Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

June, 1822

T he small black bundle of fur in his wife’s arms was the first surprise Harrison received that evening. The second was when the fluff ball joined them for dinner.

“You’ve brought a cat to dinner?” he asked, stirring his soup.

Lady Phoebe looked up at him. “She is far too small to be left in the garden yet, and I will not force her to the mews.” She looked at the creature curled up on the chair beside her. “I tried to leave her in my room but she was crying horribly. I don’t think the poor dear has ever been alone.”

“She?” he asked, eyeing the black blob. “You’re quite sure?”

Lady Phoebe nodded as she slurped her soup. “Mr. Drake inspected her nether regions when I brought her home. I’ve decided to call her Mildred.”

Harrison’s cheeks heated at how matter-of-factly Lady Phoebe uttered the words regarding the cat’s genitalia.

Mildred chose that moment to stand and stretch, then hop onto the dining table to inspect Lady Phoebe’s bowl.

“Lovely name,” Harrison said, his eyes following the kitten who examined the salt shaker.

Lady Phoebe picked the cat up and placed it in her lap, stroking the arrow shaped fur on her head before the thing disappeared beneath the table on her lap. “Poor thing is barely the size of the rat I just so happened to see this morning. She’ll need a bit of time to grow before I allow her to roam the gardens.”

“She no doubt would be rat food at the size she is now,” Harrison said, smiling at Lady Phoebe. “She seems rather content with you.”

She nodded, her brow furrowing. “Yes. I’m worried we took her from her mother too soon and so she has turned to me for comfort. Hardly the proper beginning for a trained rat killer.”

A bark of laughter escaped his lips. “Is there a manual in the proper way to raise a rat killer?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But I’m sure a cold demeanor and stealth personality are required to do the job, and I’m not sure coddling the poor thing will result in a cat who enjoys hunting.” She firmed her mouth and looked at him. “I plan to start her training in the morning.”

Nodding as he forced his lips to pinch and hide the smile that threatened, he looked at his wife. “And how will that go?”

“I’ve attached a feather tied to a string onto the end of a long stick to train her to pounce and stalk, and Mr. Drake mentioned making some stuffed rats to hide around my room for her to track and practice her killing blow.”

“Killing blow?” he asked, lips shaking.

“Mm,” she said, using the larger spoon to scoop soup into her mouth with one hand while the other continued to stroke the cat in her lap. “I figure a month of consistent practice will make her a stealthy ratter in no time.”

The smile won, pulling his lips into a full grin as he looked at his wife, so certain she would not only train the kitten to be a ratter, but do so without gaining any emotional attachment to it. “I think it sounds like a wonderful plan.”

She looked at him and frowned. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m always smiling,” he said.

“You think this is funny?” There was a touch of confusion and hurt in her voice.

“I think you are going to be wrapped around dear Mildred’s fluffy paw in no time,” he said, putting down his spoon. “And while I have no doubt she will make a fantastic ratter after your training, I’m also certain that you’ve just gained a companion who is as much in love with you as you are with her.”

“What nonsense,” Lady Phoebe said, stopping her stroking to glare at the cat. “I am detached.”

“If you say so,” he said standing. “If you’re finished, we can have dessert in the library while we play our game.”

Lady Phoebe nodded, picking up Mildred and placing her on the ground before taking Harrison’s proffered hand and standing to meet him. The pair walked to the library, the soft click clack of kitten nails on the marble floor making his smile grow as Mildred followed them into the room.

Inside the library, Lady Phoebe took her usual blue chair, Mildred waiting for her to settle before climbing the fabric of her gown to get to her mistress. The black hairball circled three times, then settled into the folds of her dress, long paws extended as her murder mittens retracted, showing the fine points that served as her claws. Lady Phoebe hardly noticed, her hand falling to softly stroke the white arrow on her head.

Removing their respective decks from behind the glass, Harrison handed Lady Phoebe her stack of cards, then removed his jacket and settled into his chair across from her.

