Page 51 of Duchess Needed
Barbara’s eyes lit up almost immediately. “Is that so? How wonderful!”
Phoebe glanced at her husband, while trying to contain the surprise etched on her face as Barbara clapped her hands in excitement.
“I’m not very good –” she tried to proclaim but was quickly interrupted by Edward again.
“Nonsense,” he scolded. “She is quite excellent and passionate about art. I am many things, but I do not lie.”
“Oh, that is splendid! I am something of a collector and I have curated a fine collection of stunning pieces from around the world. Come with me, duchess, let me show you.” Barbara exclaimed, rising to her feet and takin Phoebe by the hand.
The duchess looked to the duke for assistance, but he simply waved them off, much to Phoebe’s annoyance, smiling as Barbara began to tell her all about the artists she adored.
“It was my late husband who began the collection. He truly valued and appreciated each piece that came his way and at first, I couldn’t understand what made them so special. I knew it they might be worth something – and that the mix of different colors and shapes made for a good spectacle, but it never really felt… as special to me as it was to him. Art. And then he passed away, leaving me in this large house with no children, just more paintings and sculptures than I knew what to do with. And one day, I sat in front of one the pieces he had hung in our bedroom,staring at the strange combination of blues and greys that made up the sky and sea. In that moment, the grief I had been suppressing for so long came pouring out of me. It was then I realized why he loved that piece so much, why his collection was so vast. And then I began collecting as well.”
She told her story and she gave Phoebe a tour of the estate, pointing at all the pieces she loved, adding why occasionally. Phoebe had been right when she commended on the dowager countess’ tastes, because not only were her rooms decorated stylishly enough to belong in a catalogue, but she was also completely enthralled by the amazing works of art that hung on the walls.
“One of the greatest honors I have received was to meet and obtain some of these pieces from the artists themselves,” Barbara told her proudly as they walked to a different room.
The room had large windows that took up an entire wall, which filled the room with lots of light, seemingly making every object around glow. She admired the sculptures that had been arranged in an orderly line in two rows, her steps faltering when she spotted a painting on the wall that was unlike the others they had seen so far.
At first, she was curious, but as she drew closer, she realized it was a family portrait of a man and woman, and a boy who was likely their son, because he had his father’s hair color and his mother’s eyes.
The same eyes Phoebe had seen nearly every day, ever since she was married to Edward.
“Is this… are these Edward’s parents?” she asked slowly, turning to face Barbara who had been trailing behind her quietly.
“Yes. My dear brother and his wife. And the little boy they loved more than anything – who grew up to be a good man, but quite a handful,” Barbara chuckled slightly.
Phoebe returned her attention to the portrait, wondering if it would be rude to want to know more about them. Eventually, her desire to know more about Edward won and she parted her lips to question,
“What happed to them?”
Barbara hesitated for a few seconds, then she sighed deeply.
“Edward’s father died from a disease that had plague him for years. We thought his medicine would keep it at bay for as long as possible, but his health had its good days and bad ones. He was so young, too and Edward was only fifteen when he passed. It was something none of us had seen coming and something we could not face, because he died so suddenly, and… his poor wife… She had been so devastated by the loss, the grief caused her to lose her mind. She fell ill, not long after and when Edward was eighteen – three years later, she died as well. And he has been alone, ever since. I do what I can, to help and support him, but for the most part, he has taken control of all his affairs byhimself. It makes me worry, every time I think of how much his has undertaken by himself.”
Phoebe felt disheartened as she listened to the dowager’s words, because she knew that it was like to lose one’s parents, but in her case, she and her siblings had each other for comfort and support. It was not the same for Edward, and given how much he had to shoulder, she knew it must have been difficult for him.
“I know that your situation is not idea, and that I have no right to ask anything of you, given my initial reaction to you on our first meeting, but I would like to ask you to please help him. He can be rather stubborn – as I am sure you have noticed – and quite determined to do things his way, but he means well. Still, he needs a lot of support, and whilst he might refuse to receive what I offer, he might be more inclined to accept yours. So, please… take care of him,” Barbara requested, reaching out to hold Phoebe’s hands.
Without hesitation, Phoebe squeezed the older woman’s hands and stated,
“I will. You have my word.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“And... done,” Phoebe exhaled in relief as she put down the last finishing touch to her drawing.
She stretched her hands above her head, holding the posture foe a few seconds as her body got some much-needed reprieve after holding a stiff posture for hours on end.
Because she had been worried about worrying her husband again, she had tried not to lose herself in her work, and as a result, it had taken her longer than usual to complete her commissions. However, she was finally done, and could at last submit them to Mr. Lambert.
It was a miracle that Edward had not recognized her style from the newspapers and she had no words to explain how glad she was that the crisis had passed. She could only imagine how upset Edward might be that she was reducing herself to manual labor once more, despite his complaints.
Thinking of her husband had ignited fire within Phoebe and she was never sure what to do about it. He consumed much of her thoughts and she found that she yearned to be the focus of his attention, to receive his touch once more.
Ever since their visit to his aunt’s estate, she had found herself staring at him, her heart hurting as she recalled what she had been told about his upbringing. She wanted to ask him how he had dealt with it all, what sort of illness his father had and she wanted to hear, from his lips, more about the life he’d had until he met her.
She sensed that he was hiding something, but she could never be sure what it was, nor could she muster the courage to actually ask him any of the questions she had.
