Chapter Thirty-One

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

October, 1822

One month later

London

A letter from Meg addressed to the both of them arrived with the post, and Harrison wasted little time searching out his wife so they could read it together. She no doubt was checking on her bees, ensuring that the hives were thriving during the cold that had swiftly fallen over London.

She had discussed nothing but a process called “dead out” for the past week after the temperatures had dropped rather suddenly, worried that the hives would not have enough honey to survive and so she had taken it upon herself to not only check on them daily but to feed them crushed sugar cubes to ensure there was enough food for the lot of them. And he had taken it upon himself to ensure that while she worried about her bees that she was taken care of, bringing her inside to eat and warm by the fire with some tea and accompanying her in the evenings to check on the hives so she could go to bed without worry.

In the garden, his wife stood with a heavy coat around her as she placed small dishes of sugar water around a hive, her gloves missing from her fingers, the warm air of her breath escaping in puffs as it met the slight chill of the London air.

“You promised you would wear the gloves,” he said, coming up beside her and taking her hands in his, rubbing some warmth into the skin.

“It’s harder to do things with them on,” she said, moving closer to him and pressing her cold nose to the side of his neck. She was just like her bees, busy and hard at work but drawn to any heat source provided.

“We have a letter from Meg.” Tucking her hands into the inside of his coat, Harrison wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to warm her up further. “Let’s head inside to the library. I’ll have some tea brought in and we’ll read it together.”

“The hives—”

He kissed the top of her head. “You have fed them all?”

“Yes,” she said.

“And you’ve checked on all of them?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then you require a reprieve. We’ll return this afternoon and check on them again, if you’d like.”

With a sigh, Phoebe nodded and Harrison led her inside, his arms still wrapped around her, determined to work some warmth back into her.

“I’m worried they’ll die,” she said as they entered the library and he directed her toward the fire.

“I know,” Harrison said. “You have taken phenomenal care of them, love, but there is only so much you can control. As horrible as it is, sometimes nature is unfair even when we try our best.”

Phoebe’s lips twisted, but she nodded, the battle going on in her head so obvious that it made him smile.

After requesting tea and something to nibble on from a footman, Harrison grabbed a blanket from the back of the sofa and brought it to Phoebe, wrapping it around her shoulders. “Want to read the letter?” he asked, kissing her neck. “I’m sure Meg has some wonderful gossip about Averndale.”

Phoebe nodded and followed him to the sofa. “I can’t believe he decided to stay in Woodingdean. He was in such a rush to leave. I wonder what changed.”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I imagine he’s trying Oliver’s patience as there is surely no way he has taken it upon himself to work the manor.”

“Perhaps her note says he headed back to London?”

Harrison smiled. “Let’s find out.”

Breaking the seal, Harrison unfolded the letter.

Dearest Harry and Phee,

I’m so happy to hear that you made it back safely and that your trip was simple. I detest riding in a carriage very much, so I’m glad you were able to occupy yourselves during the long journey.

Harrison looked at Phoebe and chuckled at the smile that had captured her lips. “It would seem that Meg might not partake in the same activities that we do during our long journeys.”

Phoebe laughed, pushing at his shoulders. “Hush. Everyone is different.” Kissing his cheek, she rested her head on his shoulder. “Keep reading.”

The new beekeeper is working out wonderfully, I’m so glad your beekeeper at the Dorset estate recommended him. He has said he isn’t too concerned with dead out but he agrees that your notion of feeding them sugar granules is a good idea. As hard as these things are, sometimes we have to let nature take its course.

Harrison raised a brow at Phoebe who merely stuck her tongue out at him.

Averndale has been such a surprising help around the manor and at the inn. He’s taken up helping Marty at the inn every night which has given me more time to help at the manor. Marty seems rather neutral of him which is the strangest thing as I’ve never seen her unaffected by anyone, but only time will tell on how they decide to reach some sort of companionship. Oliver was certain he was going to be more of a nuisance than help but he’s been happily surprised at the change he is seeing in Averndale. There has been several mornings the past week that Averndale did not join us for breakfast and we learned he had already left the manor to help Marty at the inn. Is it possible our friend is becoming a saint?

