Page 4 of Seasonal Habits of Husbands and Honeybees (A Genus of Gentlemen #2)
CHAPTER FOUR
April, 1822
T he wedding of Lord Harrison Metcalf, the Earl of Everly, and Lady Phoebe Kent was unimaginably boring and decidedly simple, exactly as Phee had wanted. While her mother had toiled over every nonsensical detail required for a wedding, Phee instead chose to plan the layout of honeybee hives for her new home. And when her mother mentioned a wedding trousseau and gown, Phee simply shrugged and said not only did she have no need for a trousseau, but that her peach day gown would work just fine for the ceremony. Her mother had stood stunned, the two lines between her eyebrows deepening at her daughter’s absolute lack of regard for her own nuptials, but Phee could not find it in her heart nor head to care.
It was a business transaction, after all, and the only rules she was required to follow were clearly outlined on a simple sheet of paper that now resided in her copy of Treatise on the Nature, Economy and Practical Management of Bees . As far as she was concerned, the wedding was nothing more than a Tuesday. Which is why, as the well-wishers, if one could call them that, flooded her parent’s front parlor, each vying for a glimpse of the odd newlyweds, Phee stood still beside her new husband, her clammy, gloved hand resting lightly on his arm, the corded muscles beneath his wool coat giving her fingers something to trace. With a smile on her lips, she remained motionless as she was inspected with curiosity as to what she could have possessed to ensnare the Earl of Everly. It, of course, made little sense to the ton that the eyesore of the season would make such an advantageous marriage, especially when they had never been seen in each other’s presence.
Phee’s body buzzed, the blood rushing through her veins creating a pounding sound in her ears as each minute she was required to be on show passed. There were too many people, too many bodies stuffed into the small space, their pungent smell filling her nose, and no amount of fanning her scent of honeysuckle could push away the aroma. Phee’s mind raced and she focused on the lists of necessary preparations for when they finally were able to make their way back to Lord Everly’s Grosvenor square home, praying the familiar would ease the ongoing discomfort. And given the time reading on the small pocket watch she had stowed away, they were in for another hour of this torture before they could even move on to the wedding breakfast.
“Are you all right?” Lord Everly whispered in her ear.
Phee forced a smile to her lips and looked up into his brown eyes, which were currently scanning her face. With a nod, he smiled softly at her. “I think we’re done here, my lady. Are you ready to head home?”
Not waiting for her response, Lord Everly removed her gloved hand from his forearm and headed over to where her mother and father stood with a group of guests. With a bowed head, he said something to the pair before bowing and returning to Phee’s side. “I’ve made our excuses and the butler is bringing around your things. Is there anything else you require before we depart?”
“No,” Phee said, the word released in a single breath.
After procuring her spencer and hat, Lord Everly took her hand and guided her outside to where his carriage waited, handing her into the conveyance with haste. Inside the conveyance, Phee pulled in a breath, Lord Everly’s citrus and cigar scent permeating the air, filling her lungs like a hug of relief. While the slight throbbing at her temple did not ease, her shoulders relaxed and her stomach stopped churning as soon as the door closed behind her new husband.
“How did you know—” she began to ask, but Lord Everly interrupted her.
“Your mouth becomes pinched and you flinch at the sharper voices in the room. Do you truly not know you have tells when you’re overstimulated?”
Phee blinked. “No, I didn’t.” She rubbed at her temple, willing away the pulsing that resided there. “Is it obvious?”
“Only to those paying attention,” Lord Everly said, removing the white gloves from his hands and moving beside her on the bench seat. “Is your head bothering you?”
Phee nodded. “I usually get a headache after these interactions.”
“May I try something?” Lord Everly asked as he reached out his hands.
Phee pulled back. “What are you doing?”
“You look as if you are in pain and I only hoped to ease it,” he said, his hands still outstretched. “Is it all right if I do?”
Phee nodded even as she felt her forehead wrinkle into a frown. Lord Everly’s warm fingers slid along both of her temples, the slight pressure he applied creating a soothing rhythm to the aching areas. Sunlight filtered in through the carriage window, casting a spotlight on her new husband. His sandy hair turned platinum where the sun kissed it, reminding her of the straw Rumpelstiltskin spun in an old fairy tale her nanny used to read to her. Flecks of gold danced in his brown eyes which were framed by pale lashes, his gaze focused on where his hands resided. He was an unbearably attractive man, this husband of hers, almost exactly what she pictured the prince would look like in the storybooks.
“Does this feel all right?” he asked, his voice quiet.
Phee forced herself to focus on his ministrations instead of the work of art that sat before her. His fingertips were soft, nary a sign of callus or scar, and as they worked in a circular motion, easing the incessant pain, Phee closed her eyes and allowed the rhythm to entrance her. “It’s helping,” she said, the truthful words slipping easily between her lips.
Lord Everly chuckled, the sound heavy and deep like the beating of a drum. “I’m glad.” He remained quiet for a time, the silence filling the carriage comforting in an odd sort of way, so when he spoke again, Phee startled at the noise. “You said you get these headaches after every society affair?”
