When they reentered the house, Felicity’s cheer was quite restored. But her nose felt nearly frostbitten and her fingers numb. She looked down at the hem of her dress and sighed. “I am soaked through and half frozen.”
In the midst of taking off his gloves, Tad started. “That will not do.” He glanced at the footman who had taken her cloak. “See to it that tea and a warm blanket are brought to my study at once, for Lady Felicity.”
“Yes, Mr. Harcourt.” The servant bowed, then scurried off to do Tad’s bidding.
She shivered and put her arms around herself. “I have no wish to disturb you. I can warm up in my room.”
“The study is exceptionally warm.” His dark eyes studied her features in such concern that her heart thrummed happily beneath the inspection. “And as I am to blame for keeping you out in the cold so long, I must be the one to put things to rights.” His smile, though small, held a hint of teasing she found rather sweet.
“Very well. If you insist.”
“I do. What sort of husband would I be if I didn’t look after my wife?” He held out his arm as he had in the garden, and she took it with a smile. How long before such a thing was a habit between them? “We cannot have you catching a chill.”
She let him lead her up the stairs and down the corridor to his study, a room that she had loved the first time she’d seen it the day before. The walls were dark green, reminding her of the depths of a fairy tale forest, with bookshelves on either side of a large hearth. His desk was positioned so he could both see anyone who entered the room and turn easily to look out the window. Which was how he had spotted her in the garden.
He led her to the small couch, sized to comfortably fit two, in front of the fire. As she settled on the cushion, he stoked the flames and added coal to the blaze. “There. We will have you warmed through in no time.”
“Thank you. You must be cold too.” She stretched her feet toward the fire, and his gaze landed on her half-boots and damp hem.
“You are my first concern, my dear.”
The affectionate term had surprised her when he used it outside, and when her husband dropped to his knees on the rug in front of her, Felicity couldn’t stop a small gasp.
“Let me help you with these. You’ll warm faster without damp boots.” He glanced up, already holding the heel of her boot in one large hand. His eyes went wide. “If that is all right with you. That is, if you do not mind—”
“If you do not mind playing lady’s maid,” she said quickly, not hiding her amusement. “I will gladly accept your assistance.”
Twin red spots appeared on his cheeks, and when he lowered his head to concentrate on her bootlaces, she saw the tips of his ears had turned red as well. She never felt his touch on her stockinged foot or ankle, for it was quite gingerly and only on her boots. Then he pivoted where he knelt and stood them up by the fire.
“You ought to remove your own,” she pointed out.
“Yes. Of course.” He sat on the edge of the sofa next to her, crossing his leg and deftly removing his own footwear. He placed his boots next to hers, then knelt to tend to the fire. They were taller and larger, and the contrast of the narrow heels of her boots next to the thick soles of his made her smile.
“I’ve never really looked at men’s boots before,” she admitted when he caught her staring. She shrugged helplessly at his furrowed brow. “The dowager house where my grandmother raised me didn’t see many gentleman visitors.”
“What of that fellow from the wedding?” her husband asked from where he crouched near the hearth. “Lord Something-or-Other.”
It took her a moment to remember, and then she had to grin. “Lord William Thursby. His grandmother was a close friend to my own. They were both presented at court the same year, sharing nearly a lifetime of friendship together. I met him a handful of times when our grandmothers would visit with one another.”
The first time they met, her grandmother had ventured to visit her old friend at the Thursby home and invited Felicity along. When she met Lord William she immediately discovered him to be an incurable flirt. She knew at once he meant nothing by his words and sly smiles, and she’d chosen amusement rather than annoyance when in his presence every time their grandmothers came together. The last time she saw him, the time before the wedding, the circumstances were quite changed.
“His grandmother passed two years ago,” she remembered aloud. “He came to tell my grandmother in person.” She looked down at her hands, reflecting on that day with a shake of her head.
