Under An English Moon (18 page)

“I must confess I was concerned you might seek to avoid me after our conversation of this morning,” Reggie said as they strolled the lane on which they had arrived, now bathed in pleasant sunshine.

“Reggie!” Phoebe said. “Of course, I would walk with you. I want to be with you all the time.
All
the time,” she muttered. “And frankly that worries me. Here, in your time, we can’t hang out together any time we want. We can’t be together whenever we want. It’s a little freer in my time. But that doesn’t mean we should get married right away either.”

“No,” Reggie agreed, trying to follow her tumultuous thoughts. “We
have
been together much over these past few days, it is true, but it is not the accepted practice, especially not between men and women who are not married. During the course of a normal day, I believe gentlemen attend to matters of business or pursue their interests, and ladies visit or sew or...” Reggie shrugged with a wry smile. “Frankly, I do not know what ladies do. I do not remember much about my mother’s daily ritual.”

Phoebe straightened her eyes after rolling them. “Visit and sew. Oh, gosh, that sounds mind numbing. So, are you telling me that if we were to marry—and I can’t believe I’m even saying that after having known you for two and a half whole days now—that I’d never see you during the day? Well, I suppose that would be just like back in the States where we work all day and see each other at night. And then what? Dinner together, right? Weekends together?”

Reggie chewed on a corner of his lower lip. He could see that he was not presenting her possible future to advantage.

“How would you wish to conduct your daily activities, Phoebe?”

“Ideally? If we were married and living in your time? Assuming you worked at home, which I’m sure you actually do. We’d have breakfast together, you could do some work in the morning, then we’d have lunch, take a walk or a ride, have dinner together, read together, sleep together, and then get up and start the day all over again. And maybe travel.” She looked up at him with a grin and a sparkle in her eyes.

“Reggie, you’re blushing! Ohhhh, the sleep together thing. Silly! Everyone sleeps, Reggie.”

“Yes, quite so,” he said as he cleared his throat. “The scenario you described has much togetherness in it. People would comment. The servants would gossip.”

“Tell them not to,” Phoebe smirked. “Make them sign confidentiality agreements.” She chuckled.

“I do not know these agreements,” Reggie said with a shake of his head.

“Never mind,” Phoebe said. “They wouldn’t be binding. So, what do you mean, ‘people would comment?’ Like neighbors? Your father and stepmother?”

Reggie nodded. “I am not concerned for myself, but I must worry about your reputation.”

“How would wanting to be with my husband hurt my reputation?”

“It simply is not done, not to my knowledge.”

Phoebe, who had been smiling, sobered and paused to stare up at him. She pulled her hand from his arm.

“Are you saying we couldn’t spend time together because of what people might think? Even if we’re married? Reggie, tell me you’re not serious!”

“It is the custom, Phoebe.” His lips curved into a grin. “However, I am not averse to spending every minute of the waking day with you as well. I can think of no other activity I should like so much.”

Her brow smoothed and the dark look in her eyes lightened. “But not the nights?” she said coyly.

“And the nights,” Reggie agreed, willing back the warmth which flooded his cheeks.

She slipped her hand in his again and resumed walking.

“Good. I’m thinking about it.”

“Which?” Reggie said with a teasing glint in his eye.

“All of it,” Phoebe laughed. “Why, Reggie!”

“Yes, Madam?”

“I’m surprised at you.”

“May not two play that game, Miss Warner?”

“You know you’re only ‘Miss Warner’ing’ me because you’re embarrassed.”

“You
do
know me well, Miss Warner.”

“Perhaps,” she grinned. “But I’m still waiting to find out if there’s a wife in the attic.”

Reggie opened his mouth to protest, but the sound of a horse’s hooves caught their attention, and they looked up to see a rider approaching on the lane. Reggie recognized the dark head underneath the top hat as his brother.

“It is Samuel, come to visit as my father said he would! I had forgotten.”

“Oh!” Phoebe straightened her bonnet and peered forward. “What should I do? I’ll just run back to the house and leave you two together.”

Reggie pressed her arm against his side. “Nonsense! You must meet my brother. He is a sensitive sort and might take it amiss if you were to scramble away. I wish to introduce you to him. He is a very amiable fellow.”

“Okay,” Phoebe acquiesced.

