’m sorry,” Philip said in a hushed voice as he stood behind me.

I didn’t know if he felt sorry for what had happened or for asking me about it, but it didn’t matter. My defenses were already up. It had been a mistake to make myself vulnerable. Now I wanted to run from this room and go somewhere far away from this man who made me say things I didn’t want to say and feel things I didn’t want to feel. I stepped aside so I was no longer trapped between him and the window and turned around.

“Are you ready to play chess?” I asked in a brisk voice. “Or should we save it for another day?” I did not meet his gaze, and I was already turned toward the door. My emotions were too close to the surface, and I needed to be alone to put them back in their proper places. I was ready to run away.

But then Philip touched my arm. “Wait,” he said.

I turned back to him reluctantly.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Actually, yes, I am.” I hadn’t even realized it.

“Will you excuse me for a few minutes? Please, make yourself comfortable.”

I watched him walk away with mixed emotions. I was still balanced between hot and cold. I had not decided which way I would fall—away from Philip or toward him. But now that he had left, I did not feel the desire to run away, and so I stayed and waited for his return.

Choosing a book of poetry from the bookshelf, I sat in a chair by the window and tried to shake off my unsettled mood. I lost myself in the poetry, and when the door opened again, I was surprised to see by the clock on the mantel that half an hour had passed.

Philip brought in a tray loaded with food, which he set on the small table between our chairs.

“I hope you appreciate what I went through,” he said. “You should have heard the scolding I received from the cook for raiding her pantry. I was terrified.”

I laughed, relieved that he had returned in a less serious mood. “You were not.”

“I was,” he said with a grin. “There’s something about servants who have watched you grow up—they never hesitate to treat you like a child, no matter how old you are.” He picked up a plate. “What would you like?”

“Oh, I can do that.” I set down the book and reached for the plate, but he held it back.

“Nonsense. Allow me to serve you. A little of everything?” His eyes twinkled as he smiled at me, and I was surprised by both his gesture and his look.

“Yes, thank you,” I said, watching him as he filled the plate with fresh fruits, bread, cold ham, and cheese. I took the food from him with a teasing smile. “You’re not going to insist on feeding me as well, I trust.”

“I would if I thought you would let me,” he murmured.

My face grew hot at the look he cast me from under his lashes.

“Ah, there it is,” he said. “I’ve missed your blush this past half hour.”

I glared at him. “I think you do that on purpose.”

He chuckled. “What?”

“Make me blush.”

“It’s the easiest work I’ve ever done,” he said shamelessly. “And the most enjoyable.”

I sat there feeling hot and irritated while he poured lemonade into a glass and held it out toward me.

“Thank you,” I muttered, reaching for it.

Philip held onto the glass after I had wrapped my hand around it, and I looked up. I was surprised to see his expression completely serious.

“Don’t think because I like to tease you that I don’t take you seriously,” he said in a quiet voice. “It is an honor to know what’s in your heart, Marianne.”

I was so taken aback that I would have dropped the glass if he hadn’t still been holding on to it. He set it down on the table and began to dish food onto his plate without looking at me. Would he ever do something predictable? I doubted it. I felt off-balance, yet at the same time flattered for a reason I couldn’t name. I was at a loss as to what to say or do.

I stared at my plate until Philip said, “It’s food, Marianne. You’re supposed to eat it.”

My eyes flew to his face. The amusement I saw there was irresistible. I laughed and started to eat, feeling comfortable once again—extremely comfortable, in fact. I curled my legs beneath me and looked out the window, content to eat in silence and watch the steady fall of rain. It surrounded the room with a hushing sound and blocked out the rest of the world, hiding the land and orchard from view.

“What a wonderful room,” I said. “How long did it take to build up this collection?”

“Only a few generations, actually. My grandfather had a passion for books. Probably half of what you see came from him. My father added to it every time he traveled to the Continent. He was always on the lookout for unique books. When he came home, he would invite me in here to look at the new titles. It felt almost as if I had been on his travels with him.”

I caught a little nostalgic smile in Philip’s eyes.

“And then, when I was on Tour, I found myself drawn to little bookstores everywhere I went. I came home a year later with dozens of boxes of books. We arrived just in time, the books and I.” His voice grew quiet. “I was able to show them to my father before he died. It was like one last travel for him.”

I was intrigued by the reverence in Philip’s voice. “What was your father like?”

Philip leaned back in his chair. “He was generous and quick to forgive. He was a man of principle, of high moral character. He was respected by all who knew him.” He glanced at me. “He was a gentleman, in every sense of the word.”

“And you want to be just like him.” I could see it in his countenance.

“Of course,” he said.

I suddenly realized that my insult when I met him at the inn must have been especially cutting. “I didn’t know—when I said what I did at the inn—I didn’t know what it would mean to you. I must have offended you deeply. I am sorry.”

He smiled ruefully. “I have never needed an insult more than I did that night. Please don’t apologize for it.”

I watched Philip intently, drawn to his easy smile and the way his eyes softened when he spoke of his father. All I knew about him were the few little crumbs he had cast my way. I was hungry for more.

“What books did you bring back from your Tour?” I asked.

