Siren

Twenty-one

“Do you suppose there are any paints at your uncle’s house?” she asked. “I’d love to paint this scene. It is absolutely beautiful.”

James laughed. “The poor man has seven daughters, I have no doubt there are art supplies of some kind here.”

Phoebe too laughed and shifted her attention back to the house as they approached.

The front door opened and a few staff members trickled out to greet them. One woman of perhaps fifty grinned from ear to ear. “Master Jamie,” she called as James drew the cart to a halt before the stone steps. “We’ve been expecting you for days now.”

James swung down from the cart with a boyish grin on his face. It pleased Phoebe to see him so lighthearted and genuinely happy. “Forgive me, Mrs. Hansen, but we were delayed.”

“Well, you might have written, my boy. We were beginning to worry.”

James turned and assisted Phoebe out of the cart. Keeping an arm firmly about her waist he turned her toward the staff. “Mrs. Hansen, I’d like you to meet my wife, Lady Phoebe,” more than a little pride touched his voice. “Lady Phoebe, this is my uncle’s housekeeper, Mrs. Hansen.” He leaned close as though to divulge a secret, but spoke loudly enough for all to hear. “She’ll try to tell you that I’m responsible for every last gray hair on her head.”

Mrs. Hansen laughed merrily. “Perhaps not all of them, but more than a few to be sure.” The still smiling woman turned twinkling eyes to Phoebe. “It is a pleasure to have you here, my lady. I must apologize, no word of your wedding reached us until Colonel Witherspoon wrote to us a few weeks ago.”

Phoebe slid James a calculating glance. He must have informed the staff that he intended to bring his wife for a visit even before coming to find her in the country? Her heart warmed with the knowledge.

Keeping her thoughts to herself, Phoebe shifted her gaze back to Mrs. Hansen and smiled. “No need for apologies, Mrs. Hansen. It was a small affair.”

The housekeeper’s smile widened. “Knowing this rascal, you most likely eloped before he went back to the war last spring.”

“Something like that,” James interjected, giving Phoebe an affectionate squeeze. He then motioned for the footman waiting by the steps and instructed them to carry their belongings upstairs and to stable Sam.

Phoebe allowed James to escort her up the stairs, relieved that no one here suspected the true circumstances of their marriage. As they stepped into the house she glanced about the brightly lit foyer and then up to James. A weight lifted from her. He was already gazing down at her, eyes warm with affection. James looked so very happy, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be happy with him.

* * * *

The days at the Huntington Estate slid blissfully by, and James spent two weeks making up for the months of lost time and courtship. Together they enjoyed long strolls through the countryside and ate almost every afternoon meal in the flourishing gardens.

“I don’t suppose we could find a place in the country exactly like this to live in.” Phoebe slid her fingers through his, leaning in.

He dropped a kiss to her brow. “We could certainly try. I can name any duty station I wish. We shoul—”

“Colonel Witherspoon!”

James and Phoebe stopped in unison and turned toward the frantic call. A footman sprinted down the hedgerow after them.

“Colonel, an urgent message just arrived for you.”

Concerned, James dropped Phoebe’s hand and strode forward. “Is it fro.m General Boland?” he asked as the footman stopped before them.

“No, sir,” the footman replied breathlessly, handing him a sealed letter. “The messenger hailed from Corsair.”

Brow furrowed, James quickly opened the missive. Judith’s handwriting leapt up at him.

James,

Your mother and Toby were in a terrible carriage accident. Come with all haste.

—Judith

“What is it?” worry laced Phoebe’s tone as she laid a hand on his arm.

“There’s been an accident,” he said, handing Phoebe the brief note. “We need to leave for Corsair immediately.