Chapter 9
At breakfast, Lady Caroline announced that she would be busy all morning. Having just returned from a month in London, she expected to be called on by all of her neighbors, and she was sure I would not want to spend my morning sitting in the drawing room. She was right, but I still felt obligated to insist.
“I wouldn’t mind meeting your neighbors,” I said.
She waved a hand, shooing away my good intention. “Some other time, my dear. But I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone on your first day here. Philip, do you mind changing your plans? You can make up for your bad behavior last night by giving our guest a tour of the house.”
Philip cast an amused look at his mother, who smiled back at him with an air of innocence. “I would be happy to,” he said.
“Oh, may I join you?” Mrs. Clumpett asked, looking up from her plate with a smear of eggs across her upper lip. “I missed my morning walk with my husband, and I do feel it is important to have some form of exercise every day.”
I smiled at her. “Please do.” Now it seemed less of an imposition and more of a joint adventure.
I had seen most of the first floor, so we started on the second floor, which consisted mostly of bedchambers, similar in elegance and comfort to mine. Philip was behaving himself so well—being nice and friendly without flirting at all—that by the time we reached the third floor, I felt almost completely comfortable in his company.
Mrs. Clumpett exclaimed in soft tones of amazement over every room we stopped at as if viewing it for the first time. I found it impossible not to smile in her company, and credited her presence for Philip’s proper behavior. He even referred to me as “Miss Daventry.”
On the third floor, we came to a long gallery bearing paintings on each wall. I followed Philip’s lead and stopped in front of the family portraits. The landscapes I would come and look at later on my own, when I would have time to really enjoy them.
I looked at one portrait after another as Philip identified his various ancestors. I learned that his great-great-great-grandmother had insisted on calling the place “Edenbrooke” because she thought it was as beautiful as the Garden of Eden. After viewing a long line of distant relatives, we stopped at the portraits of his immediate family. There was Lady Caroline, years younger, and quite a striking beauty. Next to her hung a painting of a distinguished-looking man with the same wavy brown hair as Philip.
“My father,” Philip said, his voice hushed.
Philip’s father was not a particularly handsome man, but there was a quiet, serious expression in his eyes that made me pause and look at him again. “He looks kind,” I remarked, finally identifying the look of his countenance.
Philip nodded. “He was.”
I looked at the rest of the group, recognizing a younger Philip. The girl in the painting next to his must be his sister Louisa, who had become such good friends with Cecily. Philip pointed to a portrait of a young man with light hair and a bright, carefree smile. “My younger brother, William. He is coming with his wife, Rachel, in just a few days.”
They were the ones that Cecily and Louisa were staying with in London.
There was one portrait left. “And who is he?” I asked, noting he had the same jawline as Philip, but there was a languid expression about his blue eyes, as though he was bored with life.
“My eldest brother, Charles,” he answered curtly. Philip turned his gaze from the painting to me. In his eyes was a look so grave, and so regretful, that I had the distinct impression he had lost something he valued very much. The impression was fleeting, though, and by the time I recognized it, it was gone, and Philip had turned back to the painting. I was almost convinced I had imagined it entirely.
I stole a quick glance at Philip to compare him to his brother. Even though they were both handsome men, Sir Charles had a look about him that made him seem unapproachable. In contrast, there was something so very likeable about Philip’s countenance. He was both handsome and friendly, and, in comparing the two, I had no trouble deciding which one I would prefer to spend my time with.
Pausing before the painting, a thought flitted through my mind. This man—this Sir Charles—who was completely unknown to me at this moment, was the man my twin sister would marry. It was as good as done in my mind, for Cecily had never failed to achieve something once she set her mind to it. And she was not one to easily change her mind.
That would make Sir Charles like a brother to me, and Philip . . . well, Philip would be like a brother to me as well. We would be family, connected by Cecily and Charles’s marriage. I found myself smiling at the thought. I had never had a brother, but I thought I could imagine Philip excelling in that role.
Mrs. Clumpett was still examining the landscapes when Philip turned from the portraits and motioned for me to follow him down the hall. He stopped in front of a door on my left, which led into a large room with wooden floors.
“It’s a fencing room,” I said, noting the epees lined up inside the case on the opposite wall. I liked the echoing sound of our footsteps in the empty room and its lofty ceiling, lit from above by high windows. I sighed with pleasure and a touch of envy. “I have always wanted to fence.”
