Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

H ayward Estate was gorgeous as they drove up. It had been closed to the public for a decade, much longer than Marina had been attending balls, so she had never seen it in person. Her mind wandered to hosting elaborate dinner parties and a grand ball each season, but the moment she stepped inside, all of that changed.

One would never know that it was a bright, sunny afternoon from the interior of the Duke and Duchess' new marital home. Marina stood just inside the doorway, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. She was astonished—all of the windows were covered, and many of the paintings and mirrors hung on the wall were still covered in black cloth. It was dreary and stifling and not at all what she had imagined. Her husband had seemed much brighter.

Did he think of this as a temporary home?

"Your Grace, this is Mathilde. She is the housekeeper here." Mathilde was an older woman with beautiful features and her hair pulled back into a tight bun. Marina smiled warmly at her, and Mathilde gave her a deep curtsy. "There are a handful of maids in our employ, but Mathilde will be your greatest asset as you learn the ropes. I suggest that you first discuss hiring some lady's maids for yourself. Now, if you will excuse me, Duchess, I will be retiring to my study for the evening."

Marina's eyes widened. He meant to leave her there on her own on their first night as husband and wife? Would she be dining alone?

"But, Your Grace, the windows—may I—?" she called after him.

Without so much as a glance over his shoulder he said, "Yes, of course, do whatever you like. This is your home now."

After that, he left her there with Mathilde her only company. The two women stared at each other for a moment, and Marina felt a sinking sensation. The silence of Hayward Estate wrapped itself around her like chilly ocean water threatening to drag her down below the surface.

"Allow me to show you to your chambers," the older woman offered, her voice firm but sweet. Marina nodded. The rooms were decorated in brighter colors than the rest of the house as if only her own bedroom and powder room had been refreshed since Phillip had taken over as the Duke of Peterborough.

"If I may be so bold, Your Grace, might I suggest that you retire early for tonight? There has not been a Duchess of Peterborough in many years, and there will be much for you to learn beginning in the morning."

Marina smiled softly in agreement then watched Mathilde take her leave before she was left all alone in a room that felt as if it belonged to a stranger. She slept fitfully all through the night and woke early the next morning with a feeling of heaviness.

She arrived at breakfast and was seated at the head of the table, but there was no place set for the Duke. Marina ate in silence, accompanied only by the staff. Although her mealtimes dragged on seemingly forever, Marina spent much of her day attached to Mathilde at the hip, diligently doing her best to learn how to run the household. Luckily, she had a bit of experience acting as countess on occasion in her father's home. She learned quickly but still felt overwhelmed.

This was due, in part, to her prior expectations. Marina had imagined that the Duke would be teaching her how he expected his household to be kept, yet he was seemingly nowhere to be found. She knew that he was in the estate, somewhere, but wherever he was, he did not seem to intend to spend time with her at all. It was as if he was so determined not to cross her path that she did not even see his steward nor a butler until halfway through dinner. The butler appeared to retrieve a tray for the man of the house, indicating to Marina that he had not taken dinner out.

"Excuse me." Her voice cut through the silent dining room, freezing the butler in his tracks. "Would you know where the Duke has been today? I have many things I would like to discuss with him."

The butler gave her a funny look then immediately righted his expression and bowed.

"His Grace is in his office. As he has not been home for quite some time and was previously engaged with your marriage arrangements, he has much to catch up on."

It struck Marina, as she watched the butler disappear into the hall, that she had caught him off guard for asking. Did Phillip expect her to live in this enormous home all alone for the entirety of their marriage? She, again, retired early and, again, found sleep difficult to succumb to. After too long of tossing and turning, Marina stood, draped a robe around her nightgown, and lit a candle. Perhaps a walk would clear her head or at the very least allow her to see what was beneath the black cloth without prying eyes that might report her snooping to her husband.

She padded softly in slippered feet through the halls, a tiny smile on her lips. It was almost amusing that the home was just as quiet in the middle of the night with no one awake as it was during the day when people ought to be taking up space and making noise. In the drawing-room, she found the largest covered portrait—the one she had been most curious about since arriving. It had been draped haphazardly, and one corner of the ornate wooden frame was sticking out from beneath the cloth. It took only a small bit of tugging for the rest of the cover to come down. Marina left it there where it landed on the floor, hoping the staff would see it in the morning and assume it fell on its own.

Her bright eyes wandered over the painting. She found Phillip, first, her eyes drawn immediately to his familiar features. He was much younger in this portrait, hardly a child of four, and stood front and center. The artist had captured his remarkable eyes and jet-black hair perfectly. In the painting, his smile mirrored that of the woman who stood behind him. She looked exactly like who Marina could only assume was her son. She was brightly dressed in the fashion of the time, and the young duchess thought she could feel the elder woman's kindness even through the canvas.

