Chapter 16
I was not sure I was ready at all, with Philip sitting so close to me in this quiet room. But then I remembered I was supposed to be growing up, and I tried to imagine what an experienced lady in London would do. I tried to imagine what Cecily would do. I imagined I was graceful and elegant and accustomed to handsome gentlemen teaching me how to write a love letter.
I kept my voice casual and said, “Please, go ahead.”
He cleared his voice and spoke in a tutorial manner. “The purpose of the love letter is to convey feelings one cannot say out loud. Here is your first exam: Why would a gentleman be unable to declare himself openly?”
Philip sounded so serious, as if he were a real teacher and I a pupil. I didn’t want him to be serious. So I bit my lip, as if thinking hard, and said, “Um, because he’s . . . a mute?”
Philip’s lips twitched in an effort not to smile. “I see you passed the general and went straight to the specific. The answer, Miss Daventry, is that a gentleman is unable to declare himself openly if his circumstances prevent it.” He raised an eyebrow. “Were you paying attention?”
I nodded. “Yes, but you spoke of a gentleman. Should you not be teaching me how a lady writes a love letter? After all, I will need to write a love letter as if I were my aunt.”
He rolled his eyes. “I am not going to pretend to write a love letter to another man. You will just have to take my instruction and apply it in your own way. Now, how do you think he should begin?”
“With her name?” I guessed.
“Unimaginative.” He picked up the quill, dipped it in ink, and wrote,
To my unsuspecting love.
I had to lean closer to Philip to read the words clearly. “Much more imaginative,” I murmured.
“And now for the essence of the letter.”
I kept my eyes on the paper, waiting for him to write more, but his hand stayed poised above the paper, until I looked up. He gazed into my eyes for a long minute, then said in a quiet voice, “The eyes are a good place to start.”
Oh, no. Now he was going to start teasing me in earnest. I was sure of it.
When I look into your eyes, I lose all sense of time and place. Reason robbed, clear thought erased, I am lost in the paradise I find within your gaze.
Oh, my.
I could never have imagined such words, not from anyone, not from Philip. They burned me from within, and I think if he had read them out loud I would have been consumed by heat. I was grateful that he was silent.
I still felt his gaze on my face—he was so close—but I did not dare look at him again. Instead, I rested my chin on my hand, curling my fingers over my cheek in an attempt to hide my blush.
I long to touch your blushing cheek, to whisper in your ear how I adore you, how I have lost my heart to you, how I cannot bear the thought of living without you.
The tease! I cursed him silently. I was sure he wrote about my blush just to provoke a reaction from me. He loved to provoke me, I reminded myself. He loved to make me blush. He said so himself, that day in the library. But even telling myself that did nothing to lessen the heat of my embarrassment.
I tried to remind myself that this was only a lesson, and not a real love letter. Not my love letter, I repeated in my mind while I stared at the paper.
To be so near you without touching you is agony. Your blindness to my feelings is a daily torment, and I feel driven to the edge of madness by my love for you.
The only sound in the room was the quiet scratch of quill on paper as Philip wrote. I stared at the letter as if it was my only anchor to reality. My heart thudded so hard it ached. Without knowing much about love myself, I knew that Philip must have once loved someone this passionately. He had once felt exactly what he had written—that he was nearly out of his mind with love. I choked on a surge of jealousy so bitter it shocked me.
Where is your compassion when I need it the most? Open your eyes, love, and see what is right before you: that I am not merely a friend, but a man deeply, desperately, in love with you.
I was shaking. I gripped my hands into fists and searched for some composure. I should be able to treat this as an amusing lesson in romance—a chance for me to become a little more experienced. Then why did I feel stretched thin, so transparent and tremulous? Why did my heart gallop? Why did I feel I was coming undone?
I knew none of the answers. I only knew that I was greatly disturbed by this . . . lesson. I wanted to find something to laugh about. But the letter sat before me on the table like an intimate glimpse into Philip’s heart. And there was nothing to laugh about. Indeed, I felt strangely close to crying.
I wanted to push the paper away. I wanted to run from the room. I wanted to reverse the clock and never know that Philip was capable of . . . this. I wanted to undo everything, even coming here to Edenbrooke, rather than know this about Philip.
Finally he spoke. “Do you have any questions?” His voice caused a ripple to cascade through me. I closed my eyes and summoned my courage to stay in my chair and not cry. This was my opportunity to prove my maturity. I would not let him know how his words had disturbed me.
I cleared my throat. “How shall you sign it? Your secret admirer?” My voice sounded close to normal, which I was quite proud of.
After a pause he said, “No, that won’t do.” His hand moved again, writing the words
Longing for you.
He signed his name underneath. I stared at his name, my fingers curled over my hot cheek, trying to hide something from him. Anything.
“What do you think?” he asked.
