Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

P hoebe’s sudden departure from the conservatory left Harrison perplexed the remainder of the day. As he cleaned up his pottery wheel and dumped the gray water into the yard, as he bathed, scrubbing the last bits of clay from his body, and as he readied himself for dinner, Roger busily starching and pressing his garments for the McKinley ball he was set to attend later that evening.

Sitting across from his wife at the table, Mildred occupying her usual seat as she too partook in supper, he watched Phoebe for any sign that something was off, but her smile remained serene, her laughter at Mildred’s antics consistent, and her conversation unstilted as they volleyed back and forth about their day and their charming dinner companion’s despicable manners.

“You’re going to the McKinley function after our game?” she asked, sipping at her wine.

Harrison nodded, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Yes. Averndale has asked me to accompany him in his weekly duty to his grandmother.”

“Weekly duty?”

With a chuckle, Harrison set down his napkin and sat back in his chair. “Yes. His grandmother has requested that he show his face at a public setting with her once a week, and while he hates the spotlight, and certainly wants nothing to do with marriage just yet, he adores his grandmother. So he humors her.”

“My mother has said that most affairs such as these help to dissuade the loneliness of the older set.”

“I’m sure it is that, but I think, secretly, she hopes that these events will spark his interest in finding a wife.”

“Why do you suspect that?”

“Because she mentions matrimony every chance she gets,” he said with a laugh. “No doubt tonight will be no different, especially given my attendance. She’ll most likely use my state of matrimonial bliss as an example to why he should do the same.”

Phoebe chuckled. “If only she knew the true state of the matter.”

He raised a brow at her comment. “Who’s to say I’m not blissfully married?”

“The woman you married?”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “Marriage to you is blissful. I enjoy your company, our conversations are interesting, and you make me laugh. What more could I ask for?”

Her lips turned down. “A wife who attends these events with you? Who’s actually interested in societal ongoings?”

Her words struck, but not in the way she intended. No, instead, they made his heart ache at how very little she thought of herself and their marriage. “I never asked how it is that you attended so many functions when they leave you feeling as you do?”

“I have a list,” she said, as if it were the simplest idea.

“A list? A list of what?”

“Everything,” she said, one shoulder raising. “A list for getting myself ready. Making sure my hair isn’t too tight and my dress isn’t too itchy. Ensuring I’ve used enough perfume to fan up for myself if the smell is unbearable. I have a list of items that go into my reticule; tufts of cotton, my fan, a bracelet with charms that move that I can fiddle with.”

“It sounds as if you are readying for war.”

“A ball is a lot like war.” She paused, her eyes searching the room as if to find the answer there. “Have you ever been to a fireworks show and been too close to where they set them off?” He shook his head. “When you’re that close to a noise that loud, it takes over your senses and you cannot focus on the brilliance of the view because you’re overwhelmed from the noise.”

She looked at him as if to see if he understood. He nodded.

“Going to a ball is like that. The noises are amplified tenfold, the smells, the senses. My body becomes so focused on the discomfort of the sensations that I can’t enjoy the good parts of the ball, so I prepare as best I can.”

“The good parts?” he asked. “I wasn’t aware there were any.”

She looked down at her plate. “Dancing. I love dancing, but at a ball…” She shook her head. “It’s just too much.” She smiled brightly at him, her eyes alight, their sharpness softening. “When I was learning to dance, I used to spin around the ballroom for hours after the instructor left, humming tunes to myself as I executed the steps. I’d pretend I was at a ball and my dance card was full, and I would get lost for hours on end as I waltzed around the ballroom.”

Harrison leaned forward in his chair at her words, her eyes dancing with delight at her description and he wondered for a moment what it would be like to be the cause of that joy. What it would take to be the one that brings that bit of bliss to Phoebe’s face. “I didn’t know you liked to dance.”

She shrugged. “You’ve never asked.” With a sad smile, she looked at him. “We probably never will.”

Harrison’s heart tugged at the sight, at the heartache. A ball, for all its glamourous appeal, was a sensory overload for anyone in general, but Phoebe’s description sounded like the whole ordeal was placed under a magnifying glass. As if attending the opera and being forced to sit directly next to the orchestra, or a horse race, but your only place of seating was near the gun. Her love for dancing would no doubt be less enjoyable given those circumstances. Was it any wonder she denied herself?