“Mm,” she said, hoping the sound was affirming and that he did not stop the soothing motions upon her skull.
Lord Everly released a sigh, the slight hint of peppermint mingling with the citrus and cigar that already danced in the air. “I cannot imagine the pain you must go through every time. It’s little wonder you ran away at every possible convenience.” He paused and Phee released a sound of frustration that prompted his motions to start once again. “Little wonder you deemed limited interaction in your contract as such a necessity.”
His words lifted the foggy haze that clouded her brain, and Phee pulled back. Even if this man was her husband, it was a business transaction, and surely it did not include skull rubbing. At least, she was certain it was not anywhere in their contract. “Thank you, my lord. My head feels much better.”
Lord Everly’s hands were still raised in the air where her head had resided and with the quirk of a brow, he lowered them into his lap. “I’ll have the housekeeper fetch a tonic for you once we arrive at my home.” He chuckled once more. “Or perhaps, I should say, our home, my lady.”
Phee felt the muscles between her eyebrows contract at his statement, and the pounding in her head resumed at the action. Blast and drat, she would need to get that motion under control if she wanted to get rid of these horrid pains.
As the carriage began to slow, Phee removed her pocket watch once more and glanced at the time. A small smile tugged at her lips as she watched the big and little hand nearly straddle one another as they pointed at the twelve. Surely her delivery had arrived, and hopefully fully intact. Biting at her lip, she pushed down the urge to jostle her leg in impatience and waited, as a fine English lady would, for a footman to open the door and her husband to hand her down.
The entire staff of Lord Everly’s Mayfair townhome stood on the steps, a stern looking woman in a brown dress standing to the side presiding over them. Laugh lines bracketed her mouth, contending with her severe appearance, and her eyes brightened as Phee moved toward her.
“Lady Everly, this is my housekeeper, Mrs. Beatley,” Lord Everly said, motioning to the figure before them. “She’s been with the family since I was a young lad.” The woman dipped a curtsey, a smile taking over her face as she raised her gaze to Phee.
“My lady, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Mrs. Beatley said.
Lord Everly smiled. “And this is my most dutiful butler, Sterns,” he said, nodding to an older man with a wrinkled forehead and kindly smile.
The butler bowed to her, his soft expression comforting, and she smiled at him in return. “A pleasure to meet you both,” she said, the expression slipping easily from her lips as if it had been hammered into her skull for years, which it had.
Sterns, gentle smile still in place, looked at her. “My lady, a delivery arrived for you. I had the footmen set them up in the garden as per the instructions I was given,” he said. The housekeeper winked at his pronouncement.
“Thank you,” Phee said.
“Delivery?” Lord Everly asked. He looked at Sterns. “You made no mention of a delivery before I departed this morning.”
Sterns smiled at Lord Everly. “The delivery arrived while you were at the ceremony, my lord. A most exciting delivery, indeed. I’ve never seen hives before.”
“Hives,” Lord Everly said, the word full of amusement. “Any reason why I was not privy to this addition?”
The question was directed to Sterns and Beatley, but Phee answered for the pair, uncertain where the confusion lay. “I’m afraid that’s my fault, my lord. Seeing as how it was in our contract, I made the assumption that I would not need your permission.” Lord Everly looked at her with a frown marring his beautiful pink lips. “I am allowed to pursue any hobby I like as well as have full control over the design of the garden.”
Lord Everly shook his head, a smile overtaking his face, before turning and striding into his elegant Mayfair townhome. Phee trailed at rapid speed behind Lord Everly, barely looking at the home’s design, her peach skirts swishing with the force of a broom against the marble floors. Lord Everly threw open the doors to the balcony and gardens below, and Phee’s breath caught at the onslaught of colors and perfumes that assaulted her senses. Flowers of every shape and size danced at the slight breeze, trees bearing luscious flowers stood strong against the onslaught, the impressive branches reaching toward the sky. It was a paradise full of potential, and Phee nearly giggled in delight.
Two Huber hives sat on wooden tables in a section of the lawn, the individual frames of each hive open like a book, empty, as if awaiting their words. The hives were spaced nearly two meters apart, the setup appeared more like the face of a dice than the imagined enterprise of beekeeping Phee had dreamt up, but it was merely step one in a complex series, and would have to do for now.
Lord Everly stopped at the sight, his face a journey of emotions as he absorbed the contents of his gardens and while Phee desperately longed to examine the hives and make adjustments to the layout, she instead paused beside her husband and waited for him to speak. Lord Everly took his time, and Phee clasped her hands before her, her fingers pulling at the tips of her white gloves in impatience.
Clearing of his throat, Lord Everly turned to her, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Lady Phoebe, what is this?” he asked.
With a smile, Phee turned and looked at the setup of her hives. “Isn’t it obvious? This is my hobby.”
“Bees,” he whispered with amazement. “That’s what you meant by bees.”