Page 45 of The Elusive Phoebe (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #1)
The morning mist clung to the Hampshire countryside like a gossamer veil, slowly lifting to reveal the rolling green hills that surrounded Rosemont Hall in all their spring glory.
From the music room windows, Phoebe could see daffodils dancing in the gentle breeze, their golden trumpets announcing that winter had finally surrendered to the promise of warmer days.
She sat at her beloved harp, the same instrument that had revealed Robert's first secret so many years ago, her fingers moving through a melody that had become as familiar as breathing.
The tune from her wedding ring—both wedding rings now, for she wore Robert's band on her right hand as a remembrance and Archie's on her left as a promise—filled the perfectly acoustical room with its haunting beauty.
"Still practicing that piece?" Archie's voice carried warmth and gentle teasing as he appeared in the doorway, their two-year-old son balanced on his hip.
"Mama music!" little Robert—Bobby, as they called him—declared with the imperious tone of a child who knew he was beloved beyond measure. He had inherited his father's dark hair and his mother's intelligent eyes, along with a stubborn streak that belonged entirely to himself.
"Yes, darling, Mama's music," Phoebe agreed, rising from the harp to embrace them both. "Though I suspect someone is more interested in breakfast than concerts this morning."
"Papa hungry too," Bobby announced, patting Archie's cheek with the casual affection of a secure child.
"Papa is indeed hungry," Archie confirmed, bending to kiss Phoebe's cheek. "Mrs. Thornbury has prepared enough food to feed half of Hampshire, as usual."
"She still cooks as if we're expecting a siege," Phoebe laughed, smoothing Bobby's unruly hair. "Though with the Widows arriving this afternoon, perhaps we are."
Today marked the third anniversary of their engagement and the annual gathering of the Secret Society of Young Widows—though the name had become somewhat obsolete as several members, including their hostess, were no longer young, and others were no longer widows.
Lady Joanna had diplomatically suggested they simply call themselves "The Somerset Society," which better reflected their evolving membership and purpose.
As they made their way to the breakfast room, Phoebe reflected on how perfectly their life at Rosemont had unfolded.
They had chosen this estate as their primary residence not just for its beauty, but for its symbolic meaning—it was the place Robert had built for love, and now it housed a love that honored his memory while creating something entirely new.
The breakfast room faced east, catching the morning sun in a way that turned the simple meal into a daily celebration. Mrs. Thornbury had outdone herself with fresh scones, strawberry preserves from their own gardens, eggs from their prize hens, and cream so thick it stood in peaks.
"Letter came for you this morning, my lady," Mrs. Thornbury announced as she bustled in with a fresh pot of tea. "From India, by the looks of it."
Phoebe accepted the letter with interest. Since Archie had transferred his business operations back to England, they rarely received correspondence from the subcontinent.
"It's from Captain Harrington," she said, scanning the familiar handwriting.
"He says the cotton mills in Bombay are thriving under their new management, and he's included the quarterly profits.
" She looked up at Archie with a smile. "Your investment in local managers was wise—the returns are even better than when you were there personally. "
"Much more pleasant to manage from Hampshire," Archie replied, cutting Bobby's scone into manageable pieces. "Especially when the view includes you and this young gentleman."
Bobby, who had inherited his parents' love of attention, beamed at being called a gentleman and promptly stuffed an enormous piece of scone into his mouth.
"We should discuss the afternoon's arrangements," Phoebe said as they settled into the comfortable rhythm of family breakfast. "Charlotte's arriving first—she's promised to help me arrange the music for tonight' s entertainment.
Margaret and Victoria are traveling together from London, and Caroline is bringing her new protégé. "
"Protégé?" Archie raised an eyebrow.
"A young widow from Canterbury who apparently reminds Caroline of herself at that age.
Spiritual, thoughtful, and completely overwhelmed by suddenly managing her own affairs.
" Phoebe smiled fondly. "Caroline has taken her under her wing, teaching her everything the Widows taught us about independence and self-reliance. "
"And Lady Joanna?"
"Will arrive precisely at three o'clock, as always, accompanied by whoever needs transportation and a detailed agenda for our meeting.
