Chapter Twenty-Nine

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

T hey had departed for Baron the following week in the early hours of the morning, arriving in the small town of Woodingdean after a three-day journey. Mildred, not one to hide her disdain, had become phenomenally vocal during the hours that she was awake, her displeasure at the travel arrangements obvious to everyone including the horses. It was as if she could sense that their destination was going to be no doubt uncomfortable in its unfamiliarity and she felt the need to ensure that her disapproval was heard. Averndale, having joined their traveling caravan as he had promised Oliver he would come and see the estate, had threatened to throw Mildred from the carriage on more than one occasion.

As much as Harrison loved the little mite, he could relate.

After three weeks of acclimating to Baron and its small passel of guests, Phoebe had thrown herself into her work, determined to have thriving hives at the manor that would be capable of actively providing for the visitors that passed through its doors. From the early hours of the morning until dinner time, Phoebe was out at the old gamekeeper hut with Meg, directing which field to clear and what walls to build. Where the tables were to be laid out for the hives, or in the greenhouse with Oliver Ludlow, Meg’s husband, discussing the type of vegetation that should be placed around the area.

Now that the primary parent was no longer present, Mildred was forced to settle in with Harrison who she viewed as the interloper, and while her presence was comforting during the day, it hurt his pride to know he was second place for her affection.

In the morning, the room would be empty of Phoebe’s presence, the only remanence that she had been there the smell of her on the sheets. Mildred would curl into a ball on her pillow, surrounding herself in the honeysuckle scent.

The action had triggered a memory the very first night, him as a young boy sneaking into his mother’s room and falling asleep on her bed as he waited for her to return from her night’s events, her lilac perfume filling the air, soothing whatever nightmare had woken him. He had woken the next morning in his bed and had been scolded firmly by his nurse. He had never seen his mother, not even for a reprimand on escaping the nursery. She merely pretended it never happened just as she pretended he did not exist.

Perhaps that was the start of his demise, the learned notion that he mattered very little to the people he cared for most. Good or bad, he could do nothing to elicit a response. Nothing to earn him the affection he so greatly desired. It was not until his uncle had not produced an heir that he began to hold value to his mother, and only as it pertained to the title. Only then did she become focused on his mannerisms, mostly the bad ones.

She had become determined he resemble a noble peer of the realm, requiring weekly updates from his tutors, commenting on his posture, his smile, his laugh. And he had become determined to pass every one of her tests. To prove that he held value. That he was worthy of her love. But each test led to new ones, each focused on what a disappointment he was in her eyes. With each criticism she had molded him like clay until he was no longer able to recognize himself.

It had not been until Eton that he had finally found himself once more.

With Averndale he had found such ease as himself. No weekly check-ins. No criticisms. Just two boys gadding about, being lads with little mind for what was required for their future. It was the first time that he begun to understand that there was something terribly isolating about the way he had been raised and that love was not meant to be a scale. But habits are hard to break when they have been ingrained in you for that long.

It took very little for him to revert back when he had returned home. Back in place was the practiced smile, the stiff posture. The inauthentic laugh as he met with his uncle and other peers, danced with debutants and charmed matrons. A mask was in place that he could not seem to remove, glued to his face no matter the hour of the day, and even if he wanted to, he could not find the means to take it off. And then he met Meg.

In her he saw his reflection, someone required to fit into a mold that did not fit. It mattered little that she was older than him and mattered not at all that she was married to his uncle. She was the same as him, her struggle just as demeaning and isolating as his own. And in that similarity, he found love. Surely just like him, she wore a mask, and he found comfort in that.

When his uncle passed and Meg was finally free, instead of remaining in that mask, however, she had ripped it off and ran, and Harrison, with all his knowledge of even tallies and fear of being a disappointment, could not follow. What would the ton think if the newly appointed earl disappeared into the countryside after his dead uncle’s wife, giving little care for the management of the title? It was safer to stand on the side, ready if Meg ever said she needed him. But she never did. Instead, she built Baron off her own merit and found the love of someone willing to take the risk because it meant he would be with her. And Harrison had simply watched.

Watched as they were married. Watched as the ton came to adore the new Earl of Everly without ever really knowing him. Watched as he was alone again in a big house with his mask firmly in place.

And then Phoebe had arrived with her bees and her kitten and her dislike for blueberries and love for chocolate. And even with the darn mask still on she somehow saw him. Saw every piece of him that was broken and damaged and instead of criticizing, instead of dismissing, loved him because of it. And while part of him longed to lean into the love that she offered, another part, the scared little boy part, wondered when it would all change. Wondered when the other shoe would drop and she would leave him just like everyone else had.

What if she came to hate him? What if his laugh was grating and his smile was crooked? What if his hobbies irritated her or she came to hate playing games with him each night? What if she took her love away because he did something wrong?

