18
“Favorite season,” Robert asked as he picked up a grape, threw it into the air and caught it with his mouth, hoping – and succeeding – in making Jo laugh.
And not caring why at the moment.
“Be careful you don’t choke on it,” she said with a smile as she shook her head. “Late spring,” she then answered. “But since I now have to spend that in the city, perhaps early autumn.”
“I like the early autumn as well.” Robert smiled. “Although spring in the city is lovelier than this oppressive heat.”
“And the smell,” Jo added in a whisper, which made him grin.
He plucked another grape from the cluster and ate it.
The footmen had laid out a large blanket on a hill overlooking a meadow below with London just visible in the distance.
He and Jo had munched on the food Mrs. Miller had prepared for them and gone through the long list of questions he had prepared the night before.
He had deliberately made them light. Silly questions like favorite colors and animals and slightly more sincere ones like favorite books and painters.
They were now taking turns making up their own questions.
The sun was shining brightly above them, and he wished they were in the park at Riddlesmarsh Hall and he could remove his jacket. That Jo would take off her bonnet and walking boots and wriggle her silk-clad toes.
“Do you mind if I ask you something more serious?” Jo said after a moment’s thought and luckily pried his attention away before he was able to undress her further in his mind.
“I don’t mind you asking, but I am not sure how I feel about answering,” Robert teased her.
They had been lightly bantering and jesting with each other, bordering on flirting, at least for him, and Jo did not seem to mind.
Robert had decided to turn off any fear that she might think more of it than it was.
“Do you think of the old Lord Barforth as a father figure?” Jo surprised him by asking.
“Percival?” Robert asked as he sat up straighter. “Xavier’s father?” he clarified, since Jo might not know his stepfather’s first name.
Jo nodded as she carefully watched his expression. He could tell she was afraid she had overstepped.
“I do,” he told her without having to think of it.
“He has been since I was nine years old.” He cleared his throat as he looked out over the landscape beneath them.
“He was a lot like Xavier. Difficult to become acquainted with. I know a lot of people found him arrogant because of it, but he always made an effort with Maggie and me. I could tell, even though I was a child. He already cared for us when he married our mother, and he wanted us to like him as well.”
Robert gulped too loudly for his own comfort at the last words.
It had been five years since Percival had suddenly fallen ill and died in the span of just a month.
There had been nothing to do. It had not been the same as his own father.
He had fallen ill shortly after Maggie was born and had struggled with the disease for years before he died.
Robert had no memory of him not being ill.
“I am sorry,” Jo told him gently.
Robert offered her a feeble smile and wished she would touch him in a comforting manner, but of course she did not know him well enough to do so.
“I think about him every day, although I rarely speak of him,” he muttered and picked at a loose thread in the blanket.
“You don’t speak of him with your mother or Lord Barforth?”
“You can call him Xavier, and no, not with him either.”
Jo nodded thoughtfully and it was her turn to look out over the landscape.
“I don’t remember my mother,” she told him.
“She died when I was very little. Not in childbirth,” she hurriedly added, as if that distinction was important.
Then he remembered her words about her most important role in their marriage being that she gave birth to his children.
It sat unwell with him that she thought so, even though he did not know which role she was meant to play then. Now was not the time to examine it.
“She was in an accident. She was very mild-tempered and gentle, my uncle told me. A bit like Philomena I imagine.”
“There is more to Philomena than meets the eye,” Robert muttered while he kept his attention on Jo.
“Perhaps there was more to my mother than my uncle knew,” Jo mused and sent him a wistful smile before she looked at the meadow again. “My father never spoke of her.”
“What happened to him?”
“Consumption,” was Jo’s only answer. She gulped loudly and blinked several times.
“Favorite fruit?” Robert asked to take her mind off her dead parents, hoping it was the right instinct.
“Pineapple,” Jo said after a thought. “Although I have only ever had it twice.”
“I have a couple of trees in my orangery. You will be able to eat them at Riddlesmarsh Hall when they are ready.”
