Philip had offered to take a plate of the meal to Mrs. Keller when he’d gone up to his room to change.
The firm thud of footsteps overhead made Felicity tingle with awareness of Philip’s presence. He was here. Really here. And he had a room now, which made his visit seem even more official.
She still couldn’t believe it and pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
After she’d returned from taking care of Stan and the wagon, she’d carried Philip’s bags into the house against his adamant protest that he would do it later. The ice on the grass and gravel had made maneuvering difficult, and in attempting to walk only the short distance to the barn and back, she’d nearly fallen a dozen times. How had Philip gone several miles?
She’d scolded Philip thoroughly for daring such a trek. Thankfully, he’d remained by the stove, thawing out little by little. Now that he had his belongings—which had mostly stayed dry in his canvas bag—he was changing his clothing while she set the table for supper.
She eyed the candles. Did they make the meal look too romantic? She didn’t want Philip to think she was interested in him, because she wasn’t, even though he’d admitted to coming back simply to see her and not for his camera. In fact, he hadn’t even realized he’d left his camera behind.
A thin ribbon of delight wove through her again, as it had when she’d probed him earlier. His arrival was because of her and no other reason.
He was turning out to be an honest man, one full of integrity. In addition, he was kind and thoughtful. What other man would spend an entire afternoon trying to locate help for her? Weston certainly hadn’t. To be fair, Weston had offered to come for himself. But still, Philip had taken the time to seek out men, interview them, and try to find someone reliable for her.
At the heavy patter of steps in the hallway nearing the stairway, she combed a hand over loose hairs before brushing at her simple blouse and then at her skirt. She’d already taken off her apron and stowed it in the kitchen. Part of her wished she’d donned one of the elegant dresses that Charity had left behind for her. She wore them for trips into town. But whenever she was working around the homestead, she donned the plain clothing that she’d grown up wearing.
Although she could appreciate the values and simple faith of the Quakers, she hadn’t lamented when her parents had broken away from their community. She’d been ready to experience more of the world. That’s why she’d been eager for friendship with the wealthy young ladies who had included her in their activities during that last year in Pennsylvania. Though the friendship had turned out to be a disaster, Felicity had learned a great deal about what life was like outside the Quaker society.
She’d also learned a great deal while living as Mrs. Bancroft’s companion. Even if the time had been difficult and the woman had been demeaning, Felicity had enjoyed all the things that had once been forbidden—music, dancing, games, parties, and fancy clothing. Especially the fancy clothing. She hadn’t gotten to travel with Mrs. Bancroft the way she’d hoped, but she’d met interesting people from other places around the world, like Philip.
Now, as Philip loped down the stairs in dry garments, a warm sputter pulsed through her—one charged with strange energy. His blond hair was dark from being damp, but he’d combed it back into lazy waves. He’d put on wool trousers and thick socks. His shirt was a warm flannel and not one of the immaculate white dress shirts he’d worn to the dinner parties at Mrs. Bancroft’s.
He’d always been incredibly handsome in his evening attire. But this casual, shoeless version of him was even better.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he slanted a grin at her, one that tilted her and the world around her. He had such a devilishly handsome smile.
He paused and rubbed his hands together, unable to conceal a shiver.
“Are you still cold?” She crossed to the stove by the sofa, intending to add more fuel and take the chill out of the air—a chill that the gusting wind continued to push in through every crack of the house. It had been less than two hours since his arrival, but the darkness of evening had fallen and brought with it dropping temperatures.
Before she could toss more wood into the stove, he stepped into her way and grabbed her arm. “I’m just fine. And I don’t want you behaving as my servant any longer.”
Her attention fixed on his long fingers easily encompassing her wrist and pulling her back. “I’m not your servant.”
“I should think not.” His thumb brushed against her pulse, which was suddenly thrumming against her skin loud and fast, as if wanting to break free.
Oh, dear heavens. She began to tug away from him before she acted irrationally and did something stupid like throw herself at him, press her body wantonly against him, and wrap her arms around him.
He released her hand only to capture it again and situate it in the crook of his arm. “You’re a lady and should have a whole castle full of servants at your beck and call.”
“Castle full?” She tried not to think about how good his muscles felt against her fingertips. “I take it you live in a castle with an army of servants?” She wasn’t sure why she was more curious about him tonight. Maybe it was the prospect of a candlelit dinner. Maybe it was the fact that he was here instead of on his way to Denver. Maybe it was the intimate meal ahead with just the two of them.
Whatever it was, she wanted to know more about this man.
He led her to the table as regally as if they really were a lord and lady living in a castle. As he pulled out her chair and helped her push it in, she waited almost breathlessly for him to take his spot across from her.
As he sat down, she watched him expectantly. “Well?”
“The meal looks stunning.” He swept his gaze over everything, appreciation lighting his eyes.
“You’re ignoring my question.”
“The question about whether or not I’m happy to see you again?” He unfolded his napkin and laid it in his lap. “You needn’t fish for compliments so blatantly.”
She scooted the pasta bowl toward him so that he’d dish up his serving first. Exactly how happy was he to see her again? She wanted to ask, but she couldn’t, or he’d have the advantage over her. And she couldn’t allow that. “I suppose the question you should be asking is whether I’m happy to see you.”
In the middle of dipping the fork into the pasta, he paused. “How could you not be happy to see my adorable face again?”
“Adorable?” She glanced around the room as though looking for someone. “Did you bring Declan with you this time?”
His grin played upon his lips as he heaped a mound of pasta and sauce upon his plate. “Just admit I’m more adorable than Declan.”
She paused and pretended to think about it. Then she shrugged playfully. “You’re right. I usually reserve the word adorable for describing baby chicks and newborn bunnies. But I guess it applies to you too.”
For a short while as they ate, they kept the banter flying, neither one letting it drop. The exchange, as usual, invigorated her and sent secret thrills whispering to every region of her body, bringing her to life. Time with him always made her feel alive, but she never quite understood why.
His eyes seemed alive too. Thankfully his frozenness had melted away, and he was moving and talking and carrying on just as he normally did.