Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“I t is truly a good start, my lord,” Mr. Williams said, his voice soft.

He was lying, of course, but one could not fault his kindness. The vase looked like a vulva. A vulva vase, to be precise. Fitting name if he intended to sell it. He could make a profit selling vulva vases of all sizes and colors, becoming known as the eccentric lord with a peculiar art obsession. His mother, were she still alive, would be horrified at the attention he no doubt would gain, her dismay evident as she would have given him the cut direct, child or not.

With a swift flick of his wrists, the thin metal wire slid through the middle of the vase, the edges deflating with defeat to the tune of Mr. William’s soft sigh.

“My lord, you won’t produce single piece if you continue to strive for perfection,” Mr. William’s said, his gaze on the two lumps that now sat dejectedly on the potter’s wheel.

Harrison picked up the two folds, dumping them into the metal bin that sat beside his station, the basket overflowing with a multitude of his pieces, their unformed mass a fitting metaphor for not only his hobby, but his marriage. Each of the pieces had been suitable, something to work with if he could merely pick a direction, but none were perfect. All were done with absolute ease from the very beginning but had become a mess the moment he touched them with decision, and like his marriage, he wondered if he was the problem.

In theory, their entire arrangement should have been the perfect execution of a marriage contract, and at the start, it had been. But that was before he had gotten to know his wife. Before he had come to know Phoebe. She was intelligent and thoughtful, particular and resilient, and it had become the most confounding thing, because now, instead of her simply being his wife, she had become his friend. Someone to care for. And that was the damnedest piece of all, because he did care. Deeply. Definitely more than he should. And when she touched his hand, simply graced him with one of her half-upturned smiles, he felt like the sun had come out, its warmth embracing him in the most comforting of ways.

It was confounding. And confusing. And he could not run from it, from her.

Nor was he even certain he wanted to.

No, he wanted to explore the tenderness that overtook his heart when he thought about his wife, search every cavern and crevice of that organ and hold her inside its chambers. Capture the soft giggle that escaped her lips while playing with Mildred. Put a name to the smile that took over her face as she devoured a chocolatey dessert. Cradle her hands in his until he knew every line and dent from wrist to fingertips, could trace them with his eyes closed.

But that was not what they had agreed to. And heaven only knew if she felt the same.

“I think we can be done for the day, Seb,” Harrison said, his eyes staring at the pile of scrapped clay. “Head on home. I’ll clean up this mess.”

“Are you certain, my lord?”

Harrison nodded at the man, forcing his jovial smile to his face. “I’ll see you next week.”

With a bow, Mr. Williams left, and silence surrounded the conservatory, allowing Harrison’s thoughts to fill the void. As he scraped the stone wheel with a wooden scraper, removing the excess clay, his mind replayed the feel of her as they danced, her form so tangible, he swore he was truly holding her. While he wiped the stone, cleaning it with water and a sponge, he heard her soft voice, worrying over the kitten’s loneliness. Emptying the bucket of murky water into a flower bed, he sighed as the image of her fiddling with her cards filled his head. She was everywhere, all around him, and he wanted to drown in it, in her.

With a groan, Harrison set the bucket back on the kick wheel, the clang of the metal filling the room with its vibrations, and he thanked his lucky stars Mildred was not present or he would no doubt be calming a startled kitten at that moment. In truth, he was the one who needed calming. He was enthralled with his wife. More than likely slightly infatuated, and was not that the devil of it all? And yet, nothing had happened the way the storybooks say it should have. Not a speck of fireworks at their first meeting nor increased heart palpitations. No blushing debutante or heart-sickened fop. No, his arrival to this point had been methodical, calculated, and cool. Nothing like the bevy of emotions the poets wrote about.

“Right then,” he said to the empty conservatory, brushing his muck covered hands against his apron. “That’s enough melancholia for one afternoon.”

After a hot bath that involved a thorough scrubbing of his hands and arms, Harrison arrived at the library sparkling clean yet irritatingly still perplexed, the feelings only heightening when he spotted his wife. Dressed in an unassuming green gown with her hair haphazardly pinned to her head, Phoebe sat on the floor dragging a piece of red yarn across the Persian rug while Mildred pounced upon it, ensuring its unfortunate demise.

“And how are my ladies this evening?” Harrison asked.

Phoebe looked up at him with a smile, and Mildred took advantage of the moment to wrestle the string from her fingers. With a chuckle, Phoebe returned her focus to the kitten who now had the string wrapped around her like a python, her paws searching for the frayed ends as she valiantly fought for her life.

“We’re well,” Phoebe said, untangling the string from the kitten and beginning their game again.

“And you, my dear? How were your bees today?”

Phoebe sighed as she trailed the string along the floor, causing Mildred to take a predatory stance, her black bottom wiggling in the air as she eyed her prey. “The malevolent hive is still rather territorial. I merely walked past their boxes today and received an improper hello in return.”

Harrison’s worried gaze raked over her form. “You weren’t hurt?”

Phoebe shook her head. “Just a small poke, nothing life threatening.”

The tightness that had taken occupancy in his throat lessened and he nodded his head. “It worries me that they are giving you such trouble.”