But the man beside her Marina did recognize. The late duke had called upon her father once or twice when she was a very young child on business matters. She recalled thinking, even then, that he seemed like he must be angry all of the time. In the painting, he looked the same, his handsome brow tight and furrowed. She felt a chill run down her spine as if the painted man were somehow glaring directly at her.

It made her wonder what her husband's childhood had been like in this dark place. Had it always been so devoid of life? She knew, at least, that it could have been nothing like her own.

Marina made her way through the rest of the lower floor but did not uncover any more paintings. There were other indicators of how Phillip had grown up. A ballroom that seemed to be entered only when it came time to clean the layer of dust that continued to settle over it. Even a library whose books she could tell had not been touched in quite some time. She knew that the late duke was sick for some time before his death, but it appeared that he had been quite lonely during that time, as well. What could bring a son to stay away from their parent as they lay dying?

Marina remembered her mother's accident all too well. If she'd had the chance…but the girl shook the bitter memories from her mind and wandered back upstairs where the living quarters were. There was much more evidence of life up there. It appeared that Phillip had done some rearranging since he'd moved in outside of the obvious changes to the lady's quarters which had been made, seemingly with haste. Every action Phillip had taken, from proposing marriage up to that moment, was a mystery to her.

She needed answers.

Marina had seen the butler leave with Phillip's empty dinner dishes earlier in the evening when she was on her way to bed, so she knew that the door she now faced was the study in which he had isolated himself all day. She tried to remind herself that it was not her place. But it was late, after all. He was likely already in bed. And he was her husband . She deserved to know what was going on—what kind of man he was and what her marriage to him would look like. If he would not speak to her, she would need to gather information on her own.

Just in case, Marina knocked on the door. There was no answer. She tried again, but when there was still silence, she took one last look down the hallway to make sure she was alone then entered. The room itself did not seem like an office. His desk and some bookcases were there, yes, but it seemed half-done. As if he had just moved his things in. She crossed the room to his desk where there was a collection of tchotchkes lining the edge. It was just as she was reaching out to run her fingers along the edge of a plaque—something he must have gotten in school—that she heard the door being thrown open behind her.

"Marina?" The use of her first name caught her off guard, and she turned to stare, wide-eyed at her husband. He was still in his day clothes and had evidently never gone to bed, despite the late hour. "Is everything quite all right? Has something happened?"

Phillip seemed genuinely concerned, and it gave Marina pause. She felt guilty, suddenly, for being there. Quickly, she shook it off and hardened her resolve. It was he who had disappeared. She was merely doing what she felt was best for their marriage.

"I am quite well," she breathed. "I have had…trouble sleeping since I arrived. I hoped a walk might clear my head."

"A walk is one thing, but you found your way into my personal study without asking. Is the writing desk in your quarters not sufficient? Are there books missing from the library downstairs?" Marina felt that Phillip was speaking gently—his question was in earnest, and he did not raise his tone—but the intensity of his inquiring sounded like the echo of something he had learned long ago.

"No, I?—"

"Then what is it that has brought you here tonight?"

"My marriage," she answered succinctly, her voice firm.

"Pardon?"

"My marriage ," she repeated, stepping closer to him. "I have heard that married couples often end up spending time apart, but I had never imagined that it would happen so quickly."

"Marina, I?—"

"Not three nights have passed since we were wed, and my husband has disappeared from sight, leaving me to become adjusted to my new life in this large, cold, empty home. I have a right to know you, Your Grace."

"And you can know me from investigating the items that sit on my desk and collect dust?" He was almost teasing her, and Marina could see the corners of his mouth threatening to turn up in a smile. He thought her amusing, and it only made her more sullen.

"I apologize for my intrusion, Your Grace, but you have not been present since we arrived. What else was I meant to do?"

"Enough, Marina," he said gently. "You are not wrong. I have not been forthcoming as a husband. This is new to me, too. Let us start with this—you are no longer a woman below my station. I insist that you address me by name as Phillip. Or if you must take time to grow accustomed—the Duke."

"A name is not enough to build a marriage," she insisted, her head hanging to the side in her frustration. "I implore you to consider?—"

"I said we could start there," Phillip interjected. He stepped up to her and calmed her by stroking her shoulder with the back of his hand. "I will make every effort to be present so that we might get to know one another. You have made your point, my dear wife. Let us please retire. The hour is incredibly late."

Marina's eyes searched Phillip's face for any sign that he was patronizing her, but she found none. Still, there was something that did not feel authentic to her. If, perhaps, she had looked closely enough, she might have seen the sweat beading at the nape of his neck or the unsteadiness in his hands, clasped demurely behind his back. In truth, Phillip couldn't care less about Marina asking permission to enter any room in this home. Soon enough, he would be off, and it would be hers to do with what she pleased as had always been the plan. But there were papers in that desk she had gotten so dangerously close to which could have told her the truth about who he was.

The truth about her new title.