Chapter 15
She was likely leaving bruises on his wrist as she dragged Philip from the parlor, but Lily couldn’t find it in herself to care.
No, that wasn’t true.
She found no joy in hurting her husband, even if he seemed determined to hurt her.
Once she would have derived perverse pleasure from speaking ill of the man she had married.
In her darker moments, she’d prayed he knew even a portion of the ache she experienced daily with his absence, though she’d never wished him actual harm.
But now, with Callum’s words ringing in her ears, her hands itched with the need to shake him until the screaming in her head stopped.
As soon as she’d pulled him into the hallway and closed the parlor door behind her, muffling her mother’s continued gushing about the flowers, she wheeled on the man she’d married.
The man she was ready to—once again—commit to spending the rest of her life with.
“What did Callum mean? About the debts, the horses. What did he mean?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I was going to tell you—”
“So tell me now,” she hissed. Damn him, damn him for making her fall in love with him again. Damn her for believing he wouldn’t hurt her.
He carded his long fingers through his hair and blew out a breath. “Timothy told me about trying to help your father with his investments, selling him the land. But it wasn’t enough to cover the debts.”
Lily’s chest tightened, squeezed until her lungs threatened to push out her throat. “He didn’t… I thought…”
She trailed off when he shook his head.
“It wasn’t nearly enough. I contacted the creditors and funneled my own money in and made it look as though the investments were more lucrative than they were. Your father doesn’t know.”
She didn’t realize she was wobbling on her feet until he put his hands on her shoulders to steady her. “He doesn’t know,” she echoed weakly.
“And he won’t, unless you think I should tell him—”
“No.” Her breath vibrated in her chest. “He’s been humiliated enough already.” Asking the next question took the remainder of her strength. “And the horses. Tell me what you did, Philip.”
Her stables had been her refuge when he abandoned her, the only place she found purpose and solace, a success that was purely her own, something her husband couldn’t touch.
He dropped his chin, not meeting her eyes. Ashamed. “No one was going to buy a racehorse from a woman. And if someone was foolish enough to think your stables were of lesser quality because of your gender, he had no place owning one of your horses.”
Her stomach was coiling into tighter and tighter knots with every word he spoke. “Did you buy all my horses, too? Pass them out like candy to anyone who wanted one?”
“Christ, no.” He stepped towards her, extended a hand as if to touch her. She hadn’t decided whether she would grasp it or swat it away, but before she could decide, he drew it back.
Somehow, that distance hurt more than anything else.
“I wrote letters encouraging my friends in London to give you a chance, to see how you’d turned the lackluster stables at Whitby into something magical. Then you started winning, and I didn’t have to do anything.”
“You didn’t have to do anything.” The parroted phrase was acidic on her tongue.
“Do you know who you forgot about when you were writing those letters to all your friends?” She chuckled darkly when he shook his head.
“Me. Your wife. The person breeding and training those horses. The person standing by my family’s side, holding things together when everything was falling apart.
” She paced closer and felt a sick satisfaction in how his eyes widened.
“You wanted everyone to know your involvement, but not me. You took pains to avoid communicating with me for years.”
He shook his head, his chest rising and falling as rapidly as hers. “That’s not true.”
Her stomach lurched, and instead of screaming or strangling him, she stormed past, tears blurring her vision as she relied on years of navigating the hallways of Boar’s Hill to return to her bedchamber.
Philip was close on her heels. “Where are you going?”
“To pack your bag.”
She felt his sharp intake of breath behind her and hurried her steps, scaling the staircase and turning down the corridor.
“Lily, please listen to me—”
She whirled to face him. “I’ve listened for three days. I promised you three days, and I kept my promise. Now you have to keep yours. You’re leaving.”
His nostrils flared as he flung his arms out wide. “I don’t know what else you want from me, Lily. I made a horrible, unforgivable mistake leaving you, but I didn’t have another option. I wanted to protect you—”
“So you left me alone!”
