Chapter Twenty-Five

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

T heir final day in Dorset was met with thunderstorms, and Harrison scowled at the sky as if in doing so it would change the clouds’ minds. The deluge had removed the potential for what would no doubt have been a perfect day, the crack of thunder only deepening the lines of his furrowed brow.

“What a vicious storm,” Phoebe said, her fingers laced with his as she peered out the window of the library at the menacing clouds. Streams of water spilled down the pane as if one were pouring a watering can along it creating a hazy view before them.

Forcing a smile to his face, Harrison turned to Phoebe. “I’m sorry we have such a horrendous end to our trip.”

She shook her head at him. “Don’t be silly. You couldn’t have known it was going to rain. And as endings go, it’s kind of romantic.”

Harrison turned back to the window where water sliced down the pane like a waterfall. “How so? It’s abominably gray and horrendously wet. Romantic would be a light sprinkle of a shower or better yet, a sunny day where one could go to the beach for a picnic.”

Stepping in front of him, Phoebe wrapped her hands around his waist and rested her head on his chest. “A beach picnic is very romantic, but so is staying inside and snuggling in close while the world appears to fall apart outside.” She placed her chin on his chest and looked up at him. “I’m sorry your plans didn’t happen the way you wanted but that doesn’t mean we cannot make the situation what we want it.”

Wrapping his arms around her, Harrison kissed her forehead. “How so?”

“A picnic indoors?”

“How is that any different than what we already do?” He frowned at her, aware of how childish he sounded. “I was going to surprise you with a dandy horse.”

She smiled at him. “We’ll ride in the ballroom then.”

“Phoebe…”

“What? I don’t care what we do.” Pushing onto her tiptoes, she kissed his lips, quieting all other protests. “A perfect day for me is simply one I get to spend with you.”

The words sounded so simple, so obvious, but part of Harrison rebelled against them. He wanted to spoil her with his attention, lavish her with gifts and treats. Create days so perfectly spectacular that she would never want to be far from his side, yet all she wanted was him. Just him. Harrison Metcalf, as he was. It was preposterous.

“Harrison?” she asked. “What do you want to do today?”

His brow furrowed at her question. “What do you mean?”

With a smile, she cupped his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. “What do you want to do today? Laze about and read? Play a game? Go back to bed with your wife?” She kissed his lips with the softest touch, a fairy kiss, before whispering, “What is your ideal rainy day?”

“I don’t–I don’t know.”

“No?”

“I–I’ve never thought of it.” He shook his head, puzzled. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been asked by anyone what I’d like to do on a rainy day.”

“Surely that can’t be true. What did you do as a child on rainy days?”

He scowled, attempting to think back but his memories proved fruitless. It was as if his brain had drawn a shroud over that time, covering every event with a black veil, hiding them from him. “I don’t remember.”

Phoebe smiled softly at him. There was no judgement in the movement, no pity, just understanding.

“Come with me,” she said, taking his hands and guiding him from the room.

In their apartments upstairs, she motioned for him to sit on the bed before dropping to her knees before him. It was a position of subjection and yet the power was all hers. She tugged at one boot, then the other, then pushed onto her feet and began unbuttoning his coat and waistcoat. The motions were efficient and yet the consideration that came with them left his throat tight with each tug and pull she made. When he was left in nothing but his trousers and shirt, she turned around presenting him her back. Moving her hair to the side, she said, “Would you untie me?”

The laces ran through his fingers as he dragged them loose, freeing her from the purple day dress, his heart beating in his ears. She stepped away from him and removed everything but her chemise and stockings before turning around to face him. With a nod of her chin, she said, “Get in the covers,” before retrieving the heavy blanket and book that sat on the armchair by the fire.

The blanket was quickly spread over the top of him before Phoebe crawled across him and wiggled into the covers beside him. Her hand slid out from beneath the quilt to cup his neck as she guided him to rest on her chest, her bosom a soft pillow beneath his head. It was too much. Too soft, too sweet, too caring. His brain urged him to move, yelled at him to stop being so selfish, so spoiled, but when she dropped a kiss to the top of his head, he forced his eyes closed and his breaths to slow.

With a sigh, she opened Ivanhoe to the very beginning and with a soft voice, began to read.

“…having once seen him put forth his strength in battle, methinks I could know him again among a thousand warriors. He rushes into the fray as if he were summoned to a banquet. There is more than mere strength—there seems as if the whole soul and spirit of the champion were given to every blow which he deals upon his enemies. God assoilzie him of the sin of bloodshed! It is fearful, yet magnificent, to behold how the arm and heart of one man can triumph over hundreds.”

Her melodic voice echoed beneath his ear as he lay on her chest, the warmth from her body and the quilt soothing him from the chilly air of the room.

It was an intimacy he had never experienced, a sort of gentleness he had never known. Her free hand brushed through his hair as she read, the curls twisting about her fingers like clinging vines. When she turned the page, her lips fell to his head, kissing him softly before she began to read once more, as if reassuring him that she was still there. Still by his side. It was a small gesture, not one he was certain she even noticed, but it sent his heart racing nevertheless.