I tried to breathe normally and speak normally, but there was nothing normal about this moment. “Very nice,” I said in a tight voice.
Silence stretched so taut that I felt it almost like a tangible presence, humming in the small space between us. I stared at the letter, intent on not looking up, because to look up would be disastrous. I counted slowly to ten in my mind. Nothing. I counted to ten again. Was he trying to burn a hole in my face with his gaze? Could this possibly be any more awkward? No. This was undoubtedly the most awkward moment of my life. I was sure of it.
Then Philip took a breath, and I felt a switch turn in him. He said in a light voice, “Of course, one must always take into consideration the modesty of the lady. Too subtle, and she may miss your meaning altogether. Too strong . . .”
Philip set down the quill and reached up to the hand I was using to cover my blush. He hooked a finger around mine and pulled my hand down to the table. “Too strong,” he said, “and she may never look you in the face again.”
I heard the wry amusement in his voice and looked up sharply. His eyes were brimming with amusement, and that was when I realized he was laughing at me. He must have known all along how embarrassed I was, and he simply wanted to see what reaction he could provoke in me. Hateful man! Whatever feeling had prompted me to almost cry a moment before now turned to anger of the hottest kind.
I snatched my hand away from his and glared at him. I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what I thought of his atrocious teasing, when the door suddenly opened and Mrs. Clumpett walked in, looking over her shoulder and saying, “I think I left it in here last night.”
When she saw us, she stopped. “Oh, am I interrupting something?” she asked with a curious look.
“Not at all,” I said, but my voice came out hoarse.
I hoped Philip would say something to dispel her suspicions. But of course he wouldn’t do something I actually wanted him to do. Instead, he said, “I was just giving Marianne a lesson in romance.”
I gasped and shot him a look of consternation. He winked at me in his audacious way and flashed me his familiar grin. He was unbelievable.
“Oh, well, my book can wait. I will simply come back later to look for it,” she said with a smile as she turned around and closed the door behind her.
I stood as quickly as I could and stepped away from the table. “Philip! She is probably suspecting all sorts of things now that are not true.”
He stood and held out the letter to me. “Is she?” His eyes held both a question and a challenge, and I could not begin to think of how to respond. So I stood there, flustered beyond words.
Then that man just walked out of the room, leaving me angry and embarrassed and confused, with a love letter in my hand.
Betsy took extra care with my hair that evening, brushing it until it shone like a ribbon of honey before pinning it up. She had been chattering nonstop about her trip into town.
“I have been asking around about James, miss.”
“Who?” My thoughts were still caught on the love letter lesson.
“Our missing coachman.”
“Oh, of course. James. And what have you found?”
“There is talk of someone seeing him at an inn south of here. Said he looked well enough, with a pocket full of money. Seemed to be heading to Brighton, which is a very good idea, if I do say so myself, for sea air would be just the thing for a man recovering from a gunshot wound. I think he just decided he’d had enough of that nurse and left on his own.”
I thought for a minute. “I suppose he may have decided he was well enough to leave on his own. But where would he have gotten the money? And why would he leave without saying anything? His care was paid for.”
Betsy shrugged and adjusted one last strand of hair. “There. What do you think?”
I looked in the mirror. Betsy had insisted I wear my new green silk gown. It was one of my more elegant gowns, but I wondered about the color.
“Should I not wear the pink?”
She shook her head decisively. “No, this one brings out the green in your eyes. And your hair looks so pretty against it.”
As much as I hated to agree with Mr. Whittles, at that moment, my hair did look like amber. I had often complained about having such an indecisive eye color, with blue, green, and gray all fighting for dominance, but with the gown bringing out the green in my eyes, I was secretly pleased with the result. I may not be a classic beauty like Cecily, with her bright gold hair and blue eyes, but I thought I looked well enough tonight.
“You are right,” I said. “The green is perfect.”
She smiled. “I know. You should trust me with such matters.” She stood back to look at me, pulled a curl out so it draped across my neck, and then nodded. “You’re ready.”
“Thank you. I have no idea what I would do without you.”
“Do you know how you can really thank me? Tell me exactly what Sir Philip says when he sees you.” She smiled mischievously.
My heart dropped. “Betsy, you shouldn’t say such things.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because someone might hear you and think that I desired Sir Philip’s admiration.” I took a deep breath. “But I don’t. I don’t desire anything at all from him.”
She looked at me askance. “You may not desire his admiration, but you certainly have it. We’ve talked about it down in the kitchen, the other servants and I.”
Dismay filled me. This was terrible. If Betsy thought there was something between Philip and me, chances were good that the rest of the servants shared her opinion. They didn’t understand that he was only a flirt and didn’t mean anything by it. Somebody would certainly tell Cecily, and the damage it could cause was appalling to consider. I reached back and tried to undo the buttons on my gown.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve changed my mind. I’m wearing the pink.”
