Chapter Thirty

CHAPTER THIRTY

T hunder crashed shaking the panes of the windows. Meg called the place Bitch Manor, glee surrounding the words each time she said it, but Phee could not fathom calling such a wonderful place such a horrid name. Baron was the epitome of a magical place one found in storybooks, the warm interior as welcoming as a small cottage in the woods while the exterior looked as if nymphs and fairies lingered in the garden which grew lush with vegetation. Bird baths dotted the landscape as did benches and footpaths turning each exploration into its own adventure.

It was a place of mythical proportions, but no matter how many trails she could walk nor books she read on cozy arm chairs and sofas, Phee missed her home. She missed spending her days with Mildred and the bees, and she missed the quiet nights alone with her husband.

Her sleep had become atrocious as she tossed and turned each night, the bed unfamiliar and uncomfortable while her mind rambled over her husband’s continuingly odd behavior. As soon as they had departed the carriage in Woodingdean, her husband’s sociable smile had returned to his face like a jester’s mask, his faux joy beginning to grate on her. It was as if a lever had been pulled into place forcing him to step back into the role of Lord Everly, leaving Harrison Metcalf, the man she loved, well behind.

Instead of filling her days troubled with her husband’s moods, Phee threw herself into work at the Baron estate. The old gamekeeper’s cottage that was still in good shape sat beside an old grazing field on the south end of the property which would work perfectly for housing several hives as well as a beekeeper.

As Meg had yet to find one suitable for the property, Phee had taken it upon herself to fill the vacant position, moving her books and journals to the cottage for the time being to be closer to the hives during the day. At night, she returned to Baron for dinner with Harrison, thankfully more comfortable with the intimate setting of Meg’s dinner guests as compared to the atrocities of events in London.

Currently, the guests of Baron comprised of a young woman of nobility named Felicia who was unwed and pregnant, a second son who had no interest in the church or military and dreamed instead of painting, and Mr. Howell and his young ward, Felix. They formed a motley crew, the lot of them, with Meg and Oliver as their fearless leaders. It mattered not their backgrounds or trials of life, only the friendship they had found in the walls of Baron.

As the rain poured outside the groundskeeper’s cottage, Phee sat at the small desk near the window, her books and journal laid out before her. A fire roared in the hearth, thankfully driving away the chill of the unexpected morning storm, but she wished she had asked Felix to bring her a pot of tea. Instead, like a dolt, she had dismissed the child so he could return to the stables, certain he would be less bored there than with her while she gallivanted around the grounds.

When the dark clouds had begun to rumble in the sky, Phee chose to make her way to the cottage thinking it would simply be a storm that passed swiftly, but after what had to be nearly an hour, she had begun to think it would have been a better idea to have returned to the manor. Now, she was either trapped in the cottage until the torrent cleared or forced to make a run for the manor and become soaked in the process. Neither sounded like an acceptable choice.

Thunder clapped once more, and Phee looked nervously to the fire as it flickered in the hearth. She had never had to build one and while she had watched people light the thing, she was not certain she could direct anyone on how to do it properly. If the blasted thing went out, she would have no choice but to run into the downpour for fear of freezing. Eyes pinned to the fire, Phee cared very little when she heard a pounding at the door to the cottage. Surely, no one would be out in this torrent and the wind had simply blown something against the door and it would roll away soon. When the knocking sounded again, she sighed. Perhaps Harrison had sent a footman to help retrieve her?

Yet, when she opened the door, she saw none other than her husband on the other side, soaked from head to toe.

“Have you gone mad?” she asked, reaching for his sleeve and pulling him inside, closing the door with a harsh crash behind him. “What on earth could you have been thinking going out in this?”

“I was thinking,” Harrison said as he shivered, “that my wife was trapped in the gamekeeper’s cottage and that I had to get to her as quickly as possible.”

Phee rushed to the closet that held the linens for the bed as well as some towels. Thrusting one at Harrison, she threw the other over his head and stood on her tiptoes as she rubbed the cloth back and forth over his hair. Cold water seeped into the towel in her hands but she continued to dry his hair and face as he shivered beneath her.

“Phoebe,” he said, the words muffled by the towel.