I immediately regretted my words. That was precisely the sort of thing that an elegant young lady would not say; Grandmother would be appalled.
But Philip did not look appalled—only curious. “Why this unholy interest in a man’s activity?” he asked with a smile.
“It seems like men are permitted to do so many fun activities—like fencing and hunting—while ladies are supposed to sit quietly in the house and practice their embroidery all day.” I cast him a pained look. “Do you have any idea how boring it is to embroider?”
“Actually, I don’t,” he said, with an amused smile. “But then again, I’ve never given it much thought.”
“Well, let me assure you that there is nothing exciting about embroidery. But fencing, on the other hand . . .” I looked at him appraisingly, wondering how bold I dared be with him.
He raised an eyebrow. “What scheme are you plotting?”
I considered the odds and decided it was worth a try. “I was wondering, since my father will not teach me, and I don’t have any real brothers, if you might . . . perchance . . . teach me how to fence?”
“Any real brothers?” Philip stared at me with a look that was part frustration and part amusement. “Am I correct in assuming you’ve chosen me to play the role of a pretend brother?”
I bit my lip. It was clear I had offended him. Of course it would seem very presumptuous of me, especially considering our short acquaintance, to think of him as family. But I could not explain my thoughts to him—I did not dare reveal Cecily’s plan to snare his older brother.
I tried to cover my embarrassment by smiling innocently. “Would you mind?”
His smile twisted, taking on an edge of mocking. “I already have a sister, Marianne.”
I cringed inwardly. It was just as bad as I had feared. My offense was obvious, and I felt stupid—so stupid—to have said what I did. Asking him to teach me how to fence? What young lady did that? And to assume a familiarity that he did not return? I burned with humiliation.
“Pardon me,” I said. “I should not have presumed . . .” I cleared my throat. “Please excuse me. I am sure you have better things to do today than entertain me.”
Turning on my heel, I hurried to the door, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole. I had made it across the wide room and had my hand on the door handle when he spoke.
“I’m disappointed in you, Marianne.”
I froze with my hand on the door.
“I never thought you would give up so easily. Especially after just one paltry set-down.”
I turned around, my pride responding to the challenge in his voice. I was not one to scamper away with fright. Especially not when handed a challenge. Lifting my chin, I said, “I am not giving up. I am going to ask Mr. Clumpett to teach me how to fence.”
It was a lie, and I was sure Philip knew it, but he smiled as he moved toward me. “Ah, but do you really dare face him with a weapon in his hand? Wasn’t dining with him dangerous enough?”
I bit back a laugh as I recalled the moment of alarm when Mr. Clumpett had launched his fork into the air while demonstrating the flight pattern of a certain species of bird.
“You may be right,” I said in an unsteady voice, my lips twitching.
Philip grinned. “I have a better idea,” he said, reaching behind me for the door handle.
I did not move, trapped as I was between Philip and the door. Tipping my head back, I looked into his friendly eyes, my pride draining from me along with my embarrassment. I had a feeling that no matter what his idea was, I would want to say yes to it.
“What?” I asked, smiling without reservation.
“Why don’t you join me for a game of chess? It’s not as exciting as fencing, but it can’t possibly be as boring as embroidery.”
I had been right. I did want to say yes to him. I was surprised at myself, for holding a grudge was one of my greatest strengths, or weaknesses, depending on how one looked at it. But a game of chess with Philip sounded like the most pleasant way to pass the afternoon.
“I would like that,” I said. “Where are we to play?” I asked as we left the fencing room.
“You will see,” he said, smiling at his aunt as she joined us at the top of the stairs. “I have saved the best of the tour for last.”
The library was tucked away on the main floor, down a short hall across from the drawing room. We had to turn a corner from the hall to find the door to the library, and when Philip opened it for me, I felt as if I had been granted entry into a hidden sanctuary.
It was definitely a man’s room—the furniture was rich brown leather in straight lines, and a stone fireplace dominated one wall. Bookshelves embraced the room on every side. At the end of the room, farthest from the door, was an alcove with two leather chairs and a small table between them, which faced a large window that stretched from the floor to the high ceiling. The window filled the room with light and framed a view of the southeast side of the estate.
I walked slowly into the serene, sunlit space, hardly noticing that Mrs. Clumpett had excused herself and barely registering the maid who stood in a far corner, removing books, dusting covers and spines, and then quietly returning them to their places. I stroked the back of a chair, gazed out the window, and turned in a slow circle, trying to take it all in. I was so captivated I did not even feel the least desire to twirl. To do so would have been irreverent, somehow.