No, he thought, as he fluffed the pillow beneath his head, releasing her honey scent into the air. No, it was better that he just try to be the best version of himself, that he do everything in his power to earn her love. Should she ever leave he was quite certain he would not overcome it.

He chuckled, the sound dark.

Who was he kidding? He was barely surviving things now.

When the sun rose in the sky, Harrison sat tired eyed, staring out the window. Mildred slept peacefully at his side, her soft snores soothing but doing very little to lull him to sleep.

He wanted to be with Phoebe, but what if she left him as well?

Attempting to not awaken the cat, Harrison crawled from the bed and went into the bathing room. After a quick scrub of his face, his growth scratching the palms of his hands, he left the room. Notifying a waiting footman that Mildred would need her breakfast, Harrison took his leave of the manor.

Woodingdean was quiet in the early hours, its residents slowly wakening to begin their daily routines, the bustle of the manor not yet happening. It should have been settling, the lack of noise, but it merely gave his mind more ability to ruminate. Even the chirping birds in the trees did little to quiet his meandering thoughts.

“Everly,” a voice said as a large body sidled up beside him.

Harrison scowled. “Averndale.”

“Early morning exercise?” Averndale asked, his cravat untied and his jacket unbuttoned. The man wreaked of alcohol and cigar smoke, but the jaunty smile on his lips said that he had enjoyed wherever he was returning from.

“It’s reportedly highly recommended. You?”

Averndale raised a brow at him. “I’m was on my way back to the manor.” Averndale continued to walk beside him, the scrape of his sword cane irritating. “Are we to continue in silence or shall we discuss what has you out exercising at such an ungodly hour?”

Harrison scowled. “You’re more than welcome to leave at any time.”

“Yes, but I have a feeling that I might enjoy whatever it is that has caused such disruption,” Averndale said with a smile. “You aren’t normally one for walking about. Decidedly more so since you’ve taken a wife.”

With a sigh, Harrison looked at the ground. “That’s the problem.”

“Your wife?”

“Yes,” Harrison said. “No. Maybe I’m the problem.”

“Why?” Averndale asked.

“I love her, and she loves me. It should be simple, just two people who care for one another, but I’m terrified it’s not that at all. One part of me knows that our love is good, healthy even, but another part of me worries that I’m not good enough. That I’ll displease her. That she’ll leave.”

Averndale stopped, his hand pulling at Harrison’s arm. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Harrison groaned, his hand running through his hair.

“Shit,” Averndale said, shaking his head. “You’re a ninny.”

With a frown, Harrison turned and started his walk once more. Averndale kept pace beside him as he picked up speed. “How? My mother required perfection, my uncle could barely stand me. Even with Meg I tried to be perfect, tried to please her in any way she wanted, and she left me and fell in love with another man.”

“None of those relationships were healthy,” Averndale said, his breathing harsh.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Every relationship you just used as an example isn’t how love is supposed to be. Love is not a scale, Everly. There isn’t a balance that needs to be evened out or sacrifices you are forced to make.”

Harrison pulled to a stop and Averndale followed suit, folding in half and resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

“What do you mean?” Harrison asked.

“I mean,” Averndale said between breaths, “that when you love someone you are thoughtful and supportive and caring because you love them. Not because you have to be to make them love you in return.”

“I don’t–I don’t deserve to be loved like that.”

Averndale shook his head and took a deep breath. “Why on earth do you think that?”

Harrison shrugged. “I’m not enough. I’m flawed.”

“So is she.”

“Don’t you dare—”

Averndale held up a hand, stopping his words. “Keep your self-righteous indignation quiet for a moment. She is flawed too. She is obsessed with bees, hates balls for whatever reason. Dislikes blueberries, which in my opinion is egregious, and yet you still love her. Would you remove your love because of those things?”

Harrison’s brow furrowed. “Of course not.”

“Then why do you think the rules don’t apply to you?”

“I—”

Shaking his head, Averndale adjusted his waistcoat. “We live in a world where everything we do is judged and evaluated, so I’ve tried to understand why you adopted this persona of the affable earl, but the people who really know you and really care about you don’t give a fig that you’re flawed, don’t care about your imperfections. We love you just the same.” With a sad smile, Averndale looked at him. “Don’t you think it’s time you start loving yourself that way?”

The words were stiff, a punch to the gut and a blow to the head, which would take any man down but for Harrison it was as if some piece had shaken free. Yet, the quick grip of a fist around his throat at what he may have left unsaid stole the brilliance of the moment.

“Fuck.”

Averndale smiled, his head crooking to one side. “Absolutely right.” With a nod, he turned around and walked back toward the manor. “Best of luck in finding your wife. Do let me know when you are planning to return to London for I should very much like to join you. Something about this place has become rather disagreeable with my constitution.”