It turned out that the Haywards had more in common than Phillip could ever have assumed before their wedding. Marina’s desire to be seen in public did not come from vanity, greed, or jealousy as he expected of most of England’s elite. She enjoyed observing and interacting with others. More importantly, she was deeply involved in Olivia’s romantic prospects. He overheard Marina more than once giving her sister sound advice about her love life, whispering carefully over the players’ lines so that he had to strain to hear her.
“I would still like to promenade,” Marina answered him swiftly. “People will whisper that we have been hidden away from society for far longer than is natural. However, tonight, I will indulge you happily.”
“How long does this hiding occur naturally?”
Marina’s eyes twinkled with mischief as they made their way to the garden together slowly, her hand resting gently in the crook of his arm. “Well, I suppose it depends. We did not court for very long, so it should come as a shock that we have hidden at all. I believe that the general opinion is that ours is a marriage of convenience.”
“And if it were? Why would it be abnormal for us to hide?”
“My dear, newlywed couples who disappear from society right after their marriage for a period of time—perhaps a fortnight at most—do so because they aresoenjoying one another’s company that they cannot resist choosing privacy over social outings.”
Phillip thought, for a moment, about what she was saying then became flushed when he realized the implication of what Marina was telling him, and of what others must think of them. He recovered quickly.
“Then let the ton think that we enjoy one another’s company very much, for all I care. There—that bush near the table where you write in the evenings. What is that called?”
Marina giggled. “It is not a bush at all. Those will be gladiolas when they bloom. They’re stunning. I had the gardener plant them there specifically because it is the best place to sit and write, and I would very much like to draw or paint them one day.”
“What makes that the best place?”
“The direction of the light. It is obscured a bit by that tree over there—” she pointed to a laburnum tree nearby, “—but still bright enough. And just there, along the path, are the gooseberry bushes. I’m quite excited about those though there is some debate between myself and the gardener about when they will fruit.”
“Is that so? Then I agree with you. I wish to be on the winning end of the argument.”
“Phillip! You do not know the details. How could you make up your mind so crassly?”
They stopped walking and turned to look at each other, Marina’s nose crinkled playfully, and Phillip’s eyes were bright with joy.
“Fine, then. Tell me what the argument is. But I stand by what I said before.”
“The gardener believes that they will take the full three years to bear fruit. He has said that the person I purchased them from was a lazy starter.”
“I have never heard of a lazy plant starter,” Phillip chuckled. “So what of you? When do you believe that the gooseberry plants will fruit?”
“By next year. Late summer.”
“So, the gardener believes you to be an optimistic fool. He must not think they will make it at all, and he likely intends to change them out next year before you notice that they have died.”
Marina’s eyes widened. “What? How would you know that? Have you been speaking with him?”
“No,” Phillip laughed. “I have not been consulting with the gardener behind your back about your fruit bushes, Marina. I have merely known him for the duration of my young life. He told me once that he often did the same for my mother. She was often beside herself if one of her plants withered or died. He said he was sick of her sobbing in the garden. Gardens, he says, are happy places.”
“Not always,” Marina disagreed with a cluck of her tongue. “There are not always nice things in gardens. Grasshoppers, for instance.”
CHAPTER 14
The following morning, Phillip was observing Marina in the garden from his study. She had complained of a headache and had not come to breakfast, and the Duke found that he had become accustomed to her presence. He missed her when she was not around, something he knew that he would need to quell if he wished to continue to keep his distance. At least romantically. He had decided that there was nothing wrong with their friendship blooming. It was, after all, friendship on which partnerships could be built.
He watched her as she took a quick walk around the grounds, stopping now and again to look more closely at something. Phillip admired the way the sun made her hair look like gold and the graceful way she moved. Every so often she would turn in his direction, and he would shift to the side, behind the curtain, to keep from being spotted. It was after one of these scares, Phillip peaked back out at her and noticed her looking around frantically for something. She seemed to spot it, walk toward it, and then at once turned and ran, frightened, back toward the house.
Phillip did not take even a moment to determine what had happened before he ran haphazardly downstairs to look for her. He was seized by panic when, at first, he could not find her until at last he saw the corner of her skirt swish past the doorway into the drawing-room. He followed suit and found her gripping the back of a chair and hyperventilating. Phillip went to her at once, placing both of his hands on her shoulders from behind.
“Marina? What is it?”
She only shook her head, shutting her eyes tight, and tried to gain control over her breathing. Phillip remained patient, helping to coach her through her panic. When, at last, she recovered, he helped her to sit down and sat across from her, waiting for her to explain. Instead, her eyes narrowed into accusatory slits in his direction.
“How did you come upon me?”
“I beg your pardon?”
