Chapter 18
Philip cursed, first under his breath and then out loud, as he slowed his horse even further.
When he’d set out for Oxford in the early morning, the snowfall had painted the trees and trails like icing on a Christmas pudding, and the wind merely nipped at the exposed skin of his cheeks.
The entire trip to Fleming’s Confectionery had taken less than three quarters of an hour, and the visit with the man himself made up the last quarter.
He’d hoped to be back at Boar’s Hill before Lily woke up, but a glance at his pocket watch revealed he’d been traveling for nearly two hours now, the road becoming unrecognizable.
The snow that had transformed their Christmas into a fairy land had turned on him, no longer magical but murderous.
He wouldn’t allow himself to fall into worry and fear, even as the emotions tugged at his ribs.
Remaining calm was of the essence, as the cold had intensified and his fingertips and toes had long since numbed beyond sensation.
Lily is waiting, he reminded himself again and again. Lily beside the fire, Lily in my bed.
Lily, for the rest of my life.
Far stronger forces than a storm had kept him from his wife before, and he’d successfully battled those. Surely a minor squall wouldn’t keep them apart.
But the winds had become sharper, the snow heavy enough on the ground to bring his horse’s canter down to a trot, then a slow plod. Ice had frozen into his beard and lashes, but he did not dare to risk wiping it away, certain his hand would be unable to grip the reins again if he let go.
A sick laugh climbed up from his gut. After all that he’d done to return to Lily’s side, this would be the end for him? Trapped with a valise full of candied ginger and frozen to his horse.
Surely he should be at Boar’s Hill by now.
The tree-lined road leading from Oxford was barely recognizable, and the wind whipping snow into his eyes obscured the towering fir trees that marked the path.
Was he wandering in circles? Had he passed the house entirely and was wandering in the endless fields beyond the property?
Lily is going to be furious with me. He hadn’t even left her a note, thinking he’d return well before she noticed his absence. She must be in a panic by now, terrified he’d abandoned her—
No. She knew he’d come back for her.
With that thought, he straightened in the saddle, though his aching body begged him to slouch, to fall from his mount and succumb to the exhaustion pulling at him. I won’t leave her again, he repeated over and over, even as darkness swam at the edges of his vision.
Had he stopped moving entirely? Christ, he had, the horse as exhausted as he was, and Philip slid from the saddle, collapsing at the animal’s side.
The snow wasn’t cold anymore, simply soft. Perhaps if he rested for a moment, he’d be able to think more clearly. He could close his eyes, dream of his wife’s voice…
“Philip!”
He chuckled, the sound rattling like ice in his rib cage. Had his imagination grown so powerful he could actually hear her voice between the bellows of the wind?
“Philip! Where are you?”
There it was again, louder this time. He groaned and rolled onto his side, facing the direction of the calls, at least where he believed they had come from. His mind was fuzzy, like the furled edges of a dream clung to his consciousness and refused to relent.
Another cry of his name, closer still. But it couldn’t be Lily; his wife was far too shrewd to go into this storm to find him.
The thought had him pushing his numb hands beneath him, attempting to lift himself higher. “Lily?” he croaked, the wind immediately consuming his words. “Is that you?”
A figure was moving through the storm, dark and hooded, and he let out a low moan.
Death was coming for him, it seemed, and the irony was as thick as the snow on the ground.
After all the times he’d evaded his demise, had crawled out from the ravages of the opium, now would be the moment he’d lose his battle?
He fell back against the icy powder and realized the burning on his cheeks was from his tears, the heat scalding his frozen skin.
“I’m so sorry, Lily.” Had he said the words aloud or merely thought them?
His throat ached as the frigid air reached in to steal his breath.
“I love you. I’m so sorry to leave you like this. ”
His eyes fluttered as the figure grew closer, the edges of Death’s midnight cloak growing sharper. He didn’t want to see the moment he was taken—
“Philip!” The figure fell at his side and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him, and he fought to look directly at it, to listen to the words that sounded so much like his wife speaking…
“Don’t you dare close your eyes,” she barked, and his lids bolted open. The cloak shadowed her features, but her hazel eyes blazed, a fiery warmth in the frigid storm. “You will not leave me, not now.”
“What are you doing out here?” He tried to lift his hand to cup her face, but the blasted appendage wouldn’t cooperate. “It’s dangerous.”
She grunted as she tugged at him, pulling him to sitting. “I could say the same of you. We need to get you inside.”
He shook his head. “Leave me here.” Lord, he wanted to lie down. He didn’t have the strength, and she’d die if she stayed exposed to the elements for much longer. “Take the horse—”
“If you think I’m leaving you here, you’ve lost your bloody mind. Now get up, Philip, or I’ll lay down beside you.”
More shouts reached through the buzzing in his ears, and Lily turned away to call a reply. “We’re here! I found him, but I need help!”
He was vaguely aware of more figures coming towards him, being dragged from the snow by a series of strong arms, his weight distributed between two people as they stumbled forward. Now he could see the lights of the house through the darkness of the storm, a refuge. A family. A future.
“Fuck, he’s heavy,” Callum grumbled from one side.
“Not much further now,” Archie said from the other.
“Where’s Lily?” Philip croaked, doing his best to lift his legs in an approximation of walking.
