“I would have shielded you,” Matilda said. “Nor do I understand this silliness about never so much as glimpsing a lady’s ankle. It is an ankle, for heaven’s sake! I cannot think of a less appealing joint. No, actually, I can. The elbow. Goodness, the elbow. Useful, of course, but not remotely attractive. Mine is not, anyway. Knees, too.”
Joanna cleared her throat. “I do not mean to be the voice of etiquette, but there are gentlemen present. I doubt we should be discussing knees and ankles.”
“We are all family here,” Olivia insisted, amused tears streaming down her face. “Evan, you do not mind, do you?”
Evan shrugged, though his grin betrayed him. “I confess, I have not been listening. I have learned that when the Spinsters’ Club begin one of their amusing back-and-forths, it is better if I close my ears, so I shall not be too shocked by the secret lives of ladies and their friends.” He bent his head to kiss Olivia’s brow. “I prefer the mystery.”
“And you do not mind, do you?” Olivia looked at Daniel, who sat back in his own armchair, with a dark cloud above his head. Indeed, it rather seemed that he was the one who regretted not turning around and going back to Westyork Manor.
Daniel sipped his tea. “I am just pleased that my dear Miss Joanna has some decorum.”
“Come now, Daniel, why the sour mood?” Evan teased.
Daniel put on a smile. “There is no sour mood, this is just not what I expected when I was invited for tea.” He rolled his hand. “Please, continue. Do not cease on my account. If I cannot bear it any longer, I shall take myself out into the garden, but I have not yet reached that point.”
“If the nature of our conversation is not to your liking, My Lord, there is nothing preventing you from leaving,” Phoebe said quietly, spurred on by the good cheer she had been enjoying. “Indeed, if you would be more comfortable at home, we shall not be insulted.”
All of the air abandoned the room, though only he, Ellen, and Joanna knew that Phoebe was mimicking him. Yet, she held her chin up, defying him to say something unkind in reply, forshehad reached a point where she wanted him to make her hate him. That was the only remedy she could think of, to free herself of the wayward thoughts that kept spinning her mind into turmoil.
To her surprise, Daniel’s cheeks reddened, and an expression of embarrassment crossed his face for a fleeting moment. He took a sip of his tea, and it was gone, replaced with that cold look once more. “I will leave when my dear Miss Joanna is ready to leave, and not a moment sooner. If she is enjoying the revels, I am perfectly content.”
“Toes!” Matilda exclaimed, cutting through the tension with expert precision. “Toes are, undoubtedly, the most hideous of joints!”
The room relaxed, chuckles rippling, but Phoebe knew that the former mood could not be restored, just as her former dislike for Daniel could not. As long as she kept remembering how it felt to be held in his arms, how good it had felt to be caught when she stumbled, she had no hope of hating him.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
The clock on the mantelpiece in Daniel’s chambers made a singular chime, heralding one o’clock in the morning. He had retired for the night at nine o’clock, deciding that some restful slumber might be the greatest remedy for his exhausted mind, but he had been lying there in his bed for almost four straight hours, unable to sleep a wink.
Now, he knew every corner of the ceiling, every small crack in the crowning, every mismatched patch of paint that had been used to cover up water stains and larger cracks. And though his eyes itched and his body ached, and yawns stretched his mouth again and again, sleep simply would not come.
I was so rude to her.I have never been that rude to anyone before. I barely recognized myself.
He cringed every time he remembered the things he had said to Phoebe, but guilt churned with a roiling violence every time he pictured her wounded expression. It was obvious she did not understand why he was being so cold, and evenhewas wondering why he had chosen to bethatcold toward her.
Gaining her approval shall never happen now.
He wished he had gone for a different approach. A kinder approach. But the kinder approach was the very thing that had gotten him into trouble in the first place, confusing his heart and mind, making him focus on the wrong Miss Wilson, making him think ceaselessly about Phoebe and not Joanna.
Exasperated and admitting defeat to the gatekeepers of sleep, he threw back the coverlets, dressed quickly in simple attire, threw on his greatcoat, and padded out of the bedchamber. Perhaps a walk would tire him out sufficiently, though he kept forgetting that it was not his body that needed to be coaxed into slumber, but his mind. And that could race on and on, infinitely.
The cold night air nipped his cheeks as he headed out of the manor and made his way into the labyrinthine gardens, walled and peaceful beneath a blanket of stars. A fox screamed in the distance, sending a shudder up his spine, but the soft hoot of an owl soon soothed him.
He had no real notion of where he wanted to walk, but his feet seemed to know, taking him through the walled sections one by one, through rose gardens, wildflower gardens, a small orchard, trellised tunnels of wisteria, until he came to a familiar archway. Through the white-painted gate, he saw the cedar tree that kept haunting his dreams.
She was so wild and alive.A glimpse of who she really is, and I… crushed it.
Yet, try as he might, he could not bring himself to regret holding her in his arms after she tripped. He kept telling himself that it was a grave mistake, that he should have let her fall andthenhelped set her back on her feet, but the moment he remembered how it felt to embrace her, it was impossible to view it in a negative light. If anything, he felt regret that he could never hold her again.
He opened the gate and moved toward the cedar tree, admiring the majesty of it in the silvery moonlight. Gingerly, he touched a hand to the rough trunk, somehow expecting it to feel warm and alive against his skin.
And as he looked up to observe the branch where Phoebe had fearlessly tiptoed to capture the red star, a gasp of fright lodged in his throat, his hand snapping back from the trunk. There was someone up there, sitting in the crook between the trunk and where the bough started.
Phoebe swung her legs, glaring down at him. “You ought to leave. I was here first, and I was enjoying the peace and quiet.” She sniffed. “Nor should you be standing underneath me like that.”
“Miss Wilson,” he began jarringly. “What are you doing out in the gardens at so late an hour? You ought to be in your chambers, asleep.”
“As should you,” she replied, turning her gaze up to the highest branches, resting her head against the tree trunk. “Now, please, depart this section of the gardens. I am at my leisure and do not wish to be disturbed.”
