you protecting me in such a way."

"Yes, Marina, that is part of caring for someone."

"I know. But we should be able to ask one another—to trust one another to know for ourselves—to tell the truth when we need to."

"What is this about, really?"

Marina leaned forward, pressing herself closer to him in her eagerness. "I want to know who the woman was at the ball."

"What woman?"

"The one you spoke with. The one with the dark hair."

Phillip sat back in his chair, abruptly, his eyes and face suddenly as blank and distant as Marina remembered them being when they first met. He became entirely unreadable, and it frustrated her to no end. She had asked him for honesty, and it was evident that he had shut down instead.

"I cannot say that I recall."

"How do you know her?"

"Marina, I am not sure who you mean. I could have spoken with any number of people at the ball while we were apart."

Marina shut her eyes. She had considered this as a possibility, of course. That he had only spoken to the woman in passing. Perhaps if he had answered her immediately and told her this, she would have believed him. But as it stood, she was only further convinced that he was hiding things from her. When she opened her eyes to look upon him again, they were wet with tears threatening to fall.

"If this is truly the answer you wish to give, Phillip, then I will accept it. But I want to impress upon you that if there is another truth in this matter, it will be found. Dishonesty about this sort of thing…it is always found out."

There was no turning back now. Marina had done it—she had all but outright accused her husband of bedding other women, or at least, of publicly flirting with them. She watched him, carefully to gauge his reaction. It took only a few seconds for her to realize that she had messed up as she saw an expression from him that she had never seen before.

Hatred.

It was not directed at her but at whomever it was she reminded him of in that moment. Phillip felt as though he were staring not at his wife but at the man who had tormented him most of his life. He had not been privy to much of his parents' relationship, but he had read each and every one of the late Duke's letters to him.

They were filled to the brim with accusations about his mother's infidelity—intense scrutiny about Phillip's face and how much it differed from his "father", detailed descriptions of the timeline of his mother's whereabouts during the suspected time frame. On and on it went, the deluded scribblings of a mad man slipping away into the ether, replaying his worst moments in life as if he were right back in them.

Phillip stood and came around the desk to face Marina, sitting back on the edge of it as he peered down at her. He wanted to feel bitter or angry, but he felt pain, instead. Pain not just for himself, but for her—how had she come to this conclusion? What had he allowed to slip through the cracks which brought them to this awful place?

"Marina." He held his hand out to her, and she took it, allowing him to pull her up to stand before her. With him leaning, she was nearly his same height. Their eyes were level with one another. "The girl you speak of. She wore a cream-colored dress, and her hair was down about her shoulders?"

Marina nodded her head eagerly.

Phillip pressed his hand to his forehead and shut his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath. "She is my third cousin who I have met once before, and she is quite a bit older than she must have looked to you. Emma is now twenty, and she has just had her first daughter with her husband at the start of this year."

Marina's eyes grew wide. "She is married?"

Phillip nodded his head slowly. "She is." Marina was still, quiet as he watched her think it over. "I was hoping to introduce the two of you formally. I have very little family to speak of and much less family whom I wish for you to meet."

"I see," Marina said quietly. Phillip reached up and brushed a stray curl out of her face. He could see how exhausted she was. He could feel it—he, too, was tired of fighting with her.

"I should not have kept it from you. Had I known where your mind would take you, I would have told you immediately." His eyes grew sad and wan. "I had hoped, all this time, that the talk of scandals and my past had not affected you so."

Marina looked away from him. "It should not have," she said quietly.

"It is fine that it has." They sat in silenc, for a moment. Marina felt that her thinly veiled accusation had changed things between them forever. Phillip was determined that it would not. "I was speaking to you just the other day about how I cannot offer you a romantic connection. I understand why you must have felt the way you do."

"I feel so ashamed," she admitted.

"There is no reason to," he chided her, his hand coming up to her chin to coax her to look at him again. "We have experienced more than our fair share of marital troubles since our wedding, Marina."

"What shall we do, Phillip?"

Gingerly, he traced the line of her jaw with his thumb. "Tonight, we should get some rest. In the morning, we can determine the best course of action. Together."