Edenbrooke (11 page)

I picked at a thread on my skirt. The maid was still dusting books in the far corner of the room; she would probably be at it all day and for many more days to come, considering the number of books on the shelves. She was too far away to hear us clearly, but that was not what made me hesitate to confide in Philip. Trust did not come easily to me, and I was not sure I was ready to confide in this man who was unlike anyone I had ever known before.

I had worked so hard these past fourteen months to build up layers around my heart, to shield myself from the wounds it bore, that I wasn’t sure I knew how to open it anymore. I didn’t know if I even wanted to open it. The very thought frightened me, and I had to seriously consider whether this was worth the risk of making myself vulnerable.

Philip waited patiently for my answer, as if he would give me all the time I needed. He could be a friend to me until Cecily arrived. I enjoyed his company, and, I admitted to myself, I needed a friend. Perhaps a friend would be worth the risk.

Taking a deep breath, I finally said, “I missed everything. My family, of course, but also my home, my land, my neighbors and friends. Everything.” I gestured out the window. “I was thinking about how I even missed our orchard. I used to go there a lot, to paint, or to read, or just to be by myself.”

“Why the orchard?” Philip asked. It was another question that required a personal and honest answer. He seemed intent on uncovering as much of my heart as he could.

“I haven’t exactly thought about it before now—at least, not enough to put words to it.” I studied the orchard. The sky was gray, and the colors of the trees were muted. Under the vastness of the sky, the group of small trees was like an embrace, a protective space.

“There’s something solid and constant about trees.” I said quietly. “They may change through the seasons, but they’re always there. They’re dependable. And the orchard is not so vast as the woods. It’s just big enough to hold me when I . . .” I stopped, unsure of how to complete the thought.

“When you what?”

“When I need to be held, I suppose.” I laughed self-consciously, embarrassed a little by what I had admitted. “That sounds odd. But sometimes I want to be away from other people, and I feel safe there.” I looked quickly at him, anxious for his reaction. For once, there was no hint of teasing in his expression as he studied me.

“It’s your sanctuary,” he said simply. “That doesn’t sound odd at all.”

I hadn’t realized I was tense until I felt my shoulders relax in relief. I nodded. It was a rare thing to be understood so quickly—and not merely understood, but accepted. I sensed that in his response. It made me want to tell him more.

“Our orchard at home is not as big as the one here at Edenbrooke,” I continued. “But the trees are just as thick and old. I used to hide there when I was in trouble as a child. I would climb right up, as high as I could, and my governess would stand below and yell at me to come down.”

Philip looked amused. “And did you?”

“Come down? Not as long as she was standing there. One day she brought a chair from the house and sat down in it with a book as if she would spend all day there waiting for me if she had to. I was too stubborn to give in—”

Philip raised an eyebrow.

I laughed. “Yes, it’s one of my faults of which I have never been cured. Well, I refused to come down, and she refused to leave, so I sat up in that tree for most of the day. I finally had to come down because I had eaten so many apples that I had a horrible stomachache and couldn’t hold myself up any longer.

“My governess thought she had won our little contest of wills, and had a terribly smug look on her face as she marched me into the house. But my mother took one look at me doubled over in pain and gave her such a severe scolding that she packed her bags and left the next day. I felt terrible about that, and apologized to my mother for my stubbornness. Of course, I still received a scolding for my actions, but only once we were alone. That was one thing I always liked about my mother. She never scolded me when other people were there to witness my shame.”

“You’re like her in that way. I can understand why you would appreciate that quality so much.”

I was puzzled for a moment.

“You rescued me last night from a scolding as well, remember?”

“Oh, that was nothing,” I said.

He shook his head. “Not to me.”

I looked away from the sincerity in his eyes, not knowing what to say in response.

“I’m sorry I never met your mother,” he said. “What was she like?”

