“I know,” Louisa said softly, patting her arm through their connection.
“Yet can I mourn him either?” she asked, lifting her chin up from the grave. She looked to the sky instead, watching as the grey clouds seemed to part in the distance, showing a glimpse of the sunshine trying to gleam through. “I cannot do that in earnest. He hurt me too much for that.”
She blinked and, in that darkness, she could relive everything he had done, grabbing her around the throat, tearing her dress, plus every bruise he had given her. Then she saw the way he had lifted the pistol toward Francis and Louisa.
“No, I cannot mourn him,” she said decisively, opening her eye again. She looked down at her mourning weeds and decided something with a small smile. “Let’s go home, Louisa.” Louisa smiled too.
Arm in arm, they walked away from the grave. Barely any mourners had come to Graham’s funeral, and Phoebe was not bothered about being the last of them to stand by his grave. She hurried out of the graveyard first, with Louisa beside her, heading straight to the carriage that awaited them.
“Home, please,” she called to the coach driver.
“Of course, my Lady,” the coach driver said kindly as they climbed into the coach. Within seconds they set off, and Phoebe smiled as she looked out of the window. Travelling through London, the clouds were parting more and more, until they reached Hayward’s estate, to find that it was completely bathed in sunlight.
“Do you intend to go back to Lord Ridlington’s house ever again?” Louisa asked as they started riding down the estate driveway.
“No,” Phoebe said with finality. “It was Graham’s home, not mine. I went to see Mr Preston the other day and he is arranging for the house to be put on sale. My things will be moved out and we will not have to go back there again.”
“Thank goodness for that!” Louisa said with relief. “The place has too many bad memories.”
“Agreed,” Phoebe said, just as the carriage came to a stop.
The door was opened, but not by a footman, and the hand that came to assist Phoebe out of the carriage made her smile instantly.
“Francis?” she said in surprise as she took his hand. His fingers wrapped warmly around her own as he helped her out of the carriage. “Have you been waiting on the doorstep for our return?” she asked.
“It would be lying to say I hadn’t been,” he said, helping her down before he offered his hand to Louisa too. “There is something I must speak to you about.” He looped Phoebe’s arm through his and escorted her back toward the house.
Before Phoebe could reply, she turned her gaze to the house. They walked through the front door to see the staff were wandering to and fro, all quickly trying to prepare for the dinner they were to have that evening with Lord and Lady Dodge. It was to be a celebration of freedom.
Phoebe smiled as Mrs Goodman waved at her and the other staff waved too. After Graham’s death a few weeks ago, it was imperative the whole truth came out. Francis had decided to explain to his staff himself what had happened, to avoid any confusion. Since then, the staff had been extraordinarily kind to Phoebe, even more so than before. It meant that when Francis had asked her to stay living with him for a while, not to rush back home yet, she had heartily agreed.
This place feels like my home now.
“Can you spare a few minutes?” Francis whispered to her softly. Louisa hurried toward the staircase, giving Phoebe the minute that she needed alone with Francis. “I am struggling to wait much longer to say what I must say to you.”
“Can it wait a few minutes?” she asked quietly. “There is something I must do first.” She smiled with the words, confident in her decision. “Meet me outside by the stables in half an hour?” she asked.
“You wish to ride Cantante?” he asked.
“I always do,” she said with a small laugh. “But today…I think the freedom of riding that horse will matter even more than usual.”
“As you wish. I’ll see you there,” he said. He looked as though he wanted to lift her hand and kiss the back, but then he glanced around the other staff that were passing them by and held off. She giggled at the sight of it. She wanted nothing more than to feel the press of his lips against her skin, but just like him, she wanted privacy for it.
“I’ll meet you there,” she promised and hurried off up the stairs, following Louisa.
When she reached the bed chamber and shut the door behind her, she turned to her maid with a great smile on her face.
“There, now,” Louisa said, matching her smile. “That is a true smile of freedom.”
“I am nearly free. There is one other thing I must do first,” she said and heaved at the thick black skirt of the mourning dress. “Look at me, Louisa? Why am I wearing this? I do not mourn him, no more than he would mourn me had I been lost from this world. Wearing this…it’s a foolish thing to do. It suggests I am still beholden to him, and I am not.”
“You wish to change?” Louisa said excitedly. She clapped her hands together and rushed toward the wardrobe. “Wonderful! What would you like to wear instead? The blue gown? The green one? How about the new cream one?”
“The boldest one you can find!” Phoebe said with a giggle and threw off the mourning gown.
* * *
Francis was impatient for Phoebe’s return, pacing up and down the stable yard as the new groom he had employed was preparing Cantante and another steed for their ride. His boots clopped across the cobbles each time he turned and walked back the other way.