Betsy protested until she saw that I was serious, and then she reluctantly helped me change. She grew uncharacteristically quiet as she did. When she finished, I turned to thank her, and found her giving me a look heavy with disapproval.
“I don’t know what you think you’ve seen,” I said, “but I can assure you that you have imagined something that is not true. Sir Philip feels nothing toward me, and I feel nothing toward him. He is a flirt, and he has had no one else to flirt with here, and that was the only reason he was paying any attention to me. As soon as Cecily arrives, though, everything will be put to rights. You will see.”
As if my words had some sort of magical power, a knock sounded at the bedroom door. I opened it, and there stood Cecily, looking taller and prettier and more elegant than I had remembered. I almost didn’t recognize her. But then I looked into her eyes and I saw my childhood, and home, and happier days.
“You’re finally here!” I cried, hurrying to embrace her.
She hugged me tightly but briefly before pulling away. “Yes, but I have only just arrived, so I must hurry to change for dinner. Come with me if you’re ready, and we can spend a few minutes catching up.”
I ignored Betsy’s stare as I followed Cecily out of the room and down the hall to her own bedchamber. Her maid was already laying out an evening gown. It was a blue silk that matched Cecily’s eyes. I sat on a chair while she dressed.
“How was your journey?” I asked. “How was London? I have so much I want to ask you. I cannot tell you how good it is to see you.”
“I have so much to tell you as well!” Cecily said, sitting in front of the dressing table. She watched her reflection in the mirror while her maid arranged her hair. “You would love London! It is so diverting. Just imagine—routs and balls and musicales and the theater. There is something different every night of the week, and nobody goes to bed until long past midnight. There is so much to do and see. And everyone is so elegant! You must have a season. Next year, surely Grandmother will allow it.”
I could not tell Cecily about the inheritance and the conditions attached to it with her maid here, so I only said, “I hope so.”
She glanced sideways at me. “Did you have that gown made in Bath, my dear?”
I smoothed my skirt. “I did.”
“Well, don’t worry about it. Nobody cares what you are wearing here, I am sure. And I will help you before you go to Town so that you will be perfectly up to snuff by the time you’re presented.” She smiled broadly. “Never fear, Annie, I will save you from that horrid Bath and those dressmakers as well.”
I hardly heard the rest of the speech—only the sound of my old pet name. Nobody called me Annie except my father and Cecily. Such a longing for home surged through me that I could not sit still. I jumped up and hugged Cecily. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
She laughed. “Yes, so am I, but you’re ruining my hair.”
I smiled sheepishly as I stood back from her. She inspected her image in the mirror one last time, then stood and turned to me.
“What do you think? Am I going to catch myself a husband tonight?” She looked radiant.
“I have no doubt.” The words were true, but I felt as if I were choking on them.
In the drawing room, Lady Caroline introduced me to her daughter, Louisa, her son William, and his wife, Rachel. William smiled as if he knew an amusing secret about me. Rachel gave me an appraising look that was not unkind. Louisa was, at best, aloof toward me.
Cecily had asked me to enter the room ahead of her, so that I wouldn’t be a distraction when she made her entrance. Now, as she walked into the room, everyone’s eyes turned to her. She was beauty personified. Her hair was like gold silk, her skin like cream, her eyes like bluebells. She was as bright as the sun.
“Sir Philip,” she said, looking very elegant as she curtsied to him. No doubt she had learned a lot about being elegant in London. I felt awkward and clumsy just watching her.
“Miss Daventry.” He bowed in return.
“I am so happy to visit your beautiful home. And I am even happier to see you again.”
He said something polite in return. I had not looked at Philip at all since entering the room, but now that I was watching Cecily talk to him, I felt I could look at him without anyone noticing. He evidently noticed, however, because as soon as my eyes rested on his face, his gaze flicked to me.
I had hidden his love letter in the drawer of my writing desk. I wished I could as easily hide it from my thoughts. His words resurfaced every other minute, tugging at me, coming to life in my mind. Cecily was saying something about how grand and beautiful everything was. I looked away, not hearing what Philip said in return.
The butler opened the doors and announced that dinner was ready. I stood back to see how we would proceed to the dining room. Lady Caroline looked from Cecily to me and opened her mouth as if to speak, but before she said a word, Cecily had linked her arm through Philip’s and smiled up at him. That question was answered, then. She walked in on Philip’s arm and was given the seat of honor to his right. She was the elder, after all. She had always insisted on being first—those seven minutes meant everything.
I sat to Philip’s left. From my position, I could easily see Cecily as she engaged Philip in conversation throughout four courses. She talked to no one else, and she obviously knew how to flirt. She was very good at smiling demurely, and looking up at him through her lashes, and touching his arm when she laughed. After two courses, I couldn’t bear the sight of her hand on his arm, so I looked at my plate and ate my dinner while attempting to shut my ears to the sound of Cecily’s laugh. I had never been bothered by the sound of it before, but tonight it grated on my nerves until a headache hummed around the base of my skull.
