Reality crashed back when they became aware of the shared closeness, both stepping back with a synchronized fluster. Alexander, maintaining the remnants of his composed facade, took a deliberate step away. He was too close to transforming this moment into something even more personal. But his pride was still hurt. His inability to be the main provider of this household held him by the throat. He knew that this was not the case, but her efforts to renovate his home withherown money felt as an attempt to undermine not only his authority but him as a person, and he could not banish these feelings no matter how hard he tried.
“You should have come to me, Phyllis,” he retorted quickly. “Despite what rumors surround my name, I have not fallen on a beggar’s cane. I do have money to improve my own home, you know.”
“Our home,” she corrected him so silently that he barely heard her.
Strangely enough, her calling ittheirhome, pacified him. He realized a frightening thing, something he had not anticipated. It was not about the money. It was about wanting to know her thoughts, her wishes, her plans. And even more frightening was the fact that he wanted to be included in them all.
“Let me know before making any changes next time,” he instructed, his tone a blend of authority and something more elusive.
“I did not know that I needed permission on how to use my own money, but all right.” She nodded in acquiescence, her composure momentarily rattled. He could tell that she was upset. Then again, so was he. “Now, if that is all…” she signaled the end of their conversation.
“Yes, that is all.” It was his turn to nod. Th conversation was far from over. It was obvious that they both misunderstood this, but he knew that continuing it now would only lead them even more astray.
“All right then. I shall leave you to your business,” she said, turning around and walking out of his study.
He could tell that this unspoken proximity momentarily blurred the boundaries between them which had been set before. But now, left alone with his own thoughts, he realized that her actions proved that this was more than just a simple agreement to her. Why else would she be spending her own savings to renovatehishome?
It is hers, too,a little voice inside reminded him of something he had momentarily forgotten. For some reason, he smiled at this realization.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
It was early in the morning when the soft glow of the morning light cast a warm ambiance on the polished wooden furniture and the meticulously arranged papers laying on Alexander’s writing table in his study. He was engrossed in the affairs of the estate, his quill dancing across parchment as he attended to matters of importance.
He had no idea how long he had been focused on the task at hand, when something prompted a momentary respite from his work. He rose from his chair, his tall figure moving slowly across the room. The heavy drapes framing the study’s window were drawn open, revealing the sunlit expanse of the estate’s gardens below.
As his eyes traced the sun-kissed landscape, his gaze landed on a serene scene unfolding beneath the boughs of ancient trees. There, in the tranquil haven of the garden, Phyllis sat gracefully at the picnic table, her silhouette bathed in the soft radiance of the morning. But she wasn’t alone.
He was surprised to see the two gardeners, dedicated stewards of the estate, engaged in a conversation with her. He couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but he could see that everyone was enjoying themselves. The ambient glow highlighted the gentle curve of Phyllis’ features, casting a delicate glow upon her countenance. Her presence lent an ethereal quality to the morning quietude of the garden, a stark contrast to the business bustle of his own study.
A part of him wanted to go down and join them, become a part of that lively conversation, but he knew that he could not. Instead, he found himself captivated by the tableau below, a momentary diversion from the demands of his responsibilities. He watched in silence, appreciating the enchanting sight of Phyllis in the garden, surrounded by the subtle melodies of nature and the camaraderie of those who tended to the blossoming beauty of the Woldaves estate.
He gently opened the door, his excuse being that he wanted to let in some fresh air into his study, but the truth was that he wanted to take a closer look at the sight that had provoked his unspoken fascination. The delicate clink of porcelain against saucer echoed as Phyllis gracefully lifted the teacup, a ritualistic dance of refined elegance. A hint of citrus wafted through the air as the aroma of lemon infused her tea, and it managed to reach him.
Phyllis’ preference for simplicity was evident in her choice of tea—a dash of lemon, eschewing the sweetness of sugar. Alexander marveled at the discerning taste hat guided her preferences, a testament to her individuality in a world steeped in tradition.
Scones, adorned with a dollop of blueberry jam, graced the plate before her. She kept discussing something in a cheerful manner, with the gardeners listening intently, nodding every once in a while. Once the older gardener overtook the conversation, she took one of the scones and partook in it. Each bite, a delicate interplay of textures and flavors, unfolded with the precision of a practiced ritual. Alexander couldn’t help but be entranced with the fluidity of her movements, the grace with which she navigated the minutiae of the tea ceremony during this conversation.
As she savored the repast, Phyllis’ gestures became a silent symphony, a brush of fingertips against porcelain, a dainty lift of the cup, the unhurried indulgence in the simple culinary delights that adorned her plate. In this quiet observation, Alexander discovered a nuanced beauty in her everyday actions, a beauty that transcended the ornate trappings of aristocratic life.
Mesmerized by the simplicity and grace she brought to the act of tea-drinking, Alexander found himself captivated by the woman who, in the midst of routine, painted a portrait of charm and individuality. The subtle interplay of light and shadow in the garden cast an enchanting spell, creating a tableau of domestic bliss that resonated deeply within the recesses of his observant heart.
At that moment, a knock on the door interrupted him.
“Yes?” he turned around, reluctantly pulling his gaze away from Phyllis.
The door opened, revealing his butler. “Excuse the interruption, Your Grace,” he said in a slightly apologetic manner, holding a sealed envelope with the precision befitting his station. “A missive has just arrived for you, delivered by the swift hands of the courier.”
Alexander extended his hand to receive the letter, eyes briefly leaving the garden to focus on the sealed communication. The wax seal bore the imprint of an intricate crest.
“Thank you, Milligan,” Alexander said, locking his hands behind his back, and walking back towards his writing table.
As the butler executed a respectful exit, Alexander turned his attention to the sealed letter, having recognized the seal as one belonging to one of the gentlemen potentially interested in investing into his business endeavor. The tranquil scene beyond the window, momentarily disrupted, now stood as a serene backdrop to the unfolding events within the study. With a deliberated motion, Alexander broke the seal, eager to read the contents.
* * *
The stables emanated a rich tapestry of scents—hay, leather, and the comforting aroma of horses. Phyllis, dressed in a practical riding habit, stood beside a magnificent chestnut stallion, her gloved hand expertly wielding a comb through its silky mane. The rhythmic strokes mirrored the harmony between the two.
The sunlight filtered through the stable windows, casting a warm glow upon the scene. Phyllis, absorbed in her task, exchanged murmured words with the horse, their connection palpable in the gentle sway of the creature’s head. There were several horses in the stable, but this particular one had caught her attention the moment she stepped in this place.