I wished for my locket, so that I might show him her picture, so he would not think I exaggerated. But words would have to suffice. “She was exquisitely beautiful, with striking blue eyes and skin like porcelain. Her hair was so light it was almost white. When I was a little girl, and she came into my room at night to tuck me in, I thought her hair looked just like moonlight.” I paused, remembering her beauty. “My sister Cecily looks very much like her. I . . . do not.” I smiled in a gesture for pardon. “I’m afraid I’m quite plain in comparison.”

Philip shook his head. “I think you are taking modesty too far. I couldn’t disagree with you more.”

I immediately regretted that I had brought up the subject of beauty with Philip, who had already proven himself to be an incorrigible flirt. He was undoubtedly only saying what he thought I wanted to hear.

“I am not too modest,” I said, hot with embarrassment. “And I didn’t say that in the hope that you would contradict me. I simply stated a fact in response to your question.”

Philip’s lips twitched. “Forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t realize a compliment would offend you so. I will try not to do it again.”

I struggled to press my own lips into a firm line. The amusement in Philip’s eyes was too infectious to resist, though, and I laughed reluctantly. “I’m sorry I reacted that way.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, stretching his arms and folding them behind his head. “It is so refreshing to be treated with contempt.”

I laughed again. “It is not.”

“Yes, it is,” he insisted. “I can’t tell you how much I enjoy it.” He grinned as if he really did enjoy it.

“Now you’re being absurd.”

“Actually, I am quite serious. But knowing your stubborn streak . . .” I cast him a dark look and he chuckled. “I’ll let it drop for now. Tell me—besides your beauty, what else have you inherited from your mother?”

I chose to ignore the first part. “She taught me how to paint. She was a talented artist, much more talented than I am. And she loved to ride. She took me riding nearly every day, early in the morning, and she was such a bounding rider that she would take any jump fearlessly, no matter how high it looked—” I flinched at the words I had spoken, surprised that they had escaped me.

“Is that how she died?” Philip asked, his tone respectful.

I looked out the window. I nodded, keeping my gaze on the orchard, imagining I was safely encircled there right now.

“Were you with her?”

I cleared my throat to speak past the lump that was suddenly there. “No. I didn’t ride with her that morning. My father found her. I am sure you can imagine the rest easily enough.”

After a long pause, Philip said, “Actually, I cannot.”

I looked at him in surprise.

He studied me for a moment, as if choosing his words. “I cannot imagine why your father would take everything from you right after you lost your mother—your home, your family, your friends, his protection and care.”

Philip’s words pierced me so sharply, so suddenly, that I felt almost breathless from the pain. He had found so easily what I had been hiding at the very core of my heart. This was why I did not open my heart. This was why I kept it bandaged so tightly. It had been foolish of me to think I could safely unbind it.

My eyes pricked with sudden tears. I stood and walked to the window, keeping my back to Philip. The sky was turning dark gray, clouds rolling together. It would rain soon. I pressed my hand against the glass. It felt cool and soothed the aching wounds on my palm. I wished I could as easily find a balm for the ache in my heart.

I saw Philip’s reflection in the window as he came to stand behind me. I felt his warmth at my back, and I was hot and cold in the same moment. Part of me wanted to lean into the cool glass of the window, away from him, and the rest of me wanted to lean against him, into his warmth.

Chapter 10

“I’m sorry,” Philip said in a hushed voice as he stood behind me.

I didn’t know if he felt sorry for what had happened or for asking me about it, but it didn’t matter. My defenses were already up. It had been a mistake to make myself vulnerable. Now I wanted to run from this room and go somewhere far away from this man who made me say things I didn’t want to say and feel things I didn’t want to feel. I stepped aside so I was no longer trapped between him and the window and turned around.

“Are you ready to play chess?” I asked in a brisk voice. “Or should we save it for another day?” I did not meet his gaze, and I was already turned toward the door. My emotions were too close to the surface, and I needed to be alone to put them back in their proper places. I was ready to run away.

But then Philip touched my arm. “Wait,” he said.

I turned back to him reluctantly.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Actually, yes, I am.” I hadn’t even realized it.

“Will you excuse me for a few minutes? Please, make yourself comfortable.”