“Anything that caught my eye. I wasn’t as selective as my father. He read mostly philosophy and religion. I picked up histories and mythology and poetry.” He gestured to the book I had been looking at earlier. “I found that one in a tiny bookstore in Paris that my father had told me about. The owner knew my father from his numerous trips there. He had a shelf of philosophy books that he pointed me to, and I think he was quite surprised when I bought the poetry instead.”

I smiled at the picture he had painted. “What else did you do on your Tour?”

Philip spread his hands. “A year of traveling around Europe is difficult to sum up.”

“Then don’t sum it up. Tell me everything.” I blushed at how eager and demanding I sounded. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. It’s just...” I shook my head and didn’t know if I should even go on.

But Philip asked, “What is it?” and he looked so curious that I tried to finish my thought.

“It’s different in Bath. I have only my grandmother and aunt for companions. My grandmother talks only if she has a criticism to make, and my aunt has more hair than wit. We never go out much in society because my grandmother doesn’t like people. So I’ve been rather starved for good conversation.”

“I imagine it’s more than conversation you’ve been missing. Haven’t you also been starved for friendship?” He said it with a soft look around his eyes, and my pride flared suddenly.

“I didn’t say that to make you feel sorry for me. And I don’t want friendship if it’s based on pity.” My voice sounded sharper than I had intended.

Philip studied me for a minute. I held his gaze with defiance.

“I understand that better than you may believe,” he finally said. His words effectively disarmed me.

“Do you?” I asked, surprised.

He looked pensively out the window. “You don’t want to be loved for your misfortune; I don’t want to be loved for my possessions. Are we not similar in that way?”

When he turned his gaze to me, his expression reminded me of how he had looked when showing me the portrait of his elder brother, Charles. The look of loss in his eyes tugged at my heart, daring me to ask a question.

“Did somebody love you for your possessions?”

Philip should have looked offended by my personal question, but instead he smiled a little and asked, “Did somebody love you for your misfortunes?”

“No.”

“But you’re afraid someone might.”

I nodded, thinking of how I hated imposing on others simply because I depended on them.

“Then we’re similar in that way too.” His gaze held mine and understanding passed between us in a look.

“Well, then,” I said. I watched Philip’s lips curl into a smile at the same time that mine did.

He leaned toward me and said in a low voice, “I promise not to love you for your misfortunes.”

I blushed at the idea of saying the words “promise” and “love you” in the same sentence... to Philip. But I had to return the vow. Anything else would be rude.

“And I promise not to love you for your possessions.”

There. I had said it. I felt daring and bold. Maybe that was why I had the strange urge to grin. My cheeks ached with the effort of forcing my mouth into a moderate smile. I picked up the book as a distraction.

“I would still like to hear more about your Tour. Unless I’m keeping you from something?”

“I am wholly at your disposal, Marianne, but I wouldn’t want to bore you with stories of my travels.”

“Bore me?” I stared at him. “Philip. I have never been outside of England. I’ve never even been to London. Do you know what I would give for your experiences? How could you possibly think you would bore me?”

He didn’t answer, but there was such a look of delight in his eyes that I had to ask, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You called me Philip. For the first time.”

I blushed. It was true; I had called him by his Christian name. But surely it wasn’t my fault. He was the one who insisted on calling me Marianne and told me to stop calling him sir.

“It’s only because your horrible manners are rubbing off on me,” I muttered.

He laughed. “I am glad to hear it.”

I didn’t know how to answer, but thankfully I didn’t have to because Philip asked, “Where shall I begin?”

“Paris.”

Philip told me more about the little bookstore where he had found the book of poetry, then about the palace at Versailles and the balls and assemblies he had attended. He told me about the Notre Dame Cathedral, and then he walked to the bookshelf, looking around vaguely for a minute.

I went to the spot where I had been browsing before and pulled out the book on gothic architecture. “Was this what you were looking for?”

He flashed a smile at me as he took the book and set it on the table in front of us. He pointed out the various features he had seen on the Cathedral, turning pages rapidly, his voice growing rich with interest.

From Paris, he moved to Italy—Venice and Rome and Florence. He stood again and this time searched for a few minutes before coming back with a book of sketches. He handed it to me and let me look through them at my leisure, pointing to statues he had seen, talking about the artists and the preservation of the work. He told me about Italian operas, and the time he had stayed in a villa on the coast where the water was so clear that he could see to the bottom of the ocean.

After Italy came Austria and Switzerland—the Alps, the songs, the beautiful countryside. And more books. He brought me a book on Bavaria and a book of traditional Austrian folksongs. I asked him to sing one for me. His voice was low and rich and easy to listen to, not forced or unnatural. It was a very pleasant sound.

As Philip talked, his eyes lit up. He gestured with his hands as he spoke, and when he smiled, his whole face was bright and captivating. After a while I didn’t have to ask questions. He just talked, and I could sit there with my chin on my hand, feasting on stories and images and ideas foreign to my own. Philip opened up worlds to me with his words. I had no sense of time, and the overcast sky hid the passage of the sun from view, entrapping us in one endless, enchanted moment.