Standing, he walked to her chair and held out his hand. “Come with me.”

“Where?” she asked, taking his hand.

“Trust me,” he said with a smile as he led her out the dining room and down the hallway toward the ballroom, Mildred hot on their heels. Grabbing a candelabra from one of the sideboards, Harrison headed inside, lighting several candles before setting the original on top of the piano, and returning to Phoebe. Her brow was raised, and when he took her hands and led her to the center of the room, she met his gaze and smiled. Picking up one of her small hands, Harrison placed it on his shoulder, the weight of it light against the fabric of his coat, like a butterfly. She blinked as she watched him take her free hand into his, the warmth of her palm a beacon to his cooler one. As he placed his hand on her waist, pulling her in close, she took a small inhale of breath and his chest tightened as her skirts brushed against his legs. Humming “Greensleeves”, he began to move.

Phoebe said nothing as he turned her about the room. It was as if all the words inside her had simply vanished into the air, but the smile on her lips and the gleam of joy in her eyes spoke volumes. Her body relaxed against his, and he took charge, whirling them around with steps engrained in his body since he was a lad but, in their ballroom, only filled with ghosts and a kitten, he decided propriety and polite societal rules be damned. Her soft giggle had him focusing on her, his legs taking over the steps while his eyes watched her. The way her blonde hair flew at the smallest wisp of a turn, how her gray eyes turned to a smokey ash color in the candlelight, her pale skin taking on a slight hint of pink at the cheeks from exertion. She was a fairy queen and he was under her spell, the joy that spilled from her filling all the cracks and crevices of his soul until he was whole again.

She sighed and looked at him, and Harrison was not sure at that moment who was taking the lead, for while his legs moved them about the room, steering them hither and yon, her sparkling eyes and soft smile was directing his heart in an altogether different dance. He became aware of her too swiftly, the feel of her hand gripped in his, her soft fingers curling around his skin. Her lush body against his, the curves he examined daily cupped beneath his fingertips, forming hills and valleys of interest, and her smell, a touch of honeysuckle, like her bees, lulling him in with its sweetness. Suddenly she was everywhere, all around him, all at once. Her beauty, her joy, surrounding him, drowning him in the sweetest way.

Phoebe met his gaze, surprise covering her face, and for a moment he wondered if she too felt the shift as he had. A wisp of blonde hair fell in front of her spellbinding eyes, and he lifted his hand from her waist, tucking the strand behind her ear. Her soft intake of breath had his errant thumb brushing against her lips, but before he could make contact, Mildred released a harsh meow, and Phoebe stepped away, turning her attention to the kitten.

“Poor thing, I think I stepped on her tail,” she said, kneeling down to the black speck of a kitten on the floor who glared up at them with a look of betrayal.

Harrison’s heart, still beating with a tempo, refused to slow as he knelt beside her and inspected the kitten. “She appears all right, and I’m sure your slippers are soft enough to not have harmed her.”

Phoebe looked at him and too soon he realized his proximity. Her lips, a soft cherry in the candlelight, were pulled down into a frown from worry, her gray eyes somehow glittering in the dark ballroom. She was beautiful, stunning, this wife of his.

Pushing to stand, he held out his hand to help her up, then took a large step away as she regained her feet. It surely had to be the ambiance that had him feeling enthralled; the candlelight, the proximity, but nothing more.

Clearing his throat, Harrison looked at Phoebe. “Given the McKinley affair perhaps we should postpone our game tonight.”

“I can wait for you to return?”

“I certainly will not have you, or this little mite,” he said, scratching at Mildred’s ears, “forcing yourself to stay awake on my account. I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast.” Bowing to her, her bent down to give Mildred another rough pet. “Have a goodnight, my ladies,” he said, with a smile, then left the ballroom.

Upstairs as he readied for the ball, he frowned over the events that occurred.

Phoebe was right. It was too much, all of it. Much too much. The dancing with her as she smiled at him like a dream. Comforting her as she worried over the fate of her precious kitten.

Tucking her into her bed the night before, her face serene as she dreamt.

His mouth tipped into a smile and he caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror. The corners of his mouth slightly upward, not forced but comfortable, a small flash of dimple appearing in his cheek. A true smile, not the one he had spent eons perfecting in his youth.