“You like it,” Philip said, smiling.
I shook my head. “No, I love it.” I gestured to the bookshelves. “Do you mind?”
“Help yourself,” he said, settling gracefully into one of the chairs by the window. He looked pleased.
I looked at the titles on the nearest bookshelf and found a book on Greek mythology next to a book of poetry, which was flanked by a book on German philosophy. “How are these organized?”
“They’re not.”
I turned to him. “How do you find anything? There must be thousands of books here.”
“I like the search. It’s like visiting old friends.”
I studied him for a moment, intrigued by what he had just revealed about himself. Philip fit in this room as if it were a set of well-worn, comfortable clothes. I noticed with a twinge of admiration that he looked elegant even lounging in his chair, with his long legs stretched out before him. Catching a look of amusement on his face, I realized that I had been staring at him—again.
“You look surprised, Marianne.”
“I am,” I said frankly.
He smiled as if he liked my answer.
I returned to my perusal of his books and lost myself in the task. Unorganized like this, every step led to a surprise. I saw several books I wanted to look at more closely later, including a history of French politics and a book on gothic architecture. I was so absorbed in my reverie that I jumped a little when Philip spoke again. I had almost forgotten he was there.
“I’m curious about something,” he said. “What were you doing in Bath?”
I walked to the chair across from his and sat down. “My father sent me to live with my grandmother after my mother died.”
“And how did you feel about that arrangement?”
It surprised me that he would ask such a personal question after our morning of impersonal conversation. I sighed. My feelings were too complex to delve into, so I picked the simplest one as an answer. “I missed my home.”
“What did you miss about it?” His tone was quiet and the room was hushed, the sky outside growing overcast.
I picked at a thread on my skirt. The maid was still dusting books in the far corner of the room; she would probably be at it all day and for many more days to come, considering the number of books on the shelves. She was too far away to hear us clearly, but that was not what made me hesitate to confide in Philip. Trust did not come easily to me, and I was not sure I was ready to confide in this man who was unlike anyone I had ever known before.
I had worked so hard these past fourteen months to build up layers around my heart, to shield myself from the wounds it bore, that I wasn’t sure I knew how to open it anymore. I didn’t know if I even wanted to open it. The very thought frightened me, and I had to seriously consider whether this was worth the risk of making myself vulnerable.
Philip waited patiently for my answer, as if he would give me all the time I needed. He could be a friend to me until Cecily arrived. I enjoyed his company, and, I admitted to myself, I needed a friend. Perhaps a friend would be worth the risk.
Taking a deep breath, I finally said, “I missed everything. My family, of course, but also my home, my land, my neighbors and friends. Everything.” I gestured out the window. “I was thinking about how I even missed our orchard. I used to go there a lot, to paint, or to read, or just to be by myself.”
“Why the orchard?” Philip asked. It was another question that required a personal and honest answer. He seemed intent on uncovering as much of my heart as he could.
“I haven’t exactly thought about it before now—at least, not enough to put words to it.” I studied the orchard. The sky was gray, and the colors of the trees were muted. Under the vastness of the sky, the group of small trees was like an embrace, a protective space.
“There’s something solid and constant about trees.” I said quietly. “They may change through the seasons, but they’re always there. They’re dependable. And the orchard is not so vast as the woods. It’s just big enough to hold me when I . . .” I stopped, unsure of how to complete the thought.
“When you what?”
“When I need to be held, I suppose.” I laughed self-consciously, embarrassed a little by what I had admitted. “That sounds odd. But sometimes I want to be away from other people, and I feel safe there.” I looked quickly at him, anxious for his reaction. For once, there was no hint of teasing in his expression as he studied me.
“It’s your sanctuary,” he said simply. “That doesn’t sound odd at all.”
I hadn’t realized I was tense until I felt my shoulders relax in relief. I nodded. It was a rare thing to be understood so quickly—and not merely understood, but accepted. I sensed that in his response. It made me want to tell him more.
“Our orchard at home is not as big as the one here at Edenbrooke,” I continued. “But the trees are just as thick and old. I used to hide there when I was in trouble as a child. I would climb right up, as high as I could, and my governess would stand below and yell at me to come down.”
Philip looked amused. “And did you?”
“Come down? Not as long as she was standing there. One day she brought a chair from the house and sat down in it with a book as if she would spend all day there waiting for me if she had to. I was too stubborn to give in—”
Philip raised an eyebrow.