She nodded, her fingers stroking the scruff of fur at Mildred’s neck while the kitten chewed on the end of the string. “I feel the same. I’m not sure what I’ll decide to do when the time comes to harvest, but I’m intent upon not giving up just yet.” She giggled as Mildred turned her attention to her fingers, the little mite mouthing the digits. “She’s gotten so big, don’t you think?”

“How can you say that? It’s only been a little more than a week.”

Phoebe shook her head with a frown. “I’m sure of it, just look at her ears. If I had a way to document her growth I’d be able to prove it to you.” She picked up the tiny ball of fluff, who gave a disconcerted meow in protest, and held her close to her chest. “It’s going way too fast. Soon she’ll be grown and I’ll never be able to recall how tiny she was.”

Harrison looked at the pair, his wife’s sadness apparent on her face as she held the small kitten to her chest, stroking the white splotch on her forehead. “I may have an idea. That is, if we can get Mildred to cooperate.”

“Truly?” Phoebe asked.

Harrison nodded before going to the desk and removing a sharpened pencil from the top drawer. Eyeing the wall of the library, he chose a discreet corner where an armchair sat, blocking the light blue wall behind it. “Do you think you can bring her over here without too much of a fight?” Harrison asked as he wrestled the armchair away from the wall.

Phoebe tucked Mildred against her chest beneath her chin, the kitten settling in with a purr, her paws kneading Phoebe’s chest. When she came to stand beside him, Harrison smiled at her as he took the wiggly fluff from his wife and positioned her standing against the wall. “Take the pencil and trace around her as best you can,” he said.

Phoebe raised a brow at him but did as he asked while Harrison held Mildred as still as he could, even though the small feline protested.

When the shape of a cat took its place on the wall, Harrison let go of Mildred who gave a disgruntled chirp before coming to sit beside him and groom herself. Taking the pencil from Phoebe, Harrison wrote 25 th of June, 1822 beside the wall cat’s head, then stood to inspect their work.

“Now what?” Phoebe asked.

“Now we wait, and in a month,” he looked down at the cat, “or perhaps a week, we will do it again. Then you’ll have a record of her growth and be able to remember how small she was.”

Phoebe stood beside him, a smile taking over her lips forcing a small dimple he had never noticed before to appear in her cheek. “It’s brilliant.”

Harrison shrugged, slightly appalled at how his body warmed at her statement. “It’s nothing. A simple thing that will make you happy.”

“It does,” she said, turning to look at him with a look he could only describe as befuddlement. “It does make me happy. Why do you insist upon doing that?”

“Doing what?” he asked.

“Doing simple things for my happiness. It wasn’t part of our agreement. You could just as easily leave it alone but you don’t. Why?”

“Because I like knowing that you’re happy?” he said, the words coming out like a question. “I like seeing that smile on your face, knowing I put it there.” Harrison shrugged, hoping the gesture added a sense of aloofness he did not feel. His hands clenched by his sides, afraid he might do something foolish, like reach for her.

Phoebe wrapped her arms around her waist, lowering her eyes to the carpet beneath their feet. “You should probably stop doing that,” she said, the words quiet.

She had given him an out, a chance to remove himself from the spell that she had cast on him, and yet he could not find the want to take it. “Why?”

“Because when you do those things, when you say those things, they make me feel something.” Slowly, she raised her head, her beautiful gray eyes awash in uncertainty.

“Something?” he asked, his heart bounding in his chest as he searched her gaze.

“Yes. Warmth and comfort, but also… want. My stomach flips and turns, and my heart races, and it’s never behaved like that for another person.”

“What… What does that mean?” he asked, his heart pounding its resounding rhythm in his ears. When she said nothing, Harrison took a step toward her, hope filling his person. “Phoebe, what does that mean?”

She looked down at her hands which were clutched before her and sighed. “It means that I like it too much. It means, when you do those things, I want to be near you. I want to hold your hand, or stroke the bristle on your cheek, press my forehead to yours, and I know, I just know that doing so is against what we agreed to. But I can’t make myself stop feeling this way, so you have to stop being so kind to me.”

“Why?” he asked again, stepping closer to her, hope filling his chest that she could possibly want him as much as he wanted her.

“Because it’s the only sane way for me to stop feeling this way about you. I’ve tried to stop my reaction but it won’t go away. You’re in my veins, in the air surrounding me and I cannot make this feeling stop.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not what we agreed to.”

“I feel it too.” Harrison placed his fingers beneath her chin, raising it to meet his gaze. “What can I do to fix this?”

Phoebe’s teeth worried at her bottom lip; her cheeks flushed with an endearing pink hue. “Maybe not you, but we? Perhaps we approach it from another direction?” she said.

“What did you have in mind?”

“An experiment of sorts,” she replied, her eyes assessing him. “One that holds very little sanity.”

He frowned. “What sort of experiment?” he asked, his hand cradling her cheek, the smooth skin like velvet in his palm, while his heart pounded a resounding beat in his ears.

“One that will undoubtably make this feeling entirely worse.” With a sigh, her hands touched his chest, sliding up to rest on his shoulders. “Should I test my theory?”

“Yes,” he said, the word a plea as he lowered his head, his lips a breath away from Phoebe’s delectable cupid bow of a mouth. She pushed onto her tiptoes and brought their lips together, and with that single touch, Harrison’s whole world exploded.