When the Earl Met His Match (Wedded by Scandal 4)

Will you share with me?

The urge to brush aside his concern rushed through her. To indulge in witty and amusing banter was light conversation. A tremor went through her heart. Shari

ng her fears was different. It felt odd revealing the intimacies of her thoughts with another she had not known for so long.

What do I truly want from you, Hugh?

An unexpected agony of need swelled in her chest, constricting her throat. She wanted what she had always dreamed about, a husband who would hold her close in the night when she could not sleep, who would kiss her simply because he had to feel her lips against his. Phoebe wanted long walks and conversations; she wanted laughter. She wanted a real marriage…or what she had always envisioned a real, vibrant union to be like.

A part of her wanted to scream at her silliness, but she suppressed the urge. I am married to this man, and there is no possibility of us separating. This…whatever we have between us is until death does part us. And a closer relationship could start with her sharing more. Perhaps it was just as disconcerting for him to be married to a lady he only met a couple weeks ago, even if he had advertised for a wife.

It took several moments before the flurry in her heart subsided, and she said, “I failed to conduct myself with dignity and discretion.” The words felt as if they were dragged from her throat, they were so very painful to admit. “I failed to fulfil my parents’ hopes for me. Though I am happy I am not married to a man older than my father, there are times…there are times I ache with the knowledge of how much I hurt and have disappointed the duke and duchess, my parents. I also hurt deep inside that they did not care about hurting me or care that I might be unhappy in the marriage they arranged.”

Phoebe clasped her hands together. “I hurt deeply that the wounds between us might never be mended and our family will forever be divided. I hurt that they might never forgive me for my reckless impetuosity, and I also fear I might never forgive my mother for what she was willing to do to my child…her grandchild.”

She lowered one of her hands over the high mound of her belly. “I know how awful a baby farm is. My brother…Richard, he has the most wonderful little girl, Emily, and her mother had also given her to a baby farm to risk the cruelties and negligence that took place before my brother discovered his child. The duchess…Mama had the knowledge that many babies died in their first year…and she was still willing to consign my child to such a life. I find that when I try to write to her…I cannot,” she ended softly.

He stared at her for a long time, and the dark beauty of his eyes expressed his understanding more eloquently than words ever could. He reached for a piece of paper and wrote. We shall meet outside by the cliffs in about an hour. I will be back for you.

Confusion knitted her brows. “I…yes, of course.”

She blew out a breath and settled into the sofa once he left. While she was careful to take her daily walk around the front lawns and by the lake, she hadn’t explored the side of the estate that faced the cliff and the oceans. It had seemed too far a journey for her to walk with her swollen feet. However, a cobbler had been summoned and made shoes that were large enough for her. She had a few pairs of practical shoes and slippers now, which while comfortable were not actually that fashionable.

She glanced down at the note he’d placed on the table earlier.

Phoebe, I’ve written to the duke and duchess of Salop informing them of our nuptials and have extended our apologies for the suddenness of our marriage, which has caused them to miss your wedding day. I have promised we shall call upon them as soon as we return to England, where I anticipate our warm reception. Let me reassure you we will only return to England after the child is born and you are recovered enough to travel. I have not requested your dowry but have left that decision to the duke. We do not need it. However, should he do his duty by you and send it, we shall set it up in a trust fund for our first child.

Her heart ached so fiercely, she had to lower the note for several moments. Glancing down, she quickly read the rest.

I’ve also sent notices to the local papers of our nuptials. By next week, all of Society will be aware of the alliance between the Maitlands and the Winthrops. When you are ready, we can place the announcement in the Gazette, Morning Chronicles in London.

Phoebe tried to imagine what her mother’s reaction would be upon receiving the news. Relief? Were you even worried about me, Mama, when I fled? Or would the duchess feel pleased that her only daughter had married one of the Winthrops, a family reputed to have more wealth and properties than the Maitlands? Society would be curious, and she expected the invitations to come pouring in, but to where would they be sent? Phoebe was not even certain if the earl had a townhouse in London.

Sarah appeared in the doorway. “Milady, I was told to help you prepare for an outing by the cliffside.”

Phoebe tucked the note into the pocket of her day dress, braced her hands on each side of the sofa, and pushed upward with a soft grunt, then she stood and rang for her maidservant. Several minutes later, she was clothed in a warmer dress and comfortable slippers. Sarah assisted her outside, and Phoebe was pleased to see Hugh waiting for her in a landeau. He hopped down and assisted her inside, and then they were off, Wolf barking and running behind their equipage.

Chapter Eight

The horses moved at a slow speed, trotting over the lanes and toward the cliff. Phoebe cast him a sideway glance, but she remained silent as they traveled along the castle lanes. Then they were passing through swiftly opened gates, and the horses were cantering along deserted lanes through a verdant countryside. They sat in companionable silence, and Phoebe enjoyed the sharp breeze on her face, rustling the ribbons of her bonnet. The journey took a winding route, and in the passage of about ten minutes, they approached the cliffside.

The sound of the sea and the crashing waves lingered in the air. Hugh drew back on the reins, and the horses slowed to a stop. He stepped down from the carriage and came around to her side to assist her down. The feel of his powerful arms around her waist as he steadied her was at once thrilling and comforting.

He released her and guided the equipage several feet away, where he unharnessed the two horses with quick, efficient motions so that they could graze.

“What are these?”

Spread on the grass were dozens of large rectangular sheets of paper. Several blankets were strewn before the papers, along with a mound of cushions. And charcoals, paintbrushes, paints, and an ewer of water. Phoebe walked closer to the odd display. “You did this in such a short time?”

“Yes.”

She toed off her shoes, moaning at the relief in her feet. Then she stepped onto the blanket, which had a pile of neatly laid notes set to one side, at least more than a dozen. Holding her steady at the elbow, Hugh helped lower her onto the well-padded blankets on the thick, lush grass. He then grabbed several of the pillows and cushions and propped them behind her. She supposed they were to have a picnic of sorts, and she found the notion delightful. Hugh also sat on the blanket a couple feet from her.

“Are we to have a picnic?”

He rubbed his chin as if in deep contemplation and squinted at the notes. Then he pointed at the third note from the right. With a smile, Phoebe leaned over slightly and plucked it up.

What you see before you are specially made papers. We are going to draw and write on them.