“Averndale is helping at the inn?” Phoebe asked, pulling her head from his shoulder to look at him.

“That’s what she says. Surely, she has to be joking?” Harrison reread the paragraph, his brow furrowing. “He’s waking before them and going to the inn to help with the guests? Has he been possessed? Did he injure his head and no one noticed?”

Phoebe shrugged. “Maybe he’s found something worth enjoying? Who’s to say why people change.”

“I’m not sure a trip to the doctor is unnecessary.”

“We’ll see,” Phoebe said.

I’m so glad we were able to spend a month together but hope that your next visit will be for a bit longer. It was like having family to visit and I don’t think I realized how nice that was. We’ll need to plan our next gathering soon. Stay warm and healthy during this winter and we look forward to hearing from you both soon.

All our love,

Meg and Oliver

Ps. Harry– Perhaps you should write Averndale just to be sure all is well. Oliver thinks he may have suffered an injury that we are unaware of.

“I knew there was a reason I liked the man,” Harrison said with a chuckle.

Phoebe shook her head. “Something is seriously wrong with the both of you, assuming that Averndale is injured as the only probable cause to why he’s acting the way he is.”

“When you’ve known Averndale as long as we have you begin to learn that only an act of God would cause him to make such drastic changes.” Folding up the letter, Harrison set it on the low table. “I’ll write to him this evening just to be sure all is well. Ask him a couple of questions to ensure he hasn’t been swapped out with some changeling during one of his trips through the woods.”

“Leave the man alone,” Phoebe said, leaning back against the sofa. “Perhaps he’s fallen in love with someone at the inn?”

Harrison shook his head. “No, that can’t be it. Lust would make more sense.” Shrugging, he sat back as well and pulled her into his arms, warmth finally apparent in her cheeks. “It’s only a matter of time until whatever caused this change leaves him bored and he returns to London.”

“We’ll see.”

That night, Harrison slipped from the bed where Phoebe and Mildred slept peacefully, his mind playing its typical game of overcompensation. Something about Meg’s letter had wiggled free a small shred of worry that perhaps he could be doing more to help his friends and to help Phoebe. Instead of allowing the impulse to take hold, as he used to do, he headed to the conservatory, hoping that the spinning of the wheel and the soft clay in his hands would work out whatever criticism he seemed to have found.

That was how Phoebe found him, the soft woosh of the wheel masking her steps as she padded into the room, her hair in a braid down her back, a plum wrapper pulled over her nightgown, its presence unnecessary in the warm room. “Harrison?” she said softly.

Looking up at her, he smiled. Her eyes were soft from sleep, her hair in slight disarray, and there was an imprint on her cheek from her pillow, but it mattered not at all, for she was still utterly stunning.

Dipping his hands in the bucket of water at his side, Harrison scrubbed off the remnants of clay before drying them on the towel at his lap. “Come here,” he said, holding his now clean hand out to her. She came happily, sliding into his lap, her arms wrapping around his neck as she laid her head on his shoulder.

“Trouble sleeping?” she asked, looking at the attempted water bowl before them.

“Working out some thoughts.”

“Anything I can do to help?” she asked, raising her hand to cover a yawn.

Harrison smiled, kissing her nose. “This is perfect,” he said, pulling her closer to him. “Just what I needed.”

She gave a soft chuff on a laugh before releasing a sigh. “What are you making?”

“A water dish for Mildred.”

“Is molding the clay hard?” she asked.

“Not once you get the hang of it. It’s a rather unruly medium.” Nuzzling her cheek, he asked, “Would you like to try it?”

“All right,” she said, turning toward the wheel.

Harrison scooted back on the stool creating a space for Phoebe between his legs. Kicking his foot against the bottom wheel, he began to move the top wheel at a sure speed before them. “Get your hands wet,” he said, pointing to the water bucket.

