Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

A ndrew knocked on the yellow door.

We call it primrose. He smiled, remembering the clash between Nettie and the vicar's sister.

"Go away!"

"Phoebe, stop acting like a child and open the door."

"If I'm acting like one, then you are courting one," came the muffled reply.

He sighed. His daughter could be difficult; he freely admitted he had indulged her throughout her childhood. But she was also fiercely loyal, and once given, she was an ally for perpetuity. "If you don't open the door, I won't be able to explain how your mother approved of this."

Silence. Ah, the cat was curious. The door cracked, and one chestnut eye glared at him. "How could that be?"

"You know I talk to her."

"Her portrait, yes. But it's at home above the hearth." The door opened wider.

"It was in a dream." Andrew knew dreams fascinated Phoebe. She loved interpreting them, whether it was hers, a friend, or one of the maids.

He stepped into the room, following her to the huge tester bed. She threw herself across it, her boots hanging over the edge. "First, I was sincere about not needing a son. How could you think such a thing? Second, Nettie and I haven't even discussed it. I have a great affection for the lady, not her womb."

He heard a muffled giggle. "I came here to see my friend, my tether to my brother—your Uncle Phillip. I had no idea I would meet someone who made me remember."

"Remember what?" she asked, lifting her head from the counterpane.

"How the right person can make you feel whole, as if you've found a piece of yourself that's been missing." He didn't know how to put his emotions into words.

"I thought you would love Mama until the day you died." She sniffed but sat up.

Progress. "I will, sweetheart. Just as I will love you with all my heart. But this"—he patted his chest just above his heart—"is an amazing organ that can stretch as large as is needed. So, I'm able to hold on to my love for your mother and allow someone else into my heart again."

"Tell me about your dream," she demanded, back to her spunky self.

He told her most of it, leaving out the more intimate details.

"Oh, Papa, she is telling you that she's fine with it. I don't want you to be alone when I do find an honorable and trustworthy man." Phoebe wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry, Papa. I will try to like her. For you. The past few days have been so horrid."

"I know," he said, squeezing her tightly. "I get lonely. I realized with your betrothal that I didn't want to be alone the rest of my life. Nor did I want my only conversation at the end of the day to be with a painting that cannot respond."

She giggled, then stopped, her expression now serious. "It seems I've made another scene."

"Only witnessed by myself and Lady Annette. I promise she won't tell anyone," he said, hoping it was true. "Why don't you get some rest? We have a grand evening planned."

As he left his daughter's room and made his way back to the drawing room, he hoped Nettie would be waiting for him. But the room was empty. A maid was picking up teacups.

"Have you seen your mistress, Lady Annette?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord," she answered with a curtsy. "I fetched her cloak for her. She ordered her horse saddled."

Glancing out the window, he saw it had begun snowing. Not a light snow as they'd had during the week, but a wind-whipped swirl of white. Fear gripped his chest. "How long ago?"

"About an hour ago," she said. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes, I need my horse saddled. Now!" He took the stairs two at a time to retrieve his greatcoat.

Running to the stable, slipping on the snow-covered path, he burst into the warm barn. Please, let Joseph be gone . It would mean she wasn't alone in this weather. But the stable boy came out of a stall.

"Happy Christmas, my lord," he said. "I was hoping you were Lady Annette. The weather took a sudden turn, and she hasn't returned."

"I'm going after her," he bellowed, going straight to his horse's stall. "Get my saddle."

"Yes, sir." The boy scurried to the tack room.

As he mounted, Joseph called, "Behind the stable, go to the right and follow the fence. Lord Beecham's instructions anytime we're caught in foul weather."

"Tell the earl what's happened. We need to find her quickly." Andrew dug his heels into the gelding's flanks, and they moved forward. The icy snow stung his face as they found the fence line. He could barely see past the horse's head. Frustrated, he began yelling her name.

Andrew checked his watch. He'd been out only a quarter of an hour. His greatcoat and hair were covered in snow, his cheeks were numb, and his eyelashes were tiny icicles. While saddling the horse, Joseph had told him Nettie had run into the barn like she was being chased by the devil. He'd barely had the bridle on when she'd grabbed a bucket, used it as a stool, and mounted, riding the horse out of the stable. He cursed himself for leaving her alone, thinking he'd right things with the more volatile female first.

What was Nettie thinking? He'd forsake her because his daughter had thrown a tantrum? She'd have to get used to those. The fits weren't frequent, but they happened. Or did she worry Phoebe would resent her? Nettie might not want to live with another female who showed daily animosity toward her. But that wasn't the case. He had to make sure Nettie understood.

Ahead, he saw a dark shadow. As the distance closed between them, he saw Domino with Nettie bent low over her neck, trying to maintain some kind of shelter from the blinding snow.

He yelled her name. Finally, she looked up, relief washing over her face. Andrew thought he might cry. He'd been so frightened something had happened to her, or he wouldn't find her. When he'd been so close to a happiness he hadn't even realized he needed. As they came face to face, he guided Fortunate, so both horses were side by side. Then he reached over and pulled her onto his saddle.

"I've got you," he said into her ear, barely able to hear his own words over the pounding of his heart. "I was scared to death I'd lost you before we'd had a chance to start."

"I'm f-fine, just v-very, very c-cold." Nettie leaned into him, sitting sideways in front of him, and buried her face in his chest. "M-my eye of the s-storm."