A hand wrapped around his where it was draped over Callum’s shoulder. “I’m here, my love. I’m not leaving.”
Her words warmed him more than whatever awaited him in the house, the structure quickly coming into sharper focus as they approached. “Neither am I,” he said. “Never.”
Lily wanted to scream.
The sensation had been clawing at her chest since the moment she’d realized Philip was missing and intensified when she’d seen the horse standing alone, only a short distance off the drive leading to the house.
She doubted she would ever forget the terror of seeing his body prone in the snow, unmoving and lifeless.
Would fate truly be so cruel as to take her husband away now, when they’d finally found their way back to each other?
Rose and Fern had helped her change out of her wet clothing the moment they’d entered the house, and when she returned downstairs, Philip was also changed, his white shirt still open to mid-chest. Red blotches marred his cheeks, but his eyes had lost their glassy appearance.
Her brothers-in-law had deposited him on the sofa in the front parlor, and Violet and Marigold rushed to put more wood on the already blazing fire.
A footman appeared with a heap of blankets, while another brought a steaming pot of tea.
The rest of the family stood awkwardly in a semicircle, wringing their hands or otherwise looking unsettled.
Cricket slept belly-up in front of the fire, nonplussed by his role in this debacle.
Lily ignored all of them, pacing as her husband was attended to. When the knot in her throat grew nearly to bursting, she marched directly up to him, crossed her arms and glared. “What in the devil were you thinking?” she barked.
He winced—as did her entire family, it seemed. “I wasn’t thinking.” His voice was rough, as though he’d been screaming himself.
“You’re right about that.”
“Lily,” Marigold murmured, “should we go?”
“No.” She whirled on her relations. “You all need to hear this.” When she turned back to face her husband, his gaze was clear, steady. “You didn’t touch the laudanum, did you?”
His lips flattened. “I did touch it, but not how you thought. I saw the bottle in the pantry the other night, and I… I didn’t want to see it. So, I put it out of sight in the soup tureen. We can go look; I’ll find it.”
“There’s no need.” She sat beside him, took his hand in hers and placed their joined palms on her lap. “I found it earlier. I knew I would.”
The tightness in his expression softened, his cracked lips parting. “Did you think I left you again?”
She shook her head. “I knew you would come back.”
“Of course I came back.” He cupped her cheek, his broad thumb stroking her cheekbone, and she leaned into his touch. “I told you I’m here forever.”
Marigold gathered her sons to her side and grinned. “This is wonderful. I’m so happy for you, Lills.”
Archie crossed his arms over his solid chest. “So we trust him now?”
“Yes,” Fern answered, shifting her baby in her arms. “I think we do.”
Lily threw her sisters an incredulous look. “You didn’t trust him before?”
“He hurt you,” Rose said with a sharp edge to her words. “We’d toss him back into the snow if you asked.”
“I won’t.” A flash of memory from the night he appeared on their doorstep, when she’d slammed the door shut in his face and hoped she’d never see him again. How far they’d come in such a short time.
Her father cleared his throat. “Why did you do such a foolish thing and go out in that storm? You could have died and left my daughter for good.”
His cheeks paled, as though the idea made him ill. “When I came down for breakfast, I saw Cricket eating the candied ginger. Mr. Fleming said I could get more anytime I needed, so I went into town to replace it. I thought I could make it back before the storm grew worse.”
“Candy is worth risking your life?”
Aunt Margaret cackled from her seat by the fire. “It is when a baby is making you cast up your accounts every morning.” She pointed her cane at Lily. “Is it finally you, dear girl?”
She opened her mouth to deny the accusation, but Violet stepped forward.
“It’s me, Aunt Margaret.” She gave a trembling smile. “I’m expecting.”
The viscountess sent up a whoop of joy and pulled her daughter to her chest, and the gentlemen swarmed Callum to clap him on the back. “It’s a Christmas miracle,” her mother repeated as she rocked Violet in her arms. “I’m so happy.”
As her relatives celebrated, Lily curled towards her husband, and he brought his arm around her waist to pull her close. “You risked your life for my sister.”
He swallowed hard, and she pressed the cup of tea to his lips. After a long sip, he spoke. “For your family.”
She cupped his chilled jaw with her palm. “Our family.”
“Our family.” He said the words with a reverence belonging to prayer. “And to be clear, I didn’t intend to risk my life. That was an unfortunate consequence of my attempt to do a good deed.”
She gave a wry shake of her head. “Never put me through that again, please,” she whispered. “Now that I have you, I can’t stand to lose you.”
“You won’t.” He kissed her temple, her cheekbone, mindless of her family lingering nearby. “Next Christmas, I promise to stay indoors the entire time.”
Her cheeks ached with her smile. “Not if I race you into town again.”
“It’s not a race if there’s no competition.”
She lifted her lips towards his but hesitated. One kiss would likely lead to another, and the parlor was not the place for such a display.
Aunt Margaret rapped her cane on the floor, and Lily and Philip wrenched apart. “Don’t stop on my account.” She winked as she gestured at the ceiling with her cane. “A kiss is required. It’s the rules of Christmas.”
They lifted their gazes, and Philip burst into laughter.
Mistletoe hung directly above them.
“Well,” he drawled, the corner of his full lips pulling up into a smirk. “If it’s Christmas…”
She brought her mouth to his. “Then let’s be merry together.”