Whit belonged to the Earl of Whitby, and while he possessed the title, the name didn’t fit him, like a suit custom-cut for someone else that he shoved himself into.Whitbelonged to the man he’d left behind when he abandoned his wife in England. He would be Philip now, his given name, the name he’d used during the last eight years as he’d battled his demons into submission, all with Lily’s name on his lips.
Before Lady Redbourne could respond, a streak of curly ginger fur dashed out the door and began circling him, alternating between yapping at his ankle and rolling about on his toes.
He bent and scooped up the puppy, who, after deciding Philip was not there to murder the family, licked his chin in earnest. “Who is this?”
“Cricket. He belongs to Marigold’s boys.” Lady Redbourne gave the spaniel an exasperated look. “Lily said you’d be with your mother this Christmas. Have you changed your mind?”
His mother? The Dowager Countess of Whitby was spending the holiday with her lover on the coast of Spain.
“Yes,” he hedged as he released the pup to the floor. “She would rather I spent my time with my wife’s family.”
Lily crowded her mother’s back and glared over the woman’s shoulder, but Lady Redbourne’s smile widened. “Come in, you must get off your feet.” Shecaught his hands and pulled him forward, into the glow of the foyer. “You’ll catch your death if you stay out here in those wet clothes.”
She motioned him past a gaping Lily, but as soon as she shut the door behind him, his wife seemed to come to her senses.
“Mama, this is a misunderstanding. He’s leaving—”
His body hummed with her proximity, like every nerve in his person, dormant for years, came alive and simultaneously attuned to her. He clocked the dark hair curling around her ear, how she chewed her lower lip, the petulant lift of her chin. If someone had asked him why he was so desperate to return to his wife, he wouldn’t have listed any of these things. But now that he saw them, sawher, he would add them to the list.
Leave her now? Like hell he would. “No, I’m not leaving.”
Lily’s nostrils flared before the snarling sound emerged again. “We weren’t expecting him. There aren’t any rooms left.”
“Pish posh.” She didn’t look at her daughter as she waved for Philip to remove his sodden hat and greatcoat, then handed them over to the waiting butler. “I haven’t seen your husband in years, what with all his travel. We have more than enough space for family.”
Family.
How his chest ached for that, like his heart was prying apart his ribs to reach for such a thing, something he’d worked tirelessly to deserve in these past months. Something that had felt impossible, like flying.
But now that he was back in Lily’s presence, hostile as it was, he wanted it even more.
Family. A home. A life with the woman he loved.
The woman who was currently staring daggers at his profile.
“You poor dear,” Lady Redbourne tsked. “You’re soaked to the skin. I’ll go see if one of the boys has something you can wear.”
“That would be wonderful,” he said. “My trunks won’t arrive until tomorrow.”
Lily’s eyes flashed. “You should go into town and wait for them.”
“Nonsense, Lily,” her mother chided. “We can find something that will fit. It’s a shame Timothy hasn’t arrived yet. He’s about your height.”
He tensed. “Not here yet? I thought they would have arrived by now.”
“Alas, they haven’t. They stopped to leave their traveling companions in London.”
Philip’s confidence, already shaken by the slammed door to the face, faltered further. Their companions were Lavinia and Dominic Bailey, Lavinia being the physician who had helped him through the worst of his recovery, had provided the support he needed to turn his life around. Only when he was certain he was ready to return did he reach out to Timothy to enact the next phase of his plan.
It was because of Timothy that Philip had come to Oxfordshire at all.
“The Baileys…" He swallowed hard. "They're not coming?”
She shook her head. “Some business with their club, apparently. Make yourself at home, and I’ll go ask about the clothing. His mother-in-law gave his upper arm a maternal pat before she turned her attention to hereldest daughter. “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to have you all here. It’s a Christmas miracle.”
Lily’s nostrils flared as her mother departed, and when she pivoted to face him, her hands were in fists at her sides and pink splotches stained her cheeks and neck.
“She doesn’t know we’re…” He trailed off, unsure how to categorize the sorry state of their marriage.