Phee ignored him and dropped the towel in her hands to the floor before snatching the one he held. “You’re completely soaked through. I helped Meg clear out the house and clean it so all the clothes that were left have been handed off to Flora for mending so we can give them to guests in need.”

“Phoebe.”

“Perhaps you can stay warm in the quilt while we wait for the fire to dry your things,” she said, the words less a question and more her thinking aloud.

“Phoebe Metcalf, will you stop a moment?” Harrison asked, throwing the final towel aside and cupping her cheek. His hands were icy against her skin and she raised her own, covering it, rubbing at the skin to put some warmth back into him.

“You’re in sopping wet clothes in the cold,” she said.

“Does that worry you?”

“Yes.”

“If I change out of them and put on the quilt will that make you feel better?” he asked, already removing his jacket.

“Yes.” Going to the bed, Phee removed the quilt that lay draped over the top, bringing it back to Harrison who stood naked in front of the fireplace, his clothing laid out to dry. Swallowing at the sight of him, Phee took a deep breath, then walked to him, handing him the blanket. Once the quilt was wrapped around him and they were settled before the fire, he raised a brow at her.

“You were saying?” she said.

“I was saying that my wife was in this cottage in a thunderstorm and I had to get to her,” he said, turning toward her.

“Why?”

With a smile that did not fully stretch across his mouth, he sighed. “Because I realized that I’ve been a bit of a dunce as of late. And when you come to understand that someone loves you as entirely yourself, you realize you have to tell them as quickly as possible, no matter the weather.”

“Someone who loves you?” she asked. “Harrison, what do you mean? Of course I love you.”

He nodded. “We’ll get to that part in a second, but first, I need to apologize.” Harrison rose onto his knees, the worn quilt wrapped around his shoulders like a knight. “I know that I’ve been guarded since we’ve come here and I’m sorry. I’ve let my fears guide my decisions and, in the process, I might have marred what is without a doubt the greatest love of my life. Because it is, and you are, the greatest love of my life. And I was afraid I’d ruin it.

“When I was younger, I learned quickly that you had to be valuable for someone to love you. My mother cared very little for me until I became the heir, and even then, her love came with conditions. I changed my posture, my smile, the way I talked and walked, all with the hopes that in doing so, I would finally please her. That she would finally love me. For the longest time, I thought that if I were anything less than perfect to everyone else that their love would be taken away from me, and in doing so, I lost myself in their expectations of me. As long as they were pleased with me that was all that mattered. And when you’ve played by a specific set of rules for such a long period of time it becomes really hard to change them. And then you came into my life.

“You are so unabashedly yourself, aware of things others may see as flaws but to you they’re just facets of your personality. You know who you are, Phoebe. You like who you are.” He smiled. “I like who you are. But your freeness is something I’ve never been able to do. You said you loved me with ease, as if it were a fact found in a history book, and it scared me because love has always had a price, and I didn’t want to let you down. I didn’t want to lose you. But I realized, after having it pointed out rather succinctly to me, that I would never expect you to be perfect to be allowed my love because that isn’t love. And if I would never ask you to do something like that, I shouldn’t expect it of myself.

“I’m new at this, but I’m trying. I know what I need to do to be a good partner for you and I promise that in those times where old habits creep up, I will work to implement what I know to be true. I know that I deserve to be loved for who I am, warts and all.” He cupped her face, his hands now warm, “And I also know that I love you. That your love is a gift that I don’t have to be perfect to receive, and thank you for loving me anyway.”

“I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon so you’ll have a lot of time to practice,” Phee said, wrapping her arms around his waist over the quilt. “I love you, Harrison.”

“I love you, Phoebe,” he said, kissing her forehead, her cheek. “I should have shouted it from the top of the Tower of London that I love Phoebe Metcalf and that she loves me.”

Phee groaned. “Thank heavens you didn’t. I would have hated the attention.”

Harrison smiled, kissing her lips. “Then I shall tell you. Every day. Every hour until the end of time. I love you, Phoebe. I love our life and our home and our kitten—”

“Silly man,” she said kissing his mouth.

“I love you, Phoebe,” he said, the words soft against her lips.

Pushing the quilt from his shoulders revealing all of his brilliance, Phee ran her fingers through his hair, the strands still damp from the rain. The storm showed little sign of slowing but she had a couple activities in mind that would keep them busy. “I love you.”