They waited as Samuel slowed his horse and dismounted, holding the reins lightly as he bowed to Phoebe.

“Brother,” he said in a quiet voice. “Father reports that you fell from your horse and are back from the brink of death or some such account. You look well enough.”

Reggie laughed and urged Phoebe forward.

“I am well, Samuel. May I present Miss Phoebe Warner of New York City? She is visiting her cousin, Mrs. Sinclair, from America.”

Samuel, a tall young man, similar in color and appearance to himself, bowed. Phoebe curtsied charmingly, but then Reggie thought she did everything with charm.

“Miss Warner. I am pleased to meet you,” Samuel said. “My father spoke of you.”

She looked uncertainly to Reggie.

“Samuel, you would have Miss Warner think she was the subject of much discussion.” Reggie forced a laugh. He hoped that had not occurred.

“Not at all,” Samuel replied. “He merely mentioned Mrs. Sinclair had a heretofore unknown cousin from America staying. Lady Hamilton said little on the matter.”

“Would you care to continue to stroll with us or would you like to return to the house for tea, Samuel?” Reggie asked.

“Do not let me interrupt your walk. I only came to see that you were in good health. Sebastian does well, but I believe he misses you.”

Reggie turned to Phoebe. “It has been my habit to ride every day, Miss Warner. I have been remiss in tending to my horse.”

“It is a mystery to me why you are staying here though, Brother,” Samuel said. “Father expressed his discontent as well. I think he fears you mean to leave the house for good. If not for America, then to William’s house as a permanent guest.”

Reggie threw Phoebe a quick look. This was not the way he had hoped to broach the subject with her.

“Although I have revised my plans to travel to America for the present, I am of a mind to purchase a house of my own, Samuel.”

“What?” Phoebe asked.

“I beg your pardon?” Samuel echoed.

Reggie turned to face them, both of whom had stopped walking to stare at him.

“I wish to procure my own lodgings. Father will be long-lived, Samuel, and I wish to have some autonomy, some privacy, particularly if I should choose to marry.”

Reggie kept his eyes on Samuel’s face, but Samuel’s eyes darted toward Phoebe before returning to Reggie.

Phoebe, in a gesture that brought a twitch to Reggie’s lips, appeared to study the clouds in the sky as if she had never seen clouds before.

“I see,” said Samuel.

“Yes, I thought you might.” Reggie nodded. Samuel knew full well that to bring a wife into the home now presided over by his stepmother would be an unhappy state of affairs. Lady Hamilton liked to have things her way, and Samuel and he had already noted changes in the running of the house that were not to their liking.

“Perhaps I should come with you,” Samuel said.

Reggie had not thought of it before, but noted the idea had some merit.

“Yes, perhaps you should. I have the address of William’s man of business, and I will write to him today to make inquiries. Further, I will look out the land agent in the village as soon as possible and visit with him.”

Reggie tried to ignore Phoebe’s sharp intake of breath, but Samuel did not.

“You do not approve of my brother’s plan, Miss Warner?”

“Me?” she asked with a hand to her neck. “I’m sure it’s not my business.”

“No?” Samuel asked with a small smile.

“I cannot lie to my brother, Miss Warner,” Reggie said. “Although I have not known Miss Warner long, I have asked for her hand in marriage. She has not immediately agreed, and so I am courting her. Therefore, my place of residence is her concern. I hope it is, at any rate.”

Phoebe turned wide eyes to him, and Reggie gave her a wry smile.

“Ah!” Samuel said. “Now, I understand Lady Hamilton’s single observation regarding her meeting Miss Warner. ‘Why cannot Americans stay home?’ she said.”

Reggie laughed, and even Phoebe joined him. Of course, to them, the words signified much more than a simple matter of an American traveling to England.

“Did she now?” Reggie asked.

Samuel nodded. “If you do find a house, I would be pleased to keep you company there until such time as you do marry. Forgive me, Miss Warner, if I speak openly, but our new stepmother is a strong-willed woman, used to having her way, and she has turned our comfortable, if slovenly, home into a pristine museum. She states I must re-shelve my books in the library rather than stack them about my room—as if it is any of her concern.”

Reggie laughed again. “Yes, dear brother, you may most certainly reside with me, and you may stack as many books in your room as you choose.”

