and she saw the moment he changed his mind. Disappointment rushed through her. He dipped into a bow, and she hurriedly stepped forward.
“Do not leave!” Good heavens, she was losing all sense of her promise to be a proper wife. Proper wives did not question their husbands about lovers, nor did they command them to stay in a room. Blast it!
He regarded her with a slight crease between his brows.
“I have papers,” she said, waving at the table. “If you wish for us to converse…I have papers.”
His expression smoothed, he made his way over to her and looked down. With a frown, he took up the paper she had been writing on, and with a gasp she snatched it away from it. “Not this one!”
He made a motion with his hand.
Phoebe paused. The need to learn his language had blossomed through her so they could talk so much more freely. A few mornings she’d asked Caroline to teach her, but those lessons were brief and not enough for what she wanted with him. “Are you asking me why?”
He nodded once. She peered up at him, wondering why she had asked him to stay. While she appreciated his kindness, there was a reserve about him, one that cloaked him like a dark shadow and appeared impenetrable. Phoebe wasn’t certain he was aware of it. Though he was pleasant, he exuded nothing else.
Once again, her heart squeezed. She had chosen to marry this man. She did not expect love or any such nonsense, but they could be friends, if he was willing to try. “It is a letter I have been trying to write to my mother…and father. Every day I come here, and I start to write it, but I cannot seem to finish it.”
An arrested look appeared in his eyes. He made the same sign as before, and she tentatively lifted her hands and mimicked him. “Why?”
He formed another symbol.
“I know that to mean yes,” she murmured.
He nodded, his eyes unexpectedly warm and curious. At her silence, he reached for the quill and scratched on the paper.
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. Sharing 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