“I wonder what Mrs. Beatley has planned for dessert,” Lady Phoebe said, settling back against the chair.

“I believe it is a chocolate cake,” Harrison said, knowing fully well that was exactly what it was. His wife had a penchant for chocolate in all forms, and when he had learned that Mrs. Beatley planned a blueberry pie garnished with fresh blueberries on top, he had intercepted that potential disaster. A simple word to the housekeeper, about not only the dire blueberry decision, but of the mistress’s favorite treat, was the least he could do to help Lady Phoebe settle into her new home more comfortably.

Averndale’s words had struck a chord, wiggling into his brain, forcing him to realize just how awkward the situation would be from her end, and with that knowledge in hand, he had begun inspecting their usual interactions with a more careful eye. His wife found comfort in her bees, comfort in the routine she had created and followed every day. The least he could do was ensure that not only was she content, but that any obstacles she may encounter that would disrupt her comfort be avoided.

“It sounds wonderful,” Lady Phoebe said, wiggling her bottom into the couch, the motion shaking Mildred from her sleep. Her discontented meow brought her mistress’s attention to her, and Lady Phoebe cooed at the thing, apologizing for her movement. When Mildred had settled, Lady Phoebe looked at him. “Ready to spill your secrets?”

Harrison laughed. “If I remember correctly, my lady, you have shared the most secrets between the two of us.”

She scrunched her brow. “That will end tonight.”

A soft knock at the library door had them turning their heads as a maid entered with a cart, chocolate cake and tea service filling the room with sweet potency, and Lady Phoebe turned to him, one corner of her mouth lifted. “Saved just in time from sure defeat.”

The maid set the cake and tea service down on a separate table. “Will there be anything else, my lord?”

“No,” Harrison said, setting his cards aside to serve the cake.

“That’s my job,” Lady Phoebe protested from her chair.

Harrison shook his head. “I do believe you are trapped at the moment, my lady, but never fear, I am adept at tea and cake service.”

She merely shook her head at his nonsense before turning back to the kitten who held her pinned to the chair. “It would be rather hard to move her.”

“She would never forgive you,” he tsked. “So discourteous.”

Lady Phoebe actually rolled her eyes at him. “Your humor is in high form tonight, my lord.”

“Something about seeing you coddle a kitten has tickled my funny bone.”

“Why?” she asked, taking the plate containing her piece of cake from him.

“Because much like your bees, I assumed you only had a sharp side, always on the defense, hesitant of the world.” Her jaw dropped at his words and he rapidly continued. “However, like your bees, you are also a fuzzy little creature who cares for the helpless and attempts to cause as little harm as you possibly can. It’s a pleasure to see all the different sides of you.”

She pursed her lips, blowing air between them. “What nonsense.”

With a nod, Harrison retook his seat, setting a cup of warm tea before Lady Phoebe before picking up his cards. “If you say so. Now eat your dessert so I can trounce you once more.”

Mouth full of cake, she said nothing in reply, and Harrison smiled.

When their dessert was finished, they picked up their respective piles and began as they always did, highest card flipped first. Harrison drew the higher card, and with a smirk, winked at Lady Phoebe. Her raised brow was the only response as she watched him flip the top card on the deck. The dance of cards took over the game, the rhythm consistent until two threes lay face up on the table.

“Snap,” she said, the words soft as she looked at the sleeping kitten.

Harrison set his cards down, and looked at the kitten as well. “I’ve never had a pet before.”

“That’s your secret?” she asked.

“Yes, but there’s more to it.” He frowned. “I asked my mother for a dog when I was seven. It was lonely, being an only child and going back and forth between being the earl’s heir and not, depending on his state of matrimony, so I thought a dog would ease that.”

“She said no?”

He nodded. “My uncle hated animals, and we waited on baited breath for the eventual day he would send for me and I’d begin my training to become the earl. She knew if I had a dog, I wouldn’t want to leave it, and that she would be forced to deal with my uncle’s dismay.” He smirked. “Instead, I decided to name the pair of horses that we had in our barn Theodore and Calliope and I snuck them apples whenever I could find the time to.”