Phoebe dipped her hands into the bucket, then placed them on the piece before her, the clay gliding through her damp fingers as she pushed against it.

“Good,” Harrison said, resting his hands on her thighs. “Make sure you keep the clay wet or it’ll be unmanageable.”

Phoebe nodded, her focus on the wheel before her, her head cocked to the side as she formed the edges of the bowl before dipping her hands into the water again. Her brow was furrowed, her mouth in a slight pucker of concentration as she rounded her hands around the clay, molding and shaping it to her will.

With a smile, Harrison let his lips fall to her shoulder where her wrapper and nightgown had fallen baring her silky skin to him. His lips traced the line of her shoulder, stopping to tease the jointure where it met her neck, and Phoebe hummed a husky note as she wiggled her bottom back against him. “Don’t forget to keep your hands wet,” he said, as the thumb of his hand that sat at her thigh drew small circles while his mouth teased her exposed flesh.

“Wet,” Phoebe said, the word breathy. “Right.” She dipped her hands back into the water and returned to the bowl, pressing her back against his chest while the thumb that had drawn the circles moved onto figure eights. Each time the digit neared her core, Phoebe’s breath would catch, her thigh tensing beneath his hand before relaxing again as the thumb moved by.

“All right, Phoebe?” he asked, running his teeth softly across her skin.

“Yes,” Phoebe said as she tensed once more against his hand, his wily thumb sliding past her cunny and back to the top of her thigh.

“Stay focused on the bowl.”

She nodded, dipping her hands again, the wet slap of their return hardening Harrison’s length to painful proportions. His breaths were sharp against her neck as he watched her cup and shape the clay, the damp bowl shifting under the slightest pressure from her fingers, and his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head as he imagined her doing the same to his cock, the same sure fingers molding his heat until he burst.

“I want to touch you,” he said, the words a growl against her neck. “Do you want me to?”

Phoebe nodded, her focus on the bowl loosening as she moved against him.

“The bowl,” he said as he softly bit at the juncture of shoulder and neck.

Phoebe whimpered as she returned her attention to the clay, her thighs shaking beneath his hands. “Touch me.”

Harrison’s hand slid to the center of her thighs, his fingers brushing against her heat, and Phoebe let out a moan that nearly sent him spurting in his pants. Damp heat covered her nightgown, her want so apparent he bit the inside of his cheek as he took his two fingers and rubbed over the top of the swollen nub, the nightgown giving friction to the motion.

“Christ,” he said, the words choked from him as he massaged, capturing the bud between his two fingers and circling the spot while she panted before him. His foot slid off the wheel, falling to the floor to brace himself as she leaned against him, pushing her quim into his hand.

“The bowl,” she said with a gasp.

“Fuck the bowl.” Taking his free hand, Harrison gripped her thigh, lifting it over his, opening her wider while his other hand rubbed at her cunny, circling the swollen bud as she squirmed against him. Her hands, covered in clay, lifted to his hair and he bit down gently on her shoulder as he fucked her with his hand.

Phoebe screamed as her climax took her, her body shaking against him, and Harrison grit his teeth, the feel of her in his arms as she came nearly making him spill his seed in his pants. Dropping kisses down the length of her neck, Harrison stroked her as she came down to earth, her body jolting with each pass of his hand and he closed his eyes forcing his breaths to even out.

“So much for the bowl,” Phoebe said, her head resting in the curve of his chest.

“I’ll make Mildred another one,” he said, his hands falling to her waist.

“Oh, good.”

Phoebe turned her head toward him, her lips puckered for a kiss. Harrison brushed his lips against her mouth.

“Are you planning to do that now?” she asked as she traced her tongue against the seam of his lips.

Harrison laughed, the sound loud and joyful, filling the conservatory with the echoes of his happiness. “God no,” he said, picking her up in his arms and marching for the door. “I’d much rather pay homage to my queen.”