" Phoebe's expression grew warm with affection.
"She's bringing news about the new sanctuary we're establishing in Yorkshire—apparently, three more widows have requested assistance in relocating there. "
The Somerset Society had evolved far beyond its original purpose of protecting its existing members.
They now actively sought out women who needed help establishing independent lives, providing everything from financial advice to physical relocation assistance.
The network had grown to encompass safe houses across England, discrete financial support for women escaping difficult situations, and what Lady Joanna laughingly called "emergency husband removal services" for ladies trapped in abusive marriages.
"Mama, play?" Bobby asked, having finished demolishing his breakfast with the thorough efficiency of a determined toddler.
"After we clean those sticky fingers," Phoebe agreed, producing a damp cloth to address the strawberry preserve situation that had somehow migrated from his scone to his hair.
As they moved to the morning room for Bobby's playtime, Phoebe paused at the window that overlooked the gardens. The view never failed to take her breath away—Robert's careful planning had created something that was beautiful in every season, but spring at Rosemont was particularly magical.
The conservatory gleamed in the sunlight, its glass walls revealing the exotic plants that thrived under Archie's surprisingly skillful care.
He had discovered a talent for horticulture that neither of them had expected, and their dinner table was often graced with orchids and other tropical blooms that flourished under his attention.
Beyond the formal gardens, the home wood was carpeted with bluebells, their delicate color creating a fairyland effect that made morning walks feel like something from a children's story.
The lake—more of a large pond, really—reflected the sky like a mirror, while the small folly that Robert had built on its shore provided the perfect spot for summer picnics and quiet conversations.
"Penny for your thoughts," Archie said softly, coming to stand behind her with Bobby balanced on his shoulders.
"Just thinking how perfect this all is," she replied, leaning back against his chest. "Robert built this place hoping for happiness, and now it's full of more joy than he ever could have imagined."
"Do you think he would approve?" Archie asked quietly. It was a question he had posed several times over the years, and Phoebe understood the underlying concern—he wanted to honor the man who had loved her first.
"I think he would be delighted," she said firmly. "He loved me enough to want me to be happy, even if that happiness was with someone else. And Bobby..." She reached up to tickle their son's dangling foot, earning a delighted giggle. "Robert would have adored the new Lord Smalling."
"Down, Papa!" Bobby commanded, and Archie obediently lowered him to the floor, where he immediately began arranging his wooden blocks into what might charitably be called a castle but looked suspiciously like the Tower of London.
"Prisoners," Bobby announced with satisfaction, placing small wooden figures inside his construction.
"Darling, where did you learn about prisoners?" Phoebe asked with some alarm.
"Uncle Thomas," Bobby replied matter-of-factly. "Bad men go to Tower."
Phoebe and Archie exchanged amused glances.
Thomas, who had become a frequent visitor to Rosemont and a devoted honorary uncle to Bobby, had apparently been sharing age-appropriate versions of their adventures.
The boy's understanding of good and evil was therefore rather more sophisticated than most children his age, though he seemed to find the whole business thoroughly entertaining rather than frightening.
"Should we check on the preparations for this afternoon?" Archie suggested as Bobby became absorbed in his architectural endeavors.
They made their way through the house, stopping to consult with Mrs. Thornbury about dinner arrangements and the housekeeper's nephew about preparing additional guest rooms. Rosemont had been designed to accommodate large house parties, but the Somerset Society's gatherings had grown to require every available space.
The ballroom had been transformed into a meeting room, with comfortable chairs arranged in a large circle and side tables prepared for the documents and correspondence that would be reviewed during their business session.
Tonight, after the formal meeting, they would push back the furniture for dancing—a tradition that had evolved naturally from their first tentative celebrations.
"The new members will need orientation," Phoebe mused as they surveyed the arrangements. "We've grown so much that newcomers can feel overwhelmed by all our various projects and protocols."
"Perhaps Charlotte could handle that," Archie suggested. "She has a talent for making people feel welcome, and her theatrical background helps her present complex information in an engaging way."
"Excellent idea. She could turn our orientation into actual entertainment."