Her grandmother had been heartbroken at the news. Lord William had stayed on for dinner to share memories of his grandmother, then left. He’d sent Felicity his condolences when he learned of her grandmother’s passing. A brief, impersonal note. They hadn’t been friends, exactly. But they had both loved the elderly women who raised them.
“I certainly didn’t expect to see him at our wedding. I’m hardly acquainted with him.”
“Was he not among your suitors?”
Felicity shook her head. “No. But then, I don’t suppose I had very many suitors.”
“I find that difficult to believe.” Though his eyes had widened somewhat, his gentle smile made her wonder if he was only feigning surprise.
“I wasn’t exactly well-connected, growing up the orphaned granddaughter of a widowed countess. We lived in a dower house not more than two miles from London. Yet I didn’t have a large enough dowry to tempt anyone to come near.” She gave a helpless shrug. “I was quite content not to wed young, and later it felt like I would be abandoning my grandmother, which wouldn’t be fair considering all she did to raise me. Marriage was an afterthought, until she grew ill, and then it was simply too late.”
Too late to be presented. Too late to court. With an ill grandmother her only family, there was no one to find her a match or chaperone her to events where men could gawk at her and estimate if her dowry made her worth the trouble of courtship and marriage, with a grandmother in tow.
“I can understand contentment and the fear of leaving your grandmother behind. It sounds to me as though the gentlemen who were aware of you were foolish, selfish creatures. Anyone who met you would know you at once for the treasure you are.”
Her cheeks heated. “Tad. What a thing to say.”
“I stand by it. And I am suddenly quite grateful London bachelors are fools,” he said in an offhand sort of way. “Had you many men calling on you, I doubt I would now hold the place of husband.”
Her lips parted in surprise, but she didn’t have the chance to respond to such a bold statement.
A soft knock on the door preceded the arrival of their tea, along with cake thoughtfully provided by the cook. Clara followed behind the footman who carried the tea tray, her own hands full of a blanket and Felicity’s house slippers.
The maid’s eyebrows rose as she came around the furniture to find Felicity already without boots. She slipped the satin, wool-lined shoes onto her mistress’s feet, tucked the blanket around her, then withdrew with a rather smug tilt to her lips.
Felicity started to rise to prepare the tea, but her husband already undertook the duty. She settled back into the comfortable corner of the couch.
“Lemon or honey?” he asked, eyebrows drawn together as he poured from the pot into two cups.
“Honey, please.”
“Milk?”
“No, thank you.”
No man had ever prepared a cup of tea for her before. Nor brought it to her with such an expression of concentration on his face as Tad did. He returned a moment later with a slice of cake on a plate, then saw to himself before settling on the furniture beside her again. He glanced up at her, and one corner of his mouth hitched upward.
“Perhaps your maid would have seen to your needs better than I have.”
She shook her head and sipped at her tea, closing her eyes to savor the sweet taste of honey and something more. Ginger, given the added warmth of the spice. They said nothing while they sipped at the tea and nibbled at the cake, and the room grew warmer.
Tad sat quite stiffly beside her, and when she studied him she caught sight of the damp wool on the back of his coat. Snow must’ve fallen between his thick, outer coat and the one he wore now.
“I worry that you will be the one to catch a chill,” she said, and his cup stilled midway between plate and his lips. She pointed to the edge of his coat. “That wool is quite damp, Tad. You should remove your coat.”
His ears pinked again. “You would not mind?”
“It is only the two of us here, and we are man and wife. I will not be offended if you go about our home, indeed in your own study, in your shirtsleeves and waistcoat.” It was only practical, really.
He put his tea and plate down on the table beside the sofa, then stood and tugged his coat off with his back to her. When it slid off his shoulders, she raised her eyebrows with interest. He was as broad-shouldered in the single layer of linen shirt as he’d been with the coat, though she realized his waist was more tapered than she had thought.
Her husband cut a fine figure. Her cheeks warmed as he settled again beside her, silently taking up his tea. Neither of them spoke as they finished their refreshment, and even after she had passed him her empty cup and dish, she said nothing. Instead, she pulled the blanket up to her chin and sank back into the soft velvet cushion of the sofa.