I laughed. “Yes, it’s one of my faults of which I have never been cured. Well, I refused to come down, and she refused to leave, so I sat up in that tree for most of the day. I finally had to come down because I had eaten so many apples that I had a horrible stomachache and couldn’t hold myself up any longer.
“My governess thought she had won our little contest of wills, and had a terribly smug look on her face as she marched me into the house. But my mother took one look at me doubled over in pain and gave her such a severe scolding that she packed her bags and left the next day. I felt terrible about that, and apologized to my mother for my stubbornness. Of course, I still received a scolding for my actions, but only once we were alone. That was one thing I always liked about my mother. She never scolded me when other people were there to witness my shame.”
“You’re like her in that way. I can understand why you would appreciate that quality so much.”
I was puzzled for a moment.
“You rescued me last night from a scolding as well, remember?”
“Oh, that was nothing,” I said.
He shook his head. “Not to me.”
I looked away from the sincerity in his eyes, not knowing what to say in response.
“I’m sorry I never met your mother,” he said. “What was she like?”
I wished for my locket, so that I might show him her picture, so he would not think I exaggerated. But words would have to suffice. “She was exquisitely beautiful, with striking blue eyes and skin like porcelain. Her hair was so light it was almost white. When I was a little girl, and she came into my room at night to tuck me in, I thought her hair looked just like moonlight.” I paused, remembering her beauty. “My sister Cecily looks very much like her. I . . . do not.” I smiled in a gesture for pardon. “I’m afraid I’m quite plain in comparison.”
Philip shook his head. “I think you are taking modesty too far. I couldn’t disagree with you more.”
I immediately regretted that I had brought up the subject of beauty with Philip, who had already proven himself to be an incorrigible flirt. He was undoubtedly only saying what he thought I wanted to hear.
“I am not too modest,” I said, hot with embarrassment. “And I didn’t say that in the hope that you would contradict me. I simply stated a fact in response to your question.”
Philip’s lips twitched. “Forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t realize a compliment would offend you so. I will try not to do it again.”
I struggled to press my own lips into a firm line. The amusement in Philip’s eyes was too infectious to resist, though, and I laughed reluctantly. “I’m sorry I reacted that way.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said, stretching his arms and folding them behind his head. “It is so refreshing to be treated with contempt.”
I laughed again. “It is not.”
“Yes, it is,” he insisted. “I can’t tell you how much I enjoy it.” He grinned as if he really did enjoy it.
“Now you’re being absurd.”
“Actually, I am quite serious. But knowing your stubborn streak . . .” I cast him a dark look and he chuckled. “I’ll let it drop for now. Tell me—besides your beauty, what else have you inherited from your mother?”
I chose to ignore the first part. “She taught me how to paint. She was a talented artist, much more talented than I am. And she loved to ride. She took me riding nearly every day, early in the morning, and she was such a bounding rider that she would take any jump fearlessly, no matter how high it looked—” I flinched at the words I had spoken, surprised that they had escaped me.
“Is that how she died?” Philip asked, his tone respectful.
I looked out the window. I nodded, keeping my gaze on the orchard, imagining I was safely encircled there right now.
“Were you with her?”
I cleared my throat to speak past the lump that was suddenly there. “No. I didn’t ride with her that morning. My father found her. I am sure you can imagine the rest easily enough.”
After a long pause, Philip said, “Actually, I cannot.”
I looked at him in surprise.
He studied me for a moment, as if choosing his words. “I cannot imagine why your father would take everything from you right after you lost your mother—your home, your family, your friends, his protection and care.”
Philip’s words pierced me so sharply, so suddenly, that I felt almost breathless from the pain. He had found so easily what I had been hiding at the very core of my heart. This was why I did not open my heart. This was why I kept it bandaged so tightly. It had been foolish of me to think I could safely unbind it.
My eyes pricked with sudden tears. I stood and walked to the window, keeping my back to Philip. The sky was turning dark gray, clouds rolling together. It would rain soon. I pressed my hand against the glass. It felt cool and soothed the aching wounds on my palm. I wished I could as easily find a balm for the ache in my heart.
I saw Philip’s reflection in the window as he came to stand behind me. I felt his warmth at my back, and I was hot and cold in the same moment. Part of me wanted to lean into the cool glass of the window, away from him, and the rest of me wanted to lean against him, into his warmth.