“I’m sure Reggie will let you stay there even after he gets married,” Phoebe said, joining in the laughter. “Whenever that is.”

“You have a delightful American accent and manner of speech, Miss Warner, much like Mrs. Sinclair’s. Very informal.”

Phoebe glanced at Reggie from under her eyelashes.

“Thank you, Samuel.”

They had reached the gates at the end of the lane.

“Since we are already here, I shall return home,” he said. “My books await me. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Warner. I hope to see you again soon.” He turned to his brother. “I am glad to see you well, Brother.”

Reggie clapped a hand on his back. “Thank you. I shall send word to you when I have found a suitable house.”

“Yes, I look forward to it. Until then,” Samuel said. He mounted his horse without assistance and trotted down the lane toward home.

Reggie was not surprised when Phoebe turned to him.

“You’re buying a house? When did you decide that?”

“In all probability, before I ever traveled in time. I would as soon leave Hamilton Place to Lady Hamilton while she lives and find my own dwelling. And I see that Samuel feels the same. I wonder that I did not think of it sooner.”

“Oh! So, you’re not buying a house because you...because we...because you asked...” Her cheeks grew pink, and she dropped her eyes to the ground.

Reggie took pity on her.

“Because I asked you to marry me? Yes, that is one of the reasons, but do not be alarmed. Even should you choose not to marry me,” he swallowed hard, “I would have found another house in which to reside. My father will be most upset, I fear, but he has Lady Hamilton to console him.”

Phoebe looked up at him. “You’re being sarcastic, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Reggie said. “Does it become me?” He smiled at her tenderly.

“Kind of,” she said with a small grin. “Just don’t turn it on me.”

“I will not.”

They returned to the house where Mattie awaited them impatiently in the drawing room.

“I forgot to tell you. We’re having company for dinner. Some people are coming down from London.”

“Oh!” Phoebe said. “Well, I can stay in my room.”

“No, no. You and Reggie will join us. I asked my maid to put some fresh clothes in your room. You may want to take a bath.”

“Am I acquainted with your guests?” Reggie asked.

“No, I doubt it. They’re a couple of publishers, actually.”

“Publishers?” Phoebe exclaimed. “Really?”

Mattie seemed almost to hang her head.

“Yes. I’m going to start writing.”

“No way!” Phoebe exclaimed. “I think that’s a great plan! I can edit them...if I’m still here.”

Reggie groaned inwardly. Must she insist on adding that caveat?

“Wow! That would be great!” Mattie said. “I don’t even know how to start.”

“I’m not a writer, but I know how it works. I’ll help you!”

“It is most unusual for women to write novels, Mattie, though not unheard of, I think,” Reggie said. “Will you use a pseudonym?”

Mattie sighed. “I’ll have to. William’s reputation, you know. I’ll be writing under the name I.C. Moon.”

Chapter Thirteen

Phoebe gasped. “
What?
”

“Oh, you don’t like it?” Mattie asked with a scrunch of her nose and a wry smile. “It’s kind of goofy, isn’t it? You get it though, right? I.C. Moon...I see moon? Hah!”

“
You’re
I.C. Moon?” Phoebe asked. She stared hard at Mattie.

Well, of course, she was. Why hadn’t she figured that out sooner?

“I love your books,” Phoebe said. “Love them. I work at Sinclair Publishing. You probably don’t even know this yet, but your husband is going to open up a publishing house, and publish your books!”

It was Mattie’s turn to draw in a sharp, audible breath. “
You
work at Sinclair Publishing?
Our
Sinclair Publishing? I know he’s going to open up a publishing house, and I know I’m going to write because I read it on the Internet when I returned that time. It’s kind of inevitable, and who am I to mess with destiny?”

“Then Thomas Ringwood does become publisher of the New York office. That was indeed his likeness I saw on the wall at your office, Phoebe,” Reggie said.

“It must have been,” Mattie said. “A painting? Photograph?”

“Photograph,” Phoebe replied, still stunned. “I can’t believe I looked at those pictures every day and didn’t know.
Your
photograph isn’t in any of the books,” she said almost accusingly.

Mattie chuckled. “Well, it’s a little early for cameras.”

“Oh, that’s true! I can’t wrap my head around this,” Phoebe said with a shake of her head. “It’s dizzying, trying to think in two different centuries.”