I only noticed the outside world when Philip paused at the end of a story and I heard voices outside the library. They pierced the bubble I had been suspended in, and I felt the world and time rush back at me. I did not want it to come back. I wanted to pull myself back into the hours that had just passed. I wanted to shut the door and let the rain go on and keep myself right here for forever. But Philip paused, and his silence marked the end of our time together.

“I love this room,” I said with a sigh, reluctant to leave.

“You’re welcome here any time.”

“This is your sanctuary.” I knew as soon as I had seen Philip in here that this was his orchard. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Not even if I asked you to?” he asked with a smile.

“Oh. Well...” I didn’t know how to respond. I blushed at my own awkwardness. “You’re too kind.”

“I’m not too kind. The library is for everyone, and you should consider yourself free to come here whenever you like.”

“Thank you. And thank you for spending the day with me. I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed a day more... not in a long time.”

He reached a hand across the small space between our chairs. I put mine in it naturally, instinctively. He leaned toward me, his blue eyes twinkling, his smile as warm as a patch of sunlight. “The pleasure was all mine, Marianne.”

I felt trapped in his gaze. I was suddenly overcome with the sensation that if I looked deeply enough into Philip’s eyes I would find a beautiful, important secret. I drew in a breath, and as I did, I leaned closer. The sensation grew stronger, convincing me that it was only the distance between us that was keeping me from uncovering the truth. If I leaned toward him, something would happen. I was sure of it. But if I leaned away, nothing would happen. So I stayed perfectly still, balanced between something and nothing, not knowing which way I wanted to fall.

Philip stayed perfectly still, too, as though waiting for me to decide. His eyes, though, were not standing by like impartial witnesses to my decision. His eyes were persuading me that I wanted thatsomething. They were inviting me closer, drawing me closer, convincing me to lean, to fall, to dive into their blue depths and never resurface.

“Oh, pardon me.” Mr. Clumpett’s voice suddenly broke over me.

I startled, as if awakened from a dream, and pulled my hand out of Philip’s grip. The sensation I had experienced vanished like smoke from a snuffed candle, leaving behind wisps of nameless longing.

Of course Philip had left the door to the library open. He was such a gentleman that way. But I wondered what his uncle had seen. Had he seen me gazing into Philip’s eyes for that long moment? My cheeks burned at the thought.

Philip stood and turned toward Mr. Clumpett, who had halted a few steps inside the room.

Mr. Clumpett cleared his throat. “Didn’t realize you two were having a tête-á-tête in here. The door was open, you know.” His eyes flicked to the maid in the corner, who had been diligently dusting all afternoon.

“Yes, I know,” Philip said with a smile in his voice. “Did you need something?”

Mr. Clumpett held up a book. “This doesn’t mention anything about the Indian rhinoceros. I was looking for a companion to this volume.” He tilted his head back, letting his gaze traverse the high bookshelves with a hopeless expression. “You wouldn’t happen to know, would you, if such a thing can be found... in here?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Philip said, with a look that was part amusement and part pity.

Mr. Clumpett heaved a sigh and approached a bookshelf. He shook his head and muttered something that sounded like disorganized.

Glancing at the clock on the mantel, I was shocked to see that it was nearly six o’clock and time to change for dinner. Had I really spent the entire day here?

“We never did play chess, you know,” I said to Philip. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Philip said. “Our conversation was much more enjoyable than a game of chess. And now I have a reason to claim your time another day. Do you have plans tomorrow afternoon?”

The only plans I had made were to immerse myself in the loveliness of the estate. I told him so, and he smiled and said, “Meet me here after lunch, then.”

I left the library feeling a decided urge to do something close to twirling. As I walked to my bedchamber to change for dinner, I wondered what had happened to me today. Something had happened—of that I was certain. Where before I had been partially empty, now I felt somehow full inside—complete. It was a feeling as buoyant as sunlight. Examining my heart, I found that there were pieces of me that had gone missing in Bath that I had found again, today, with Philip. And they were pieces of happiness.

I entered my room with a smile on my face, knowing who was responsible for the happiness I had found. Philip had become a friend today, and I had not known until that moment how much I had missed the company of a friend. Perhaps I had never known before today the value of such a friend—a person to whom one could talk for hours without noticing the passage of time. Although I had had many friends in my life, I had never known how it felt to be accepted and esteemed so completely, and so immediately.

A letter rested on my writing desk, catching my attention while Betsy brought out a gown for me to change into for dinner. My initial excitement at seeing the envelope changed to disappointment when I realized it was merely Mr. Whittles’s poem, which he had given to me before I left Bath. Betsy must have removed it before taking my gown to be laundered.

While I dressed, I thought of Mr. Whittles and how relieved I was to be done with him. I had been very fortunate to come here and find such a warm welcome among the Wyndhams.

But to simply enjoy my current state of happiness with no thought of others seemed very self-centered. Perhaps I could do something to help Aunt Amelia win her heart’s desire. Mr. Whittles needed only a nudge in the right direction, and I felt sure he would be very happy with my aunt. Her sincere admiration would stroke his ego quite nicely, and she was not an unattractive woman.

I slipped the poem into the drawer of my writing desk, determined to come up with a way to bring those two together.