“Blast,” he said with a whisper, uncertain whether the look on his face was a good thing or a bad omen. For surely it must be. Surely, coming to not only feel his heart moved by his wife, but an attraction to her, was nothing but an ill sign of things to come, for that way only led to heartache. It had taken him his entire childhood to learn that you receive love when you are worthy, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was not perfect. And a one-sided love was a worser fate than not being loved at all, and with Phoebe, he was not certain there would be a way back from it.

Inside his carriage, Harrison replayed their dance, his hand on her waist as they spun about the room, her trust in him obvious as she closed her eyes and lost herself in the movements. Her hand had been warm in his as he cradled it, its touch a force that pulled him in, tempted him to linger, even as her softness made him want to cosset her away from the myriad of feelings that threatened to overwhelm them both at every turn. It was baffling. It was frightening.

Once inside the McKinley home, surrounded by the very environment that would send his wife scurrying off to hide, Harrison located Averndale who stood pressed against a wall, his hand tucked in his jacket, no doubt hiding a flask full of scotch. Without a word, Harrison reached inside the man’s jacket and confiscated the flask, taking a deep drink, its contents burning a path down his throat and into his stomach.

“Don’t drink it all,” Averndale said, swiping the thing back and capping it before tucking it away. “I’ve only been here thirty minutes and you’ve nearly drained the thing halfway.”

Harrison said nothing, turning and copying Averndale’s position on the wall, his gaze volleying from couple to couple while he forced his typical grin to his face.

“Everything all right?” Averndale asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You just drank half of my flask and haven’t said a word. Troubles at home?” he asked, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Not at all,” Harrison said, wiggling off the frown that had attempted to take over. “I was merely thirsty.”

“Mm hmm,” Averndale said, his tone clearly calling him a liar.

Harrison cursed under his breath and turned to Averndale. Lowering his voice, he said, “I think I like my wife.”

Averndale raised a brow and turned toward him, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Why does it sound like you think it’s a problem?”

“Because it is. Because this was supposed to be an easy marriage. A business agreement.”

“What’s changed?”

“She’s… She’s funny, and smart. Caring even though she pretends not to be. And she’s—”

“Beautiful?”

“Gorgeous. Her smile is bloody well contagious and her skin is so soft, and she smells like honey and looks like a dream.” He groaned.

Averndale chuckled. “I’m not sure what the problem is.”

“This isn’t what we agreed to. This isn’t what she wanted. What I wanted.”

With a raised brow, and a quick peek over his shoulder to ensure no one was listening, Averndale said, “How so?”

Harrison sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “We agreed that this was a marriage in name only. No emotional relationship and certainly nothing physical. And—” He paused, terrified of the next words.

“And?”

“And what if that happens and it doesn’t work out and ruins the way things are now? We can’t undo our marriage.” Just the notion had Harrison wanting to run to his familial estate and away from the potential catastrophe.

Averndale shook his head. “Bit cart before the horse, wouldn’t you say? You’ve already deemed the entire thing a tragedy and you haven’t even asked Lady Phoebe how she feels. She could have little interest in you.”

“At least that would be territory I’d understand,” he said, the words low and grumbled. He was well aware of what it was like to not be wanted. What it was like to not be enough. He had loved Meg, and she had chosen another, merely confirming what he already knew. No matter how hard he tried nor how much he gave, he would never be worthy of love.

Averndale pushed away from the wall and slapped him on the shoulder, the resounding clap somehow loud and yet soft in the packed ballroom. “Why not let things happen organically? Who knows, maybe it is all an illusion and you’re worrying over all this for nothing. And even if that is the case, you aren’t even remotely aware of how she feels in return. No sense in worrying over something that hasn’t even occurred yet.”

Harrison forced a deep breath out between his lips. “You’re right.” And he was, blast it. It was typical of him to feel the slightest hint of an interest in someone and spin wildly out of control from the notion before even seeing what it truly was. It could have been a trick of the light, or even sleep deprivation that caused him to look at Phoebe a different way, and as Averndale said, no sense in worrying over something so trifling as that.

“Come along, Romeo. Let’s go find my grandmother and let her dote over you now that you’re in the state of wedded bliss.” Averndale made a look of distaste before making his way through the crowd, and Harrison followed behind, grateful for good friends with solid heads on their shoulders. If not for Averndale, he would have worried he was on his way to falling in love with his wife.