Calm the Storm (Society of Swans Book 2) by Penny Fairbanks

Author:Penny Fairbanks [Fairbanks, Penny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2024-05-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“Felicity, there you are,” Atticus called with a sigh of relief. “I was afraid I would not find you in time.”

Felicity looked up from her rather creative watercolor interpretation of the basket of fruits perched on the stool before her.

“Look, Atticus,” she called in return, waving him into the infrequently used east sitting room. “A little orange bled into my grapes, and now I have orange grapes. Then I thought, why should apples only be red or green? And now I have purple apples.”

Hands clasped behind his back and wearing an intrigued smile, her husband crossed the small room. He peered over her shoulder at her easel. “Innovative, indeed. Have you considered green cherries, perhaps?”

“An inspired idea!” Felicity laughed, grinning up at him unabashedly.

Ever since their heartfelt conversation in the library a few days ago—the first of several since—she truly had felt lighter, freer, just as Atticus had promised.

And he had listened so intently and offered such soothing, tender words. He had accepted every bitter remark, every pained remembrance, with complete understanding. Knowing that another soul—besides her sister—acknowledged her suffering and did not find weakness in it…the sensation was incredible.

Could it be possible to feel like this all the time? Seeing her husband’s kind eyes staring back at her like that, Felicity knew that if anyone could make such a thing possible, it was Atticus.

“Ah, but you said you were looking for me? You are nearly late to meet Sebastian,” Felicity prompted when he drifted into silent thought, a charmingly common occurrence.

Atticus nodded, his dark-brown hair somehow already windswept. “Yes, I hoped to find you and deliver these.”

From behind his back, Atticus brandished a bouquet of stunning cornflowers. Felicity gasped. Her paintbrush slipped from her fingers and landed with a faint click upon the wood floor.

“The last wild cornflowers of the season,” Atticus continued as Felicity’s fingers reached out slowly and accepted them. “I know Mr. Harrowsmith and I are to assess Setherwell’s grounds today for the upcoming pheasant hunt, but I must confess I thought to—”

“To prepare yourself in advance,” Felicity guessed. She hid the knowing smile that longed to grace her lips behind the delicate, blue blooms.

Atticus chuckled and bowed his head. “Precisely. My wife is extraordinarily astute.”

“Normally, I would say that my husband is too generous, but in this instance, he has esteemed me exactly.”

Atticus’s chuckle became a true laugh. Lines deepened at the corners of his eyes and his broad shoulders shook. Felicity joined, their voices blending in surprising harmony.

“Do inform me when you tire of hearing such shameless bragging,” Felicity said as the burst of amusement trailed away.

“Never.”

That single word, spoken so firmly, jolted down Felicity’s spine. She angled her head back to peer up at him properly, curls sweeping across her cheeks.

“Do you mean to say that you will never inform me?”

To Felicity’s surprise, Atticus tilted his head to one side in an expression almost approaching mischief. “I cannot inform you if I never tire of hearing it, can I?”

The leaps and twists

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