* * *

Annette woke in her bed, night rail on, fire blazing. Her father and Alice sat beside her, Papa quietly snoring, but Alice's dark eyes were fixed upon her. Beaming, she nudged the earl with her elbow.

"She's awake, Henry. Praise the heavens, she's awake."

Papa woke with a start and a snort, wiggling in his chair. His gaze landed on his daughter, and he leapt from his chair. "'Pon my soul, she is!" He took Annette's hand and kissed her fingers. "You gave us a scare, Nettie girl. How do you feel?"

Alice laid the back of her hand on Annette's forehead. "The fever is gone." She walked around the four-poster bed and sat on the other side. Leaning against the unused pillow, Alice took Annette's free hand. "You were delirious for a while."

"I—" Her throat scratched, and she began coughing. Her father held a glass to her lips. She sipped the cool water, then leaned back, drained. "I only remember setting out on Domino." Her voice sounded like a rusty wheel.

"The physician said there should be no pneumonia if you recovered from the fever within the day, and it's still Christmas. Henry, would you bring us another wet cloth?"

Papa took the cloth from the bedside table, dipped it in the bowl of water, then leaned over Annette to hand it to Alice. She placed it on Annette's forehead.

Annette thought it silly, passing it back and forth, when she could have held it to her own head just as well. But it helped the ache in her temples, so she closed her eyes. "Tell me what happened."

"You tell her, love," said her father. "I'll forget some important detail."

"Of course," agreed Alice. "Lord Weston said you must have been upset when Miss Weston caught you kissing. He went to calm her down, but when he returned, you had fled."

"Fled? I went for a ride," she croaked, her voice coming and going as she spoke. It seemed the more she spoke, the worse the ache.

"In a snowstorm? Really, Nettie. You have more sense than that."

"Henry, now is not the time to reprimand your daughter. Wait until she's out of bed!" Alice turned back to Annette. "Weston was terrified for you, of course, and went after you. He sent Joseph to tell us. If the boy were a dog, his tail would have been between his legs, knowing he should have followed you regardless of your instructions."

"Then there would have been two of us down with a chill."

"It's not an excuse." Alice continued, "The men were saddled and getting ready to join the hunt when Weston returned with you on his saddle and leading Domino. Fortunately, the neighbors' son, a physician, was visiting for Christmastide and came over."

"How is Drew, er, Lord Weston?" she rasped.

"No going backward, my dear, only forward. He's still Drew," Alice scolded. "The man has been pacing up and down the hall, waiting for you to wake. He's been frantic."

Annette turned her head into the pillow, wishing to hide the building tears, but she was surrounded. Her throat swelled with the threat of a good cry. She couldn't swallow without pain. "Doesn't matter. His daughter…" She blinked back the tears.

"Is blaming herself. She feels terrible about what happened. In fact, Miss Weston insists on taking your place tomorrow when we hand out the boxes to the servants and tenants."

Annette shook her head. They were trying to make her feel better because she was ill.

Papa squeezed her hand. "We're not saying she's deliriously happy about her stepmother being so young, but she was more upset thinking she was being replaced."

"By me?"

"No, by a boy. The lass thought her father had lied when he'd said he didn't care whether he had a son. A misunderstanding that almost led to tragedy." Her father stood and kissed her forehead. "Did you want to see him before you sleep?"

Annette was exhausted, sore, and could barely talk. She shook her head. "Tomorrow," she whispered.

* * *

26 December 1820

Andrew had barely slept. Her pale face haunted him, her fevered eyes, her delirious mumbling. She'd said she loved him as he carried her home. She'd also said she didn't want to see him last night. His chest hurt, worry pounded his brain, and his eyes scratched like chap wool.

He had taken a chair from his room and placed it outside her door at dawn. A maid whooshed past him, entering the room to tend the fire. He peeked in through the crack to see Nettie sleeping. Her color was back. He sighed and closed his eyes. Henry and Lady Henney had said she had made it through the worst, but he needed to see her to believe it.

"You can come in." A cracked, hoarse voice. Nettie !

Andrew pushed open the door enthusiastically, sending it banging against a wall. The maid startled. Nettie made a noise similar to a laugh, winced, then rubbed her throat.

"Apologies, ladies," he said, nodding to the maid and crossing the room in three long strides. On his knees by her side, he pulled her hand into both of his. "Perdition! I thought I'd lost you."

She shook her head, dark strands still plastered against her cheeks. He brushed them away gently with his thumb. Nettie was beautiful in any condition. She was alive. "I love you, Lady Annette Page. I want to make you my wife. I want to wake up every morning with you as the first thing I see. You've filled a place in my heart that's been empty for too long. Please"—his voice cracked—"don't leave it vacant again."

A tear rolled down the side of her face. "I love you too. Phoebe?"

"My daughter can be a tart, but when she gets to know you, she will love you as I do. But you need to give her the opportunity. Such a brave woman as you cannot be afraid of Phoebe." He kissed her knuckles, rubbed them against his own cheek. "Will you give us both a chance?"

She nodded and gave him a weak smile, and he thought his heart would burst. The maid left the room, so he picked Nettie up and carried her to the window. He set her on his lap as the dawn spilled pinks and purples onto their world. Together, his arms around her, her head snuggled against his chest, they watched the day begin together. As they would every day from this moment on.

He was never letting her go.