“Truly?” Jo asked delightedly and Robert felt thankful he had followed his instinct to distract her.
“My gardener is having a difficult time keeping them alive in this climate, despite the heat in the orangery. But he is extremely stubborn and so far, he is winning.”
They shared a smile.
“What’s yours then?” Jo asked. “Favorite fruit?”
“Raspberries. There is a small forest close to Barforth Castle that is riddled with them. We used to go there to pick them ourselves. Philomena and Rafe were completely covered in mashed berries and scrapes from the bushes. They would just launch themselves into the shrubbery to get to the juiciest berries.” He grinned at the memory and made Jo smile.
“This was before her illness?” Jo asked tentatively and Robert nodded. They had not gone since, he remembered.
“That’s a lovely tradition,” she muttered and they shared a long look.
He felt certain the same thought was on their mind; that it would be a great tradition to have with their own children. He wanted nothing more than to be able to close the distance between them and kiss her. Sweet and tentative, but with the promise of more.
But he must honor her list. It was still only the first week of their marriage. Kissing on the mouth was not on the agenda until week three.
Jo must be able to sense the direction of his thoughts, because her cheeks reddened and she looked away abruptly.
Robert looked at the landscape below them. The scattered clouds were casting shadows over the golden green grass, and he followed the journey of one for a minute.
“I have something for you,” he told her as he remembered and sat up straighter to be able to rummage in the pocket of his moss green walking jacket. He found the small dark red velvet pouch and held it out to her.
Jo looked at him tentatively as she opened it. She reached inside, fiddled with it for longer than seemed necessary, before she took the gold band out. She placed it delicately in her hand and looked at it. He could not read the expression on her face. Was she disappointed?
He had ordered another one for her. In white gold with a large sapphire in the middle surrounded by small diamonds.
The color had reminded him of the sea and the constellation of the sapphire and diamonds of a pearl nested in a shell.
The jeweler had said it would be a couple of weeks until it was finished, and Robert had bought the plain golden one for Jo to wear in the meantime.
“You need a wedding ring. I am sorry I did not think of it sooner,” he told her and felt that the words were not the right ones, even though they were true.
“Thank you,” Jo muttered then held the ring out to him. “Will you put it on?”
Robert took it and moved closer, holding her hand in one of his as he placed the ring on her left ring finger with the other. They both held their breath as he did so and he was reminded of the night they married and the vows they had made.
With this ring, I thee wed, he thought as he slid it on her finger, but did not dare speak out loud. The words seemed more solemn and heavy now than when he had originally uttered them.
“Thank you,” Jo mumbled and withdrew her hand from his.
“You are welcome,” Robert muttered and moved away again. As if he could remove himself from the solemnity of the moment as well.
“Will you wear one as well?” Jo only met his eyes briefly before looking at the meadow below.
“A ring?” Robert asked and she nodded.
It was not customary for the husband to wear a ring. The wife’s ring showed that she belonged to someone, although that should be true for the husband as well, Robert supposed.
“Mr. Oakley wears one.”
“I noticed,” Robert muttered.
He had seen it when they had met Mr. Hawkins and his solicitor on the third day of their marriage. He had wondered briefly about it at the time, but when he had seen Mr. Oakley with his wife afterward, it had made sense. The man doted intensely on her in his own quiet way.
“Would you want me to wear one?” he asked Jo and realized it was the wrong thing to say, when he saw her slightly pinched face.
“If you want to,” was all she answered primly before looking away again.
He did not want to. It would feel like fraud. Like trying to show the world that they were more connected than they were. He would have worn one if he had married Lucretia though. Without thought. He would have been so proud that she was his that he would have wanted the whole world to see.
And he still wanted that connection with a woman, Robert was startled to realize. And not just any woman. With… But that was absurd.
He cleared his throat and sat up straighter without meeting Jo’s eyes.
“Favorite tree?” Jo asked before he had a chance to speak.