Lady Phoebe frowned. “So instead of easing her son’s loneliness, she opted to leave you in isolation merely because of your uncle?” When he nodded to confirm her statement, she scowled. “What a ridiculous notion. I’m surprised you didn’t get a dog as soon as you took the title.”

He laughed, the sound harsh even to his own ears. “I didn’t really think of it. In truth, I’ve let the house continue to run just as my uncle did when he was alive. I don’t want to put the staff to all the bother of monumental changes or the addition of an animal.” With a shrug, he dismissed the depth the conversation had taken. “Who knows, maybe I’ll look into it eventually.”

Lady Phoebe’s frown turned into a gentle smile. “This is your home, you should make it how you want it.”

His shoulders tightened at her words but he forced a smile to his lips and waved away her statement. “You start this round,” he said, retaking his card pile.

She took up her cards but the frown returned. The synchronization picked up once more, the slapping of cards on the table filling the space until a pair of aces sat face up. “Snap,” Lady Phoebe said again.

“You’re evening the score,” Harrison said, smiling at her. “Hmm, let’s see.” He racked his mind for something light to take away the heavy feeling that clouded the room from his previous secret, but struggled to find anything. Every secret hidden within his depths held the same weight, the same sadness he had just revealed, and he would give anything to see her happy as she had been before. Grasping at something light, he said, “I think you should have gotten a pair of kittens instead of just our Mildred.”

“Two kittens? Why on earth would I do that?”

“So we could each have a fluff ball to snuggle with while we play our game.”

She smiled at him. “I should have known it would be a self-serving reason.” Lady Phoebe glanced at the clock. “I best take this fluff ball upstairs to bed.”

Harrison nodded, then returned their cards to their case, before escorting Lady Phoebe and Mildred, who now lay cradled in Lady Phoebe’s arms, upstairs. At his door, he gave a small bow to them both. “Goodnight, ladies.”

Lady Phoebe nodded her head. “Goodnight, my lord.”

And yet, it would seem it would not be a good night for Lady Phoebe. Tiny kitten cries echoed from her room for hours after they parted, her soft murmurings doing little to soothe the distressed creature, and when the clock struck midnight, Harrison knew he could not sit idly by and let her suffer alone. Knocking at their combined door, Harrison smiled at the pair of eyes that peeked around the portal. “What seems to be the poor mite’s problem?” he asked.

Lady Phoebe stepped away from the door and opened it. Her blonde hair was unbound, the golden waterfall cascading down her shoulders like spun silk. Her gray eyes were soft and sleepy and, in the candlelight, he could see she was dressed in her nightgown and robe, the latter of which contained multiple wet spots while Mildred sat cradled in her arms like a babe. Shaking his head, Harrison pulled himself from the intimacy of the environment and turned his attention to the kitten.

“Dear heavens, did she relieve herself on you?” Harrison asked.

Lady Phoebe groaned. “No, she’s been nursing on the hem of my nightgown on and off. And if she isn’t nursing on me, she’s pacing the room and crying. I don’t know what to do to help her.”

Harrison followed her into her bedroom, the honeysuckle smell strong and yet the bedroom unchanged from when Meg had once lived there, a conundrum to his senses. He shook his head. Not the moment, not now. Poor Mildred mewed in protest, her nose snuffling Lady Phoebe’s robe like a piglet.

“I’ve fed her, she’s used the dish of sand Mr. Drake provided as her toilet, we even played for half an hour, but as soon as we went to settle down, she became inconsolable.” Lady Phoebe sat in the chair near the fire, cradling Mildred as the small black tuft nursed restlessly on the hem of her nightgown.

“I understand, little one. I felt the same on my first few nights here. This is a big house, and it’s hard to be away from your loved ones. It can be scary,” he said, watching the pair.

“I felt the same way,” Lady Phoebe said, and a tightness filled his chest at her admission.

