Stephen reached for it. “Baa.”
Phoebe smiled as she watched them from her chair by the hearth, a small embroidery hoop in her lap. After dinner, West had given Stephen a toy barn with a removable roof and a collection of carved and painted animals. There was even a miniature wooden two-wheeled cart for the horse to pull. Nearby, Justin played with his present from West. It was a Tivoli board, a game in which marbles were inserted at the top and clattered their way down through arrangements of pegs and chutes before dropping into numbered slots below.
Much earlier in the day, Phoebe had shown West to the guest cottage, a simple red brick dwelling with sash windows and a white pediment over the door. He had changed from his traveling clothes and returned to the main house to have his first look at the account ledgers. “I see some of the difficulty,” he’d said, scrutinizing the pages in front of him. “They’re using a double-entry bookkeeping system.”
“Is that bad?” Phoebe had asked apprehensively.
“No, it’s superior to the single-entry system we use at Eversby Priory. However, being simpleminded in this area, I’ll need a day or two to become familiar with it. Basically, each entry to an account requires an opposite entry to a corresponding account, and then one can check for errors with an equation.” West had looked self-mocking. “To think of the courses I took in Greek history and German philosophy, when what I needed was an introduction to bookkeeping.”
He had spent the afternoon in the study, shooing Phoebe out when she tried to join him, claiming her presence was too distracting for him to concentrate.
Later they’d had dinner alone, both of them seated near the end of the long mahogany dining table, in the soft wavering brilliance of candlelight. At first the conversation had charged at a headlong pace, partly fueled by nerves. It wasn’t an ordinary situation for the two of them, dining with the intimacy of husband and wife. Phoebe had thought it felt a little like trying something on to see if it fit. They’d exchanged news and stories, debated silly questions and then serious ones . . . and after wine and dessert, they had finally relaxed and let down their guards. Yes, it fit, the two of them together. It was a different feeling, but a very good one. A new kind of happiness.
Phoebe knew West couldn’t see beyond his own fears of being unworthy, of someday causing her unhappiness. But this high degree of concern was precisely what inclined her to trust him. One thing was clear: if she wanted him, she would have to be the pursuer.
West lounged on the floor between her two sons, a heavy forelock of dark hair falling over his forehead. “What does a chicken say?” he asked Stephen, holding up a wooden figure.
The toddler took it from him and answered, “Rowwr!”
West blinked in surprise and began to chuckle along with Justin. “By God, that is a fierce chicken.”
Delighted by his effect on West, Stephen held up the chicken. “Rowwr,” he growled again, and this time West and Justin collapsed in laughter. Quickly West reached out to the toddler’s blond head, pulled him closer and crushed a brief kiss among the soft curls.
Had there been any doubts lingering in Phoebe’s mind, they were demolished in that moment.
Oh yes . . . I want this man.
Chapter 24
Early the next morning, Ernestine brought Phoebe her tea and helped to prop the pillows behind her.
“Milady, I have a message to relay from Hodgson, regarding Mr. Ravenel.”
“Yes?” Phoebe asked, yawning and sitting up higher in bed.
“As Mr. Ravenel brought no valet with him, the under-butler would be pleased to offer his services in that capacity, should they be required. Also, my lady . . . the housemaid just came from tending the grate at the guest house. She says Mr. Ravenel asked for a razor and shaving soap to be sent over. Hodgson says he would honored to loan his razor to the gentleman.”
“Tell Hodgson his generosity is very much appreciated. However . . . I think I’ll offer Mr. Ravenel the use of my late husband’s razor.”
Ernestine’s eyes widened. “Lord Clare’s razor?”
“Yes. In fact, I’ll take it to him personally.”
“Do you mean this morning, milady? Now?”
Phoebe hesitated. Her gaze went to the window, where the pale sky was rising through the darkness like a floating layer of cream. “It’s my responsibility as hostess to take care of my guest, isn’t it?”
“It would be hospitable,” Ernestine agreed, although she looked a bit dubious.
Still considering the idea, Phoebe played nervously with a loose lock of her hair and took a fortifying gulp of hot tea. “I’m sure he’d like to have it soon.”
“If you leave through the winter garden door at this hour,” Ernestine said, “no one would notice. The housemaids don’t start on the east wing ’til midmorning. I’ll tell Hodgson not to send anyone out to the guest cottage.”
“Thank you. Yes.”
“And if you like, milady, I’ll tell Nanny you’d prefer the children to have breakfast in the nursery this morning and join you for tea later.”
Phoebe smiled. “I do appreciate, Ernestine, that your first instinct is not to prevent me from doing something scandalous, but to help me get away with it.”
The lady’s maid gave her a deliberately bland look. “You’re only going out to take the morning air, milady. No scandal in going for a walk, last I heard.”
By the time Phoebe exited the winter garden door and followed the crosswalk to the guest cottage, sunrise had started to gild the leaves and branches of the boxwood borders and spread a rosy glow across brackets of glittering windowpanes. She carried a lidded basket over one arm, walking as quickly as possible without giving the impression of haste.