I watched him walk away with mixed emotions. I was still balanced between hot and cold. I had not decided which way I would fall—away from Philip or toward him. But now that he had left, I did not feel the desire to run away, and so I stayed and waited for his return.

Choosing a book of poetry from the bookshelf, I sat in a chair by the window and tried to shake off my unsettled mood. I lost myself in the poetry, and when the door opened again, I was surprised to see by the clock on the mantel that half an hour had passed.

Philip brought in a tray loaded with food, which he set on the small table between our chairs.

“I hope you appreciate what I went through,” he said. “You should have heard the scolding I received from the cook for raiding her pantry. I was terrified.”

I laughed, relieved that he had returned in a less serious mood. “You were not.”

“I was,” he said with a grin. “There’s something about servants who have watched you grow up—they never hesitate to treat you like a child, no matter how old you are.” He picked up a plate. “What would you like?”

“Oh, I can do that.” I set down the book and reached for the plate, but he held it back.

“Nonsense. Allow me to serve you. A little of everything?” His eyes twinkled as he smiled at me, and I was surprised by both his gesture and his look.

“Yes, thank you,” I said, watching him as he filled the plate with fresh fruits, bread, cold ham, and cheese. I took the food from him with a teasing smile. “You’re not going to insist on feeding me as well, I trust.”

“I would if I thought you would let me,” he murmured.

My face grew hot at the look he cast me from under his lashes.

“Ah, there it is,” he said. “I’ve missed your blush this past half hour.”

I glared at him. “I think you do that on purpose.”

He chuckled. “What?”

“Make me blush.”

“It’s the easiest work I’ve ever done,” he said shamelessly. “And the most enjoyable.”

I sat there feeling hot and irritated while he poured lemonade into a glass and held it out toward me.

“Thank you,” I muttered, reaching for it.

Philip held onto the glass after I had wrapped my hand around it, and I looked up. I was surprised to see his expression completely serious.

“Don’t think because I like to tease you that I don’t take you seriously,” he said in a quiet voice. “It is an honor to know what’s in your heart, Marianne.”

I was so taken aback that I would have dropped the glass if he hadn’t still been holding on to it. He set it down on the table and began to dish food onto his plate without looking at me. Would he ever do something predictable? I doubted it. I felt off-balance, yet at the same time flattered for a reason I couldn’t name. I was at a loss as to what to say or do.

I stared at my plate until Philip said, “It’s food, Marianne. You’re supposed to eat it.”

My eyes flew to his face. The amusement I saw there was irresistible. I laughed and started to eat, feeling comfortable once again—extremely comfortable, in fact. I curled my legs beneath me and looked out the window, content to eat in silence and watch the steady fall of rain. It surrounded the room with a hushing sound and blocked out the rest of the world, hiding the land and orchard from view.

“What a wonderful room,” I said. “How long did it take to build up this collection?”

“Only a few generations, actually. My grandfather had a passion for books. Probably half of what you see came from him. My father added to it every time he traveled to the Continent. He was always on the lookout for unique books. When he came home, he would invite me in here to look at the new titles. It felt almost as if I had been on his travels with him.”

I caught a little nostalgic smile in Philip’s eyes.

“And then, when I was on Tour, I found myself drawn to little bookstores everywhere I went. I came home a year later with dozens of boxes of books. We arrived just in time, the books and I.” His voice grew quiet. “I was able to show them to my father before he died. It was like one last travel for him.”

I was intrigued by the reverence in Philip’s voice. “What was your father like?”

Philip leaned back in his chair. “He was generous and quick to forgive. He was a man of principle, of high moral character. He was respected by all who knew him.” He glanced at me. “He was a gentleman, in every sense of the word.”

“And you want to be just like him.” I could see it in his countenance.

“Of course,” he said.

I suddenly realized that my insult when I met him at the inn must have been especially cutting. “I didn’t know—when I said what I did at the inn—I didn’t know what it would mean to you. I must have offended you deeply. I am sorry.”