Edenbrooke Read online

  “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.”

  He smiled ruefully. “I have never needed an insult more than I did that night. Please don’t apologize for it.”

  I watched Philip intently, drawn to his easy smile and the way his eyes softened when he spoke of his father. All I knew about him were the few little crumbs he had cast my way. I was hungry for more.

  “What books did you bring back from your Tour?” I asked.

  “Anything that caught my eye. I wasn’t as selective as my father. He read mostly philosophy and religion. I picked up histories and mythology and poetry.” He gestured to the book I had been looking at earlier. “I found that one in a tiny bookstore in Paris that my father had told me about. The owner knew my father from his numerous trips there. He had a shelf of philosophy books that he pointed me to, and I think he was quite surprised when I bought the poetry instead.”

  I smiled at the picture he had painted. “What else did you do on your Tour?”

  Philip spread his hands. “A year of traveling around Europe is difficult to sum up.”

  “Then don’t sum it up. Tell me everything.” I blushed at how eager and demanding I sounded. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. It’s just . . .” I shook my head and didn’t know if I should even go on.

  But Philip asked, “What is it?” and he looked so curious that I tried to finish my thought.

  “It’s different in Bath. I have only my grandmother and aunt for companions. My grandmother talks only if she has a criticism to make, and my aunt has more hair than wit. We never go out much in society because my grandmother doesn’t like people. So I’ve been rather starved for good conversation.”

  “I imagine it’s more than conversation you’ve been missing. Haven’t you also been starved for friendship?” He said it with a soft look around his eyes, and my pride flared suddenly.

  “I didn’t say that to make you feel sorry for me. And I don’t want friendship if it’s based on pity.” My voice sounded sharper than I had intended.

  Philip studied me for a minute. I held his gaze with defiance.

  “I understand that better than you may believe,” he finally said. His words effectively disarmed me.

  “Do you?” I asked, surprised.

  He looked pensively out the window. “You don’t want to be loved for your misfortune; I don’t want to be loved for my possessions. Are we not similar in that way?”

  When he turned his gaze to me, his expression reminded me of how he had looked when showing me the portrait of his elder brother, Charles. The look of loss in his eyes tugged at my heart, daring me to ask a question.

  “Did somebody love you for your possessions?”

  Philip should have looked offended by my personal question, but instead he smiled a little and asked, “Did somebody love you for your misfortunes?”

  “No.”

  “But you’re afraid someone might.”

  I nodded, thinking of how I hated imposing on others simply because I depended on them.

  “Then we’re similar in that way too.” His gaze held mine and understanding passed between us in a look.

  “Well, then,” I said. I watched Philip’s lips curl into a smile at the same time that mine did.

  He leaned toward me and said in a low voice, “I promise not to love you for your misfortunes.”

  I blushed at the idea of saying the words “promise” and “love you” in the same sentence . . . to Philip. But I had to return the vow. Anything else would be rude.

  “And I promise not to love you for your possessions.”

  There. I had said it. I felt daring and bold. Maybe that was why I had the strange urge to grin. My cheeks ached with the effort of forcing my mouth into a moderate smile. I picked up the book as a distraction.

  “I would still like to hear more about your Tour. Unless I’m keeping you from something?”

  “I am wholly at your disposal, Marianne, but I wouldn’t want to bore you with stories of my travels.”

  “Bore me?” I stared at him. “Philip. I have never been outside of England. I’ve never even been to London. Do you know what I would give for your experiences? How could you possibly think you would bore me?”

  He didn’t answer, but there was such a look of delight in his eyes that I had to ask, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You called me Philip. For the first time.”

  I blushed. It was true; I had called him by his Christian name. But surely it wasn’t my fault. He was the one who insisted on calling me Marianne and told me to stop calling him sir.

  “It’s only because your horrible manners are rubbing off on me,” I muttered.

  He laughed. “I am glad to hear it.”

  I didn’t know how to answer, but thankfully I didn’t have to because Philip asked, “Where shall I begin?”

  “Paris.”

  Philip told me more about the little bookstore where he had found the book of poetry, then about the palace at Versailles and the balls and assemblies he had attended. He told me about the Notre Dame Cathedral, and then he walked to the bookshelf, looking around vaguely for a minute.

  I went to the spot where I had been browsing before and pulled out the book on gothic architecture. “Was this what you were looking for?”

  He flashed a smile at me as he took the book and set it on the table in front of us. He pointed out the various features he had seen on the Cathedral, turning pages rapidly, his voice growing rich with interest.

  From Paris, he moved to Italy—Venice and Rome and Florence. He stood again and this time searched for a few minutes before coming back with a book of sketches. He handed it to me and let me look through them at my leisure, pointing t
o statues he had seen, talking about the artists and the preservation of the work. He told me about Italian operas, and the time he had stayed in a villa on the coast where the water was so clear that he could see to the bottom of the ocean.

  After Italy came Austria and Switzerland—the Alps, the songs, the beautiful countryside. And more books. He brought me a book on Bavaria and a book of traditional Austrian folksongs. I asked him to sing one for me. His voice was low and rich and easy to listen to, not forced or unnatural. It was a very pleasant sound.

  As Philip talked, his eyes lit up. He gestured with his hands as he spoke, and when he smiled, his whole face was bright and captivating. After a while I didn’t have to ask questions. He just talked, and I could sit there with my chin on my hand, feasting on stories and images and ideas foreign to my own. Philip opened up worlds to me with his words. I had no sense of time, and the overcast sky hid the passage of the sun from view, entrapping us in one endless, enchanted moment.

  I only noticed the outside world when Philip paused at the end of a story and I heard voices outside the library. They pierced the bubble I had been suspended in, and I felt the world and time rush back at me. I did not want it to come back. I wanted to pull myself back into the hours that had just passed. I wanted to shut the door and let the rain go on and keep myself right here for forever. But Philip paused, and his silence marked the end of our time together.

  “I love this room,” I said with a sigh, reluctant to leave.

  “You’re welcome here any time.”

  “This is your sanctuary.” I knew as soon as I had seen Philip in here that this was his orchard. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  “Not even if I asked you to?” he asked with a smile.

  “Oh. Well . . .” I didn’t know how to respond. I blushed at my own awkwardness. “You’re too kind.”