She went to the blue bedchamber. She sat at the dressing table until Dawson came. The trunk was brought in.
“Don’t unpack it, Dawson. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
A tray was brought with some tea and toast and broth. She ate a little bit.
“I’ll go to bed now.”
She saw her maid’s eyes dart to the mantel clock. It was only a quarter past two.
“I just need to lie down and read and rest a bit. You’ll make sure Lord Danforth knows I won’t be coming down for dinner?”
“Yes, my lady.”
A tap at her door woke her at six o’clock. “Phoebe?” It was George.
“I’m well, George. You don’t need to worry,” she called out.
A pause. “Can I come in and see you?”
“Yes.”
He opened the door a little bit and slid in. Almost as if he had to be furtive. Almost as if they weren’t married. He closed the door quietly and came toward her bed.
“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” She shook her head. “And you’re sure you’re well enough to travel tomorrow?”
“Yes, I just—I didn’t sleep much in the last week.”
“Yes.”
“So there’s nothing for you to worry about.”
He still stood there. She rolled over so she was facing away from him. She closed her eyes.
His low voice. “Maybe I want to worry.”
She started to cry. The mattress moved under her and she knew he had sat down on the bed. She felt a hand on her back, stroking her.
She cried and waited for the hand to go to her bottom or her hair or to creep around to her front, but it didn’t. It stayed on her back, petting her. She cried and his hand rubbed her back tenderly until she fell asleep again.
When Dawson came into the bedchamber in the morning, Phoebe rolled over and opened her eyes. George wasn’t there.
Thirty
They set off an hour later than George had planned to leave. He had paced the hall for ten minutes and then forced himself to go and sit in his study until Wynn came and told him Lady Danforth was waiting for him.
He put a smile on his face as he came down the stairs.
“Shall we go?”
Phoebe gave him a quizzical look from under her black bonnet and then frowned. “Are you sure you’re George Danforth? Where’s my scolding?”
He felt a twinge in his gut. “There’s no hurry.”
She blinked and swept out the door.
George looked at his wife as she gazed out the window of the carriage at the London streets.
His wife.