“I thought that was the best way to protect you from who I was. I wasn’t worthy of you—”
“That’s not true!” She stomped her foot, no longer caring that her family must be listening, that she resembled a grouchy child instead of an adult woman. “I am your wife, and I love you, and—”
The root of her pain revealed itself so suddenly it pulled the air from her lungs with a pain that scraped across her insides, leaving her bloodied, breathless.
Philip stepped forward and ran his hands down her trembling arms, taking her hands in his. “Tell me, Lily.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to look at him, and spoke in a whisper. “You didn’t trust me with your weaknesses, and you never gave me the chance to take care of you when you were at your lowest. You didn’t believe I’d still love you when I—”
I could never stop loving you.
She couldn’t say it out loud, not when she’d already shown her deepest wound, offered it up to him to tear to shreds, just as he had with her heart.
She cleared her throat and boldly met his gaze, determined to have her say before she sent him off again. “You decided what was best for me without even asking. You chose your pride over my heart and left me to believe I’d failed you, that you didn’t want me.”
“I always wanted you. That never changed.” He carded his hands through his tousled hair and tugged on the ends. “I did everything wrong. I know that now, but I needed the time.”
A barked laugh escaped her throat, scorching her from the inside. “You had the luxury of forgetting about me until you were ready, when I never forgot about you.”
“I never forgot you, not for a second of those years, Lily.”
Her hand wrapped around the doorknob. “If that were true, you would have written to me, not our land agent or my father’s creditors.
You would have spent a damn second thinking about me, because I couldn’t do anything but worry about you.
” She turned the knob to fight the urge to swipe at her leaking eyes. “But you didn’t think about me once.”
“That’s not true,” he ground out as she shoved the door open. “Lily, wait—”
“I’ve waited long enough for you—” Her words died on her tongue when she saw her bedchamber.
Like the parlor below, poinsettias and Christmas lilies perfumed the air, but the blooms were clustered around a single, slim evergreen tree beside the fireplace.
Dozens of ornaments hung from the fragrant branches, popcorn and berry garlands looping from branch to branch.
Beneath the tree sat a trunk with a thick red velvet ribbon tied on the handle.
Her feet stuck to the ground, and her lips parted in a soundless gasp. “What is this?” she finally managed.
She sensed Philip behind her; she suspected she’d always know when he was near. “Proof I never stopped thinking about you, not for a moment.”
She spun to face him, no longer able to fight the tears.
His expression was open, honest. Even more than it had been when he told her why he’d stayed away the night he arrived. That night seemed like a lifetime ago.
He wrapped his hand around hers and, when she didn’t resist, led her towards the tree. Through the haze of her tears, the ornaments became clearer. Delicate painted glass bulbs on strips of satin, crudely hewn wooden figures, a horse crafted entirely of crystal…
“When I bought you that first ornament, for our first Christmas,” he said, “I dreamed of our own tree, in our home at Whitby House, covered in baubles I’d picked out for you.
I wanted to create memories with our family, together.
” He rubbed his fist against his breastbone, as though speaking pained him.
“When I left, I lost the chance to build that life, but I never stopped dreaming of it. Of you.”
She lifted one ornament off the tree, recognizing it now as a roughly carved horse. She turned it over in her hands, the wood smooth despite the lack of sophistication in its craftsmanship.
“I worked on that for months after I left.” The pain in his words sent an answering ache beneath her sternum.
“I had a dull blade and no idea how to carve, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.
Every time I wanted more of the opium, I’d work on this and remind myself why I had to fight the cravings. ”
She rubbed her thumb along the figure’s side, the lifeless piece somehow warm in her hand. Infused with the love its creator had put into crafting it. “And this one?” She gestured at a twelve-pointed star made from bleached wood shavings.
“I was in Germany when I made that, two years ago. I asked a craftsman to teach me, and once I could hold a knife without shaking, I knew I was closer to beating my addiction. You always enjoyed watching the night sky with your sister, so I wanted you to have your own star.”
“Did you make all these?” Her heart couldn’t stand it if he had.