Chapter 17
By early afternoon, sunlight streaked across the garden, turning each petal’s glaze from the late morning’s drizzle into a sparkling reflection. The study walls had begun to feel too narrow for the restless way his thoughts kept circling. Graeme stepped out onto the terrace in search of fresh air.
He lied.
He wanted to see her.
He had spent the morning pacing between desk, windows, door, and back again, thinking of her smile, the brush of her lips, the shy way she could not look at him in the study earlier that morning.
Every light hesitation lodged inside him, knotting and tightening.
Does she regret it? Did I misread the moment? Did I go too far?
As his gaze swept the garden, he told himself he was not looking for her, only steadying his breath.
It was ridiculous how much he needed the smallest reassurance of mutual attraction. But this was not a mild infatuation, or at least he did not want it to be, not with Phoebe.
Crossing into the gardens, he followed the first path.
Only minutes had passed since he had spied her from the study window, meandering through parterres.
Down another path, he wandered. Since that morning, he had thought about what to do, how much to say, how much to wait, how to place the truth in her hands without losing her.
Halfway down the slope, he spotted her.
His pulse thumped.
She stood near the fountain, fingertips grazing the cool spray, the hem of her gown catching the faint breeze.
Her curls, styled loosely, caught the sun, turning raven tresses to honeyed silk.
She did not hear him approach. For a moment, he simply watched her, admiring how achingly lovely she looked, feeling the familiar shift in his chest. Something inside him reached for her.
Before he could talk himself out of it, allowing doubts and fears to win, he walked towards her. “Phoebe,” he said softly, not wanting to startle her.
Phoebe turned, startled anyway, but then, upon seeing him, her lips curved into a deep, genuine smile with only hints of shyness. “Graeme.”
“May I join you?” he asked.
“Yes, yes, of course.”
They fell into step beside one another, neither immediately speaking, the air between them charged with anticipation.
“I hope you’re well?” he ventured.
She nodded. “Perfectly. And you?”
“Perfectly,” he echoed, though his heartbeat contradicted him with every thrum.
They reached the linden tree, the ground beneath dappled with sunlight. Graeme searched for the words to break this infernal awkwardness. Perhaps he had pushed too much too fast. After all she had been through, she may need more time, a slower pace.
Phoebe plucked the branches overhead, tittering over the sprinkle of droplets they sprayed.
“I keep thinking about our painting.” Her tone was light, but there was something almost fragile beneath, something that had his pulse quickening, tripping, and misbehaving entirely.
Teasing, she said, “I still cannot believe you let me produce such a catastrophe in your company. You are either the most noble man I’ve ever met or a seasoned fibber. ”
“Your artistry held no end to charm. I shall treasure the watercolor always. In fact, I intend to frame it, complete with a placard that reads, ‘brave hedgehog-leaf attempting to climb tree.’”
Her eyes widened in indignation before she dissolved into laughter. “I never stood a chance,” she said. “How you managed to keep a straight face I’ll never know.”
“I thought only of your bravery to allow your foxed squirrel loose on the page.”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “You are impossible!”
Wincing playfully, he absorbed her touch greedily.
Tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, she met his gaze, then looked away. “These have been the happiest days I’ve had in a long time…”
His heart thumped wildly.
She stared back at the garden rather than at him, as if afraid of her own honesty, or perhaps his reaction.
He stepped closer, not touching, but close enough to hear her sharp intake of breath. “For me, as well.”
Finally, she lifted her gaze, her eyes meeting his, uncertain and hopeful. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
A delicate silence enfolded them, a silence that said I want more. Could she feel it as strongly as he could?
His hand lifted slightly, then stilled, the desire to caress her cheek painfully strong, but the thought was too tender a risk. Instead, he cleared his throat. “There is something I should tell you.”
Her posture tensed. “Something… troubling?”
“Only news that will change the household, news that arrived late this morning.” Then, reassuring, he added, “Nothing troubling. Only, I want you to be the first to know.”
Turning fully towards him, expression tight with unease, she echoed, “News?”
“The Earl of Collumby is expected at Lobelia Hall.”
She exhaled a surprised “Oh.”
That single sound—oh—held something he could not pinpoint, something weighty, but it was neither dread nor relief.
“Soon?”
“I’ve not an exact date,” he fibbed, “but soon enough that preparations must begin.”
She looked back to the manor, brows knitting. “Everything will change when he arrives.”
Graeme’s chest tightened. “Not everything.”
Worrying her lips, she turned back to him. “Won’t it?”
“Not… unless you want… change.”
For a moment, she searched his face, but he could not say what she sought. Then, she stepped closer, close enough for him to feel her warmth, close enough that only a single handspan separated them.
Voice lowered, she said, “Our time together… yesterday… it means something to me. Only… tell me now if I’ve imagined it meaning… more.”
He swallowed. “Oh, Phoebe. If you’ve imagined it, then we’re sharing the same fantasy.”
A trembling smile broke across her lips. “If things do change with his arrival, I need you to know I don’t want to lose… this… with you. I want this… and more.”
Hoarsely, his pulse thundering, he said, “Then, we are of one mind.”
Before he could gather breath or thought, Phoebe reached for him, not boldly or brazenly, but with shaky courage, slipping her hand into his and lacing their fingers.
The warmth between them felt achingly familiar.
Yesterday’s whispered yes echoed through him.
Stepping onto her toes, she pressed a feather-light kiss to his cheek, just at the corner of his mouth, soft enough to sear him to the bone.
A promise.
A reassurance.
A quiet I want you too.
When she drew back, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shining. “Fanny will wonder where I’ve vanished to.” Her words whispered with smiling breathlessness.
Graeme clung to her hand for a last heartbeat, his chest aching to keep her by his side. “Phoebe, I—”
“It’ll keep until later,” she said, glowing with hope. “Yes?”
“Yes, it’ll keep.”
She stepped away slowly, lightly tugging at his hand, their fingertips sliding inch by blessed inch, lingering between them before she released him, then turned back towards the manor.
Only when she reached the bend in the path did she glance back with one luminous, devastating smile before she disappeared into the sunlit corridor of hedges.
Graeme pressed a hand to his chest.
God help him. He would give her the world if she asked for it.