Tad shifted, looking from her to the fire, then he rose abruptly and went to the shelves. He selected a book and smiled at her as he returned. “Our friend Donne is still in the drawing room. But I found this among the books here. It seems Mr. Deerwood enjoyed poetry.” He held the slim volume out to her.
Poems, in Two Volumes, by William Wordsworth. She accepted the book.
“Did he leave behind his library with the estate?” she asked with interest, turning the pages of Volume I. “I doubt I could ever part with a favorite book. I packed a crate full of my favorites, you know, though they have not yet arrived.”
“I didn’t know.” He sat beside her, his arm along the back of the furniture as he leaned close to turn the page of the book in her hand. “And yes, Mr. Deerwood left much in the house. Furnishings, artwork. That was part of the reason I chose this estate above the other options. Though you are welcome to change anything you like, I thought the prospect of filling an empty home might be too daunting a task in the beginning. For both of us.”
Even though they hadn’t met until the day before the wedding, he’d thought of her. Considered her place in his life, in his home, in such a way as to plan for her coming. That reminder brought a warmth to her heart, and a quiet, soft longing. She leaned a little more against the arm he’d draped along the back of the sofa, lowering her eyes to the first page.
She read the title of the poem aloud. “To the Daisy.”
Tad listened as Felicity spoke the words of the poem with a gentle cadence, and her voice floated through the air as she read aloud. The delicate lilt of her words stirred something within him, a warmth that reached beyond the mere heat of the fire. He found himself drawn to the curve of her lips as she pronounced each word, and the dainty way her fingers held the pages.
In the days that had led up to their marriage, he'd been lost in a whirl of confusion, anticipation, and a curious kind of longing. Now, as he sat beside her, the soft curve of her body an arm's length away, the reality of their union settled within him.
She was his wife. His partner. Someone he had vowed to protect and cherish. Yet, they were still strangers, their lives and emotions tangled together in a way neither had quite prepared for. Her nearness was both exhilarating and terrifying, filled with a promise he didn't yet know how to fulfill.
As she continued to read, her voice filled with an eagerness for the words, he found his eyes wandering over her face. The late morning light from the window bathed her features in its glow, highlighting the graceful line of her neck, the slope of her shoulder, and the golden curl that had escaped the most intricate twists of her hair.
He couldn't help but marvel at her loveliness. The grace and intelligence that lay behind her sparkling eyes. Her curiosity, her kindness, her way of looking at the world; all of it drew him in, making him ache with a desire to know her more deeply.
And yet, the intensity of those feelings held him back. He was her husband, yes, but he was also a gentleman, bound by the codes of conduct that defined his new world. A world he didn’t yet understand, or truly belong to. He wanted to be close to her, to cross the boundary that propriety and unfamiliarity had placed between them. Yet he feared to overstep, to presume too much too soon.
As she reached the end of the poem, her eyes met his, and something unspoken passed between them. A connection, tentative and fragile, that sent a thrill down his spine.
"That was beautiful," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "I've never heard Wordsworth read with such feeling.”
She blushed, looking down at the book in her lap. “I've always loved poetry,” she said, her voice soft. "It makes you consider the commonplace more deeply, wholeheartedly.”
“Yes,” he agreed, feeling the truth of her words resonate within him. “It certainly does.”
He wanted to reach out, to touch her hand, to let her know without words how deeply he was affected by her presence. But what if he frightened her with the intensity of his feelings?
A woman unfamiliar with men couldn’t possibly understand what he felt. What if his desires caused her disgust? How were gentlemen supposed to show their noble-born wives how they felt?
Instead, he turned to look at the fire, his mind a turmoil of conflicting thoughts. He’d taken the first tentative steps on a journey that would challenge him in ways he had never anticipated.
Their relationship was still new, a bloom waiting to unfold. But as he glanced at her once more, her eyes still fixed on the pages of the book, he knew with a deep, unshakeable certainty that he was ready to discover all that lay ahead.