Her confession struck him like an arrow, the sadness in her words reminding him of the small boy he had once been, dropped in an unknown townhome in London with nothing familiar and no one he knew to be safe. For a moment, he wanted to snatch her up in his arms much like she held Mildred and soothe her. To tell her that everything would be all right and that she was not alone. It was the words he had needed to hear as a child, the comfort Mildred no doubt required now.

“I have an idea,” he said, his mind reminding him how he had found solace when he first arrived.

Returning to his room, Harrison removed a heavy chenille blanket that was draped across his reading chair, the fibers of each side soft and silky under his fingertips, sandwiching sheets of wool to create a heavy wrap. Back inside Lady Phoebe’s room, he made a small nest on the floor with the blanket and carefully set Mildred into it, holding his breath as the kitten rooted around in the fabric before settling in to nurse and knead the billowy tufts. Lady Phoebe tucked her hand beneath her chin and watched Mildred, her damp robe creating spots like a leopard in the firelight. After ten minutes of nursing the blanket, the dear settled, her paws prolonged in front of her, claws extended into the blanket.

Harrison looked at Lady Phoebe, a broad smile on his face, but it faded as he saw that his companion had fallen asleep, her arms curled, creating a pillow for her head, her legs tucked up underneath her. A worried frown took over her features, her forehead furrowing, as if she still solved unseen problems even in her sleep, and Harrison took his thumb and brushed at the smooth skin, soothing the worry from her features.

Mildred released a soft meow, and he turned his attention back to her, smoothing his hand along her fur to soothe her as well. Much like her owner, it seemed Mildred fought battles whether asleep or awake. Keeping his hand on her back, her black fur tickling his hand, Harrison sat on the floor and leaned against Lady Phoebe’s chair. He would only stay for a few more minutes before returning to his room. Just long enough to ensure that Mildred remained asleep and allowed Lady Phoebe some rest. Yet, the fire roared, and the small kitten purred, and Harrison allowed his eyes to close. But it would only be for a minute.

***

While Phoebe slept on the armchair, her body positioned uncomfortably, Harrison dozed on and off, sleep coming and going as Mildred protested her conditions. The early hours of the morning crept by as he changed out blanket after blanket, determined to give the mite some sort of comfort, but one thing remained the same the entire time. Lady Phoebe’s fingertips would find his shoulder, her slim fingers resting on his robe as if to ensure his presence remained even as she slept. Her touch became a talisman throughout the night, a necessity as he comforted the kitten, Lady Phoebe’s small hand curled around the collar of his robe like a child’s favorite blanket.

When the sun finally peeked through the night sky, Harrison’s eyes were scratchy and his body shook with exhaustion, but Mildred had finally succumbed to slumber, her soft purrs filling the room. Resting his head against the seat of the armchair, Harrison sighed. True sleep was not going to be found, but perhaps a solid nap would help him to feel more human.

Standing, Harrison stretched his arms above his head, releasing a groan and his eyes fell to where Lady Phoebe slept, her neck twisted uncomfortably and her legs tucked up beneath her. This would not do. At least one of them should be well rested when the morning fully arrived. Bending down, Harrison picked her up, her lush body easily fitting against his own. She protested the movement in her sleep, her hand sliding up his chest and grabbing hold of his robe once more, settling as she nuzzled her head against his chest. Harrison laughed, the sound surprising in the quiet room. His wife would never know how much like her kitten she was.

Setting her down on the bed, Harrison pulled up the coverlet but even then, she protested the loss of him, her fingers reaching out. Sitting beside her, Harrison watched her sleep. Her hair was fanned out against the pillow, the strands determined to find freedom and her small cupids bow of a mouth was parted as if she were in the midst of explaining one of the beautiful thoughts that went on in her head. It would take very little to place Mildred in the middle of the large bed and then take over the other end himself. Made sense even for him to remain on the chance the kitten awoke once more, but something about the comfort of the night, the familiarity of the action, and the grasp of her hand on his lapel had him standing.

Call it fear. Call him silly. But the coziness he could so easily slip into had just turned into the very thing he could not afford to do.