When the footmen brought in dessert, I couldn’t help but feel Philip’s gaze resting on me. When I lifted my eyes, he gave me a look that was full of questions.
“You’re very quiet this evening,” he said, leaning toward me and speaking quietly.
I glanced quickly across the table and saw Cecily watching me. Her gaze slid to Philip, who was waiting for my response. I shrugged and looked away. From the corner of my eye, I saw Philip look from me to Cecily and back.
“Sir Philip, I understand you have some very fine horses in your stables,” Cecily said. “I hope you might have one suitable for me. I love to ride, and I would especially love to accompany you.”
Mr. Clumpett unexpectedly spoke up. “That filly Miss Marianne has been riding is quite a beauty, Philip. Is she a new addition to your stables? I’ve seen you two out riding together nearly every morning.”
I silently cursed Mr. Clumpett. Who knew he was interested in horses as well as the wild animals of India?
“Yes, she is a new addition,” Philip said.
Cecily looked at me with surprise. “You’re riding again?”
For some reason, her question made me feel close to tears. Perhaps it was the sympathy that hid not far behind her surprise—or perhaps it was that she knew better than anyone else why it was such a momentous act for me to ride again. Whatever the reason, I felt choked with sudden emotion, and I had to blink quickly to ward off the unwanted tears.
“Yes. I am.”
Cecily smiled across the table at me, and we understood one another as we always had. At that moment, there was no one between us—only understanding, and a shared grief. Then she turned her sunny smile to Philip. “I am glad to hear you have a suitable horse, Sir Philip. I shall have to try her myself tomorrow morning. What time do we start?”
I looked at my plate again and tried to contain my emotions. First I felt ready to cry, now I felt ready to throw something at Cecily for wanting to take away my horse. This was not a good start to the evening.
“The decision is not mine to make,” Philip said. “I promised Meg to Miss Marianne for the duration of her visit. You will have to ask her.”
I was surprised and gratified by Philip’s response, and cast him a grateful smile before I remembered I was not supposed to do such a thing. Cecily had first claim to my loyalty and affection, not Philip.
Cecily looked at me. “I am sure my sister won’t mind if you don’t, Sir Philip.”
I took a breath. “I don’t mind,” I said, but it was a lie. I did mind very much. Was she going to take Meg from me too? Was it not enough to take Philip? I stopped myself at the thought. Cecily was not taking Philip from me. He was never mine.
I sagged with relief when Lady Caroline finally stood, signaling the end of dinner. For once I was grateful that the men always stayed behind in the dining room. I followed the other ladies into the hall. Cecily had her arm linked through Louisa’s and was whispering something in her ear. Lady Caroline stood to the side, letting everyone else pass, until I drew even with her. She rested her hand lightly on my shoulder and spoke quietly.
“You seem a little out of sorts tonight. Is there anything amiss?”
“I have had a headache. That is all.”
“Why did you not tell me? I would have taken care of you.” Lady Caroline turned me toward the stairs. “Come with me. You should be in your bed.”
In no time, she and Betsy had me changed into my nightgown, tucked me into bed, and sent for a cup of tea. Then Lady Caroline sat on my bed and bathed my forehead with lavender water. Her touch felt so motherly, and her eyes looked so kind and full of concern that I was overcome by a fierce longing for my own mother. I had told my heart to never cry over Philip, but I had given it no instructions about crying over my mother, my father, and the home and family I had lost. The tears spilled out so quickly I had no hope of calling them back. They ran down my temples, into my hair.
Lady Caroline handed me her handkerchief. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head. No, I absolutely did not want to talk about it.
“If you ever do—if you ever want to talk about anything, Marianne—I hope you will come to me.”
A knock sounded at the door. My traitorous heart, released a little from its bondage, dared to leap with hope. But when Betsy opened the door I saw that it was just a maid from the kitchen with the tea. After Lady Caroline and Betsy left, I chastised myself for loosening my hold on my heart at all. It did nonsensical things when it wasn’t tightly controlled, like hoping to see Philip standing outside my door. I sipped at the tea, but I had no taste for it. When I set the cup down on the tray, I noticed for the first time the book lying there.
It was the book of poetry I had started to read the day Philip had shown me the library. A piece of paper fell onto my lap when I opened the book.
I am sorry you are feeling unwell. I thought you might like something to help you pass the time.
He had not signed it, but he hadn’t needed to.
Tomorrow, I would be stronger, I told myself. Tomorrow, I would have better control over my heart. Tonight, I would indulge myself a little. I lay back against the pillows and turned to the first poem. My headache retreated and my heartache ebbed while I read the poetry Philip had sent me. I fell asleep with his note curled in my hand.