He must have dozed off for when he awoke the rain had become a soft sprinkle and the sun attempted to make its presence known. He lay on his stomach, his head resting on Phoebe’s chest, her arms wrapped around his shoulders holding him close, her soft snores indicating that the quiet moment had claimed her as well. Pushing off of her, she mumbled her frustration as her arms fell from him and Harrison smiled, shifting onto his side before pulling her into the cavern of his body.

“What have you done to me?” he whispered as he tucked her against his chest, her body fitting like a missing piece of a puzzle.

It had not been some extraordinary feat. There had been no dragons slain, no ogres fought, and yet she had taken a rather ordinary day and made it into something peaceful. A safe space where he could simply be.

Her question had provoked him, stirring his memories, or at least, what little ones he had. His childhood seemed like a blank slate, something anyone could fill in with stories as he had no memory of it. Surely there must have been rainy days when he was a child. Surely he must have done something with his time when the sun was covered in gray and the clouds had opened their fury on the world. But if he had, he could not recall. The few things he did remember were memories that filled him with pain. Chasing after his mother, wanting to show her something he had made and her look of disdain when she finally stopped to listen to him, as if he were a nuisance she was forced to deal with. The ever pressing need to fit the mold and make her proud, to prove he was worthy of her love, even if it meant a time away from her under the tutelage of tutors hired by his uncle. Standing before the mirror in his room practicing his smile, his bow. Tying his cravat and adjusting his hair over and over again so that not a speck of his person would cause her irritation. If he were perfect, she would love him. If he were perfect then he would be worthy of her love.

When she died, it was as if everything he had worked for, all the modifications and labor he had made were for naught, for now she would never love him. Now things would never change.

Shaking his head, Harrison attempted to push away the memories, tuck them back into the box so carefully hidden in the recesses of his mind, but Phoebe’s simple question still lingered. What did he like to do on a rainy day?

Better yet, what did he like to do?

He thought through the options she had suggested; dandy horses in the ballroom, a picnic indoors. Reading before a cozy fire or playing a game. Looking down at the woman in his arms, he smiled. On a rainy day he liked to lay in bed with his wife. He liked to slip in and out of consciousness in the safety and warmth of her arms, to listen to her melodic voice as she read to him from the latest book that caught her attention. To play with his clay in the conservatory while drops tinkled against the glass, a cat sitting nearby on a chair, her purr filling the room. And when the rain stopped, he wanted to bundle his beautiful bride up in a blanket and explore the changes that occurred outside from the deluge. He wanted to see her cheeks pinken in the chill, to brush at the errant rain drop that chose to fall on her cheek. To pull her close as she inspected every flower and bud to ensure there was enough food for her bees.

Harrison’s chest tightened and he shook his head. How ludicrous he sounded. How wistful and childlike, as if any of those things were options for an earl. Had his mother heard a single one of his thoughts she would have furrowed her brow and frowned at him, her mouth turned down in disdain that her son would do something so capricious without thought for what others might require of him.

Phoebe stirred beside him and he tightened his grasp on her, his hand falling to her head where it stroked at the strands of hair that had come free from her chignon. Kissing her head, Harrison pushed the nonsensical thoughts away and forced a smile to his lips. He would not sully a day that Phoebe had tried so hard to recover.

“Hello, love,” he said when she raised her head to look at him.

“You’re awake?” she asked, rocking her head against his chest.

“And now, so are you.”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t sleeping, just resting my eyes while I waited for you to wake up.”

“Is that so?” Harrison asked, rolling her onto her back.

She made a noise of agreement before pushing her arms over her head, her body undulating as she stretched beneath him. Her soft moan as she did so sent longing through his veins and he let his head fall to her neck to drop kisses along the skin.

“The sun has come out,” he said the words vibrating against her neck.

“Has it?” She cupped his cheek, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Shall we go see?”

Harrison paused, his eyes searching her face, certain she has heard his thoughts from mere moments before. “Should we?”

She nodded, a smile pulling at her lips. “Who knows, you might get your dandy horse after all.”

With a kiss to his lips, Phoebe pushed up from the bed and scurried over the covers to the bell pull. “I’ll ring for Flora to help me to dress,” she said.

“May I help you instead?” he asked.

Nodding, Phoebe picked up her discarded garments, and Harrison helped her lace and tie the items before putting himself back to rights. After a quick inspection of his hair, and a few adjusted pins for Phoebe, they made their way downstairs and outside to the garden. The air was crisp, the smell of rain tinging the air as they walked the dirt path. Small puddles splashed beneath their feet and Phoebe laughed when one exceptional puddle splashed against his boots.

“Find it entertaining, do you?” he asked.

“A bit,” she said with a smile. “What are your thoughts on finishing out the day as you had planned?”

He pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her shoulders to keep her warm, and he cursed at himself for not grabbing a blanket for her. “A bit too damp, I’m afraid. But what do you say to a stroll along the beach instead?”

Phoebe leaned against him, her back nestled against his chest. “I say it sounds lovely, especially if it means that I’m with you.”

Harrison’s throat tightened as he pulled Phoebe closer. He knew she meant what she said. Knew with every fiber of his being that her only requirement was to be sincere, but he could not help but hear the voice of his mother in the back of his mind that warned him. What if he failed? What if she left? If he did not ensure that Phoebe was utterly infatuated with their life, if he was not the best husband possible, she would leave and he would be all alone again.