How would he find out if she was ready too?
She idly turned a few pages in the book, smiling to herself, then raised her gaze to his with a gleam of amusement in her eyes. But that amusement faded when her hazel eyes met his, and he saw the copper flecks amid the brown and green of her iris. Like new pennies, waiting for him to gather them up. To count each one. To treasure them.
He bent closer to her. They were so near. Time slowed as he studied her and let her study him, the moment drawn-out until his heart felt near to breaking. Her breath mingled with his, warm and scented with spice and cake. Tad leaned in, focused on the bow of her pink lips. Wondering if they would feel petal-soft against his. He had every intention of finding out, right that moment.
He’d never kissed a woman before. He’d been too busy, working too hard, to give much thought to the daughters of other merchants. And now he had a wife, a woman of noble birth. A lady.
What if she didn’t wish to be kissed? What if she thought she had no choice in the matter?
Her lips parted. Her lashes lowered. And she leaned forward. Coming toward him, rather than remaining stiff or pulling back.
She wanted his kiss.
And she would have it—
A knock on the door halted everything. Startled Tad to such a degree that he jerked backward on the sofa, then off the furniture entirely as he jumped to his feet.
“Come,” he said, the single word hoarse and jagged with his emotions.
Felicity, bless her, said nothing. And he didn’t look to see her expression.
He didn’t want to know if she was relieved at the interruption.
The door opened and a footman entered. “A visitor, sir. Mr. Greer. He is the neighbor to the east of Winterway House.”
Tad stared at the servant incredulously, then looked down at his wife to find her pretending to read and biting her lip.
“Am I at home to visitors?” he asked, his voice catching on the words.
Felicity looked up from the book, her eyes gleaming with humor. She gave him a helpless shrug when he frowned at her. She found the interruption amusing, it would seem.
“He is our neighbor,” she said, raising her eyebrows, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “And I cannot go about meeting all the ladies until their husbands and fathers have introduced themselves to you. Besides, Tad,” she added, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “we will have plenty of time to continue our conversation later.” She reached out, brushing his hand briefly with her own, a promise in her touch.
He felt the warmth of her fingers even after she withdrew, the lingering sensation both a comfort and a torment. Dash the gentry and their strange rules. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, knowing that she was right, but still caught in the web of his longing.
“Show him to the sitting room on the ground floor. The blue one.”
“Very good, sir.” The footman bowed and left, as properly as he’d entered, and likely with no idea how close Tad had come to throttling him for the interruption.
Felicity picked up the book of poems with an innocent smile. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “You had best put your coat and boots back on, Tad.”
“I suppose so.” He picked up his coat with reluctance, pulling it on and adjusting his cravat. Then he scooped up his boots. Rather than sit beside her to put them on again, he bent closer. “I will find you later, then.”
“I’m certain I will be about somewhere.” The darling woman didn’t look up from the book in her hands.
Indecision made him waver there. He wanted to take the book from her, toss it to the side, pull her into his arms, and finish what they’d nearly started. And the strength of those feelings frightened him.
Surely, a gentleman ought never handle a lady in such a way.
He sighed. Then kissed her forehead, the token no more than a brief press of his lips to her smooth, sweet skin. It was the most he would allow himself, and even then he worried he’d gone too far. He backed away, not looking to see how she received the affectionate gift. He went to the door and spoke once more, over his shoulder. “Stay here as long as you like. And please keep warm today.”
Then he shut the door between them, his hand gripping the handle, feeling the cold brass and the weight of his own frustration. He bit back a groan, caught as it was between a sigh and a sound of longing.
They were man and wife, bound together by law, by circumstance, and by a growing connection that promised so much more. Yet, he was trapped by his own uncertainties, his own fears of overstepping. How could he be both a gentleman and a husband? How could he navigate the delicate dance of their newfound intimacy without faltering? He still felt like such a fool, a man caught between worlds, yearning for connection but terrified of the unknown.