"I will speak with the Magistrate. This can not stand!" Philip got up and put on his coat. He turned to Marina. "Will you stay here another night, while I deal with this?"
Marina shook her head. "No I... I want to go home." She sighed, and squeezed her eyes shut against the tears threatening to spill. "I don't want to stay here doing nothing – hiding away."
She almost expected him to argue, to tell her she would be safer here with Mrs. Crane and the servants. But he knew her better than that. Or at least, he was too afraid to argue with her. He nodded. "Alright. I'll tell Mother and have your things packed."
"Thank you."
"I do want a promise from you though."
"What is it?"
"Promise me you won't seek out Mr. Abernathy."
Marina snorted – he knew her too well. She had been fantasizing about throwing much larger rocks at him. "Fine."
Marina and Philip made inane small talk in the carriage on the way home. They were trying to act normal in front of Celeste, trying not to worry her, while the whole time, at the back of her mind, Marina was fuming, running through revenge fantasies in her imagination.
Her favorite involved denouncing Mr. Abernathy in a court room, and the audience was so enraged by his bad behavior that they all stood up and stoned him right then and there.
She asked Philip about Mrs. Abernathy's court trial, and Philip told her about it, but even he seemed distracted, unable to rise to his usual level of enthusiasm when talking about the law.
Philip dropped her and Celeste at home, than continued on to see what he could do about the charges.
Marina and Celeste went in, and tried to settle back in at home. Marina felt more comfortable, being there, being in her own space again, but she was too angry to really calm down.
She was still angry when she went to bed, and Philip was still not home. She just wished she could go back to her normal life, to having dinner with Celeste and Philip, to living quietly with her awkward little family.
She woke some time later, in the dark. There was a light from Philip's room. Her hand throbbed painfully.
She got up and knocked at the door, opening it before he could answer. To her surprise, he wasn't at his desk, but in a chair by the fireplace, staring into the empty darkness there. He had a glass in his hand, and a bottle of brandy on the floor by his feet.
"It didn't go well then?" she asked.
He shook his head. "He is determined to listen to Mr. Abernathy. I don't know why – the man is a liar and a thug."
Marina looked over at Philip's desk, at the scattering of documents across his desk, testament to his work helping women escape abusive men. She looked down at her hand, at the white bandage against her dark skin. She thought of the doctor, grudgingly stooping to treat her. She thought of the London ton, eager to laugh at her expense, giddy to witness her fall from grace. "I suspect I know why."
Philip sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. Marine looked at him and saw how disheveled he looked, how deep the shadows around his eyes. She reached out and touched his cheek lightly. "When was the last time you slept?"
He pulled his face away from her touch, avoiding her eyes. She took the glass from his hand and drank the rest of his brandy in one gulp, trying to push away the hurt in her chest at his reaction. The brandy burned down her throat and she sat down opposite Philip, holding the glass between her knees while she opened the bottle and poured herself another glass. She drank half of it and stared into the empty fireplace, sitting in silence with him for some time.
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
"Yes well, me too." She took another gulp.
"I shouldn't have left you. I should have-"
"I thought I told you to stop that," Marina cut him off. She didn't have patience for him, and she found that after he hurt her by pulling away from her, she wanted to hurt him back.
"Yes, but I…" he waved his hand around, at himself. "I know I'm not what you wanted," he mumbled.
Marina bit back the sharp reply she had readied and narrowed her eyes at him. Was he drunk? Or was he just being particularly self-pitying? She felt the brandy reach her stomach, and warmth spreading in her belly.
"Am I what you wanted?" she asked. The brandy had started to numb the pain in her hand, but it was making it hard to focus on Philip. It seemed like he took hours to respond to her question, like he stared at her for a very long time, considering her question. She blinked at him, sure he would answer in the negative, wishing he would say yes.
He said nothing.
She sighed heavily. "What are we going to do? Will I have to go to trial?"
"Not necessarily. You can present your case to the judge first, to have him throw out the suit. It's ridiculous."
"Mm. Will you help me?"
"I can't represent you."
Marina clenched her hand around the glass. She wanted to strangle him. She wanted to cry.
She settled for pouring more brandy.
"You're my wife. I can't…" Philip took a deep breath. "I can't be objective. I wouldn't be able to do my best – to be your best advocate."
Marine stared at him. Was there an expression of affection somewhere in there? Or was he referring to something else?
Because really, this could be a great opportunity for him. An opportunity to get rid of the wife he never wanted, and to keep the child his family did want. Her body was heavy, pressing down in the chair, weighed down by the disappointments and injuries of the day. "It would be so convenient…" she muttered.
"Pardon?"
"Oh, nothing…" Her eyelids drooped slowly shut, and opened again to see him leaning over her, looking concerned.
"Marina? You should get to bed."
"Hm? Alright…" She got up, leaning on the chair and stumbling a little, and he took her arm to help her back to her room.
"Why am I always injured?" she murmured, remembering the last time he had helped her to bed. All she wanted was to be close to someone, to be loved again. "Why am I always hurting?"
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry, just…" She sighed as he let her down into her bed, and clung to his hand when he made to leave. "You won't give up on me will you?" she asked. "You won't get rid of me?"
"Why would I… Of course not!"
Marina stared into his eyes, but it was too dark, too blurry, for her to make out his expression, to tell if he was lying to her. She let go of his hand and turned onto her side. "If only you loved me – then I would know for sure," she muttered, letting her heavy eyelids fall shut.
She was asleep before Philip's door closed again.
Her head ached the next morning, to match the ache in her hand and her heart.
Philip was already gone by the time she and Celeste got downstairs, and he didn't return home all day. Celeste was moody, no doubt influenced by Marina's own foul mood. She was relieved when Celeste finally went down to sleep, eager for the day to end.
She hated being a woman, being forced to stay home, unable to do anything in her own defense.
Philip came home late, but she was still up, waiting for him. He looked even more tired than yesterday, and she felt pity for him, but she needed to talk to him too.
"Have you eaten?" she asked, when he walked in.
"Not since lunch."
"Come to the kitchen. I'll make you something."
"You don't have to-"
"I'm not doing it out of kindness – I need to talk with you."
He sat at the table, head hanging low, and she set to brewing some strong tea, and put out some cold meats and cheese for him. While the kettle boiled she sat across the table from him.
"If this goes to trial," she started.
He shook his head. "It should not go to trial! This suit is ridiculous, and-"
"Have you got the Magistrate to listen?" Marina asked.
Philip shook his head glumly. "No. That fool Sir Reginald – I can't convince him, and neither can his friends."
"Then we need to talk about what to do going forward," Marina said, surprised at how calm she sounded. "If we go to trial, what do you think my chances are – and what would be my punishment, if the judge finds me guilty?"
Philip shook his head again, more vehemently this time. "I refuse to believe anyone could find you guilty of a crime in this situation."
"Don't be so naïve," Marina snapped at him. She got up and went to the stove, where the water was starting to boil. She concentrated on making tea, on breathing evenly, to keep from crying, or screaming her anger. "What will happen to me?"
"If it goes to trial… The punishment might not be the worst part. The trial could be."
"The trial?"
"They will try to call your character into question."
"So? Let them! They won't be the first," Marina said bitterly.
"Marina, it will be ugly. It will get mean. It may undo whatever good you have gotten from this marriage," he said softly.
Marina turned and stared at him, her heart in her throat. Did he really still think the only good she got from this marriage was the respectability the marriage afforded her? Was that all he thought of her still?
"If they find out about George, if they make Celeste's parentage public-"
"Will you divorce me then?"
He looked up at her, startled. "No, but then everyone would know. Do you think your friends would understand? Would you be able to continue living here in Hampstead, if everyone knew?"
Marina sighed and leaned on the table. "And everyone would know that you are not Celeste's father, that you married your brother's foolish lover…"
"I'm not-"
Marina growled and curled her hands into fists, punching the table. "Ah! I wish I had just killed him! This would be so much easier if he had disappeared!"
"I'm glad you didn't kill him…"
"Oh… I am too. I just – what is our other option? To let Mr. Abernathy get away with lying? To have to pay him because he tried to harm me and my child? I can't. I don't think I could stand it."
"…We could move away, if we had to."
Marina looked up at him, dashing angry tears from her eyes. "Would you really do that? For me – for Celeste?"
He nodded. "Yes."
She smiled, moved by his offer, then slapped him gently across the face.
"Ow – what?"
"This is exactly the kind of self-destructive noble nonsense that I hate from you," she said. "How do you not understand that by now?" He rubbed his cheek, and she felt a little bad, but she had had enough of his martyring himself at every opportunity. "No. I refuse to be forced out by the likes of him."
Philip nodded slowly.
"And who is to say that Celeste isn't yours? We may have been indiscreet before, but we are married now – it's close enough to legitimate. Honestly, I think it is my slightly sullied reputation that makes me interesting to the people around here anyway."
Philip smiled crookedly at her. His eyelids were drooping, and he looked exhausted. She noticed his cheek turning red and reached out to lightly touch him. His skin felt hot under her fingertips.
"Oh dear – I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you so hard."