His Lady Midnight (13 page)

“Phoebe Brackenton.”

Mr. Townsend's air of disdain vanished as a calculating glint came into his eyes. Did he think she would not notice as he bent over her hand? Mayhap he was so assured of his charm that he considered it a matter beneath his concern.

“My lady, forgive me for not recognizing you.”

“I do not believe we have been introduced previously, although we have spoken at least once in London.”

He leaned one shoulder against the open doorway. “That is true. I would be a vulgar cad if I failed to see such a lovely addition at so many of the gatherings we both have attended during the beginning of this Season.”

“Excuse me while I make certain your brother is aware that you are calling.”

He stepped in front of her. “As soon as I walked into the house, a footman scurried away to do exactly that. Another brought me here, apparently believing that you should know of my arrival. You do not need to rush away, too.”

“Of course not.” Phoebe kept her fingers from curling into fists at her side. She should not judge Mr. Townsend before she knew him.
On dits
had labeled Galen a rake of the first order, but he had been a gentleman with her. “Will you sit down, Mr. Townsend?”

“I would rather you offer me something to take the dust of the road from my throat.” He walked past her to the table and picked up a glass. “Is there any brandy in this house?”

Going to a bellpull, Phoebe tugged on it. Vogel appeared in the door and nodded at her request to bring some brandy.

“I trust,” Mr. Townsend said as he motioned for her to sit, “that you will entertain me with an explanation of what you are doing with my brother at Sir Ledwin Woods's house.”

She sat and folded her hands in her lap. “Your brother was kind enough to act as my host after I encountered him when his carriage broke down. He—”

“Carr!” Galen's glad shout echoed off the ceiling.

Phoebe came to her feet, wanting to warn Galen to take care that he did not hurt himself again as he went to greet his brother. She said nothing as Galen slapped his brother companionably on the back. Mr. Townsend chuckled and went to where a maid was bringing a tray with two bottles on it.

Grasping the brandy, Mr. Townsend poured enough to fill two glasses. He handed one to Galen before taking a deep drink of his.

“Ah,” Mr. Townsend said. “That is just what I needed after that long trip.” He turned to smile at Phoebe. “I have had the opportunity to meet your companion, and I suspect you have found just what you need, too.”

She stiffened. Mayhap gossip had been mistaken when they labeled Galen Townsend as a prime rake. Clearly his brother had left his manners behind him in Town.

“Yes, I have,” Galen replied. He smiled at her. When she did not return it, his expression wavered. He filled a glass with wine and held it out to her. “Phoebe has been kind enough to agree to hostess a rout for me this evening. I assume you will join us.”

Mr. Townsend's nose wrinkled. “Bath society is bound to bring on a bout of ennui.”

“So why are you here?” Phoebe asked, then sipped her wine as she watched Mr. Townsend's eyes narrow.

“I discovered Galen was gone from Town, so I thought I would find out where he had taken himself. Imagine my surprise to discover Alfred despairing about the damage to your carriage, brother. He did reassure me that you had not been hurt in an upset, but I thought I would see for myself.”

Phoebe looked away, hoping her face was not ablaze with her embarrassment. Carr Townsend might have a sullied reputation and a vexing attitude, but he had traveled nearly the breadth of England to be certain that his brother was unscathed by whatever had damaged the carriage. Mayhap she had misjudged him.

When she excused herself, leaving the brothers to talk, she reminded herself that Mr. Townsend's arrival should be good tidings for her. Galen would not be leaving.

Only she would be … as soon as she knew it was safe to go to London.

Phoebe hurried into her bedchamber. Where had the day gone? She had spent the afternoon in the garden, tending to some of the flowers that seemed in need of attention, and because she wanted to avoid Carr Townsend's attentions. After he had monopolized the conversation at luncheon, refusing to heed any opinions but his own, she had decided he was the most irritating man she had ever met. He could not be accused of any misdeed, for his words were always sugary-sweet. Yet the undertone of some stronger emotion was always there. She did not want to explore closely enough to discover if he was jealous of his brother or if he simply understood that he could be as ill mannered as he pleased and still persuade Galen to do as he wished.

In all other matters, Galen was clear thinking, but he seemed too eager to make sure nothing bad happened to his brother. Mr. Townsend used that to his advantage in every way he could. She had had to bite her tongue more times than she wished during the uncomfortable meal. She had risen from the table as quickly as she could and come out to the garden to work. She longed to believe she was overreacting. After all, Mr. Townsend had taken that rough journey to assure himself Galen was fine. But now that he was here, Mr. Townsend acted as petulant as a child.

The clock on the mantel in the outer chamber of the bedroom chimed the hour. It was six, and her guests would be here within an hour, for the gathering was starting earlier than the functions she had hostessed in London. Skirting a low table that was edged with a trio of chairs upholstered in green, she entered the private bedchamber at an unseemly pace.

“Good evening, my lady,” said Mrs. Boyd. She had arrived from Townsend Hall with Tate but had remained at Thistlewood Cottage to oversee it on behalf of Lord Townsend. If any of the servants here had been distressed by Mrs. Boyd's arrival and her assumption that they would answer to her, Phoebe had seen no sign of it.

She gave Mrs. Boyd a smile as she paused by the large oak bed. The room had plenty of room for an armoire set between the pair of windows flanked with scarlet velvet. The gray-haired housekeeper in her gown of the same drab shade was overseeing the three maids who were filling a bath set to one side on the flowered rug. Mrs. Boyd must have been spying on Phoebe in the garden in order to have everything ready.

“You are most efficient, Mrs. Boyd,” she said, drawing off her borrowed work gloves and putting them on a table.

“I believe it is more that I am pleased to be of service. Lord Townsend has not been at Townsend Hall for more than a year, which is why both Tate and I took advantage of the chance to come here.”

Phoebe's eyes grew wide. She had not given thought to how a household staff filled their hours when the owners were absent. Regret sifted through her. The staff at Brackenton Park had not seen her in months.

“Both Lord Townsend and I appreciate your service,” she replied.

“Thank you, my lady.” She chuckled, then waited until the maids had left the room. “If I may say so, I believe you made a wise decision when you offered Lord Townsend a ride in your carriage.”

“Excuse me?”

She laughed again. “My lady, I know it is not my place to say anything, but Lord Townsend will tell you that I have been at Townsend Hall since he was a young pup. In that time, I have learned much about him and what he is like. You should open your eyes and see that Lord Townsend clearly adores you.”

Phoebe stared at the housekeeper in amazement. Mrs. Boyd spoke as if she were Galen's mother rather than his housekeeper.

“He is a good man,” Mrs. Boyd continued, “so you must be careful with his heart. I doubt if he has given it to anyone, for he thinks only of keeping his brother out of another jumble. Strong men are the most easily shattered.”

Mrs. Boyd hurried out of the room before Phoebe could speak past her shock. What had persuaded the housekeeper to be so candid with her?

Going to where a pink gown decorated with gold lace was waiting on the bed, she picked it up to discover it was one of her own from London. One of her favorite gowns, in fact. She could imagine Johnson's astonishment at a request to have her clothes taken to Sir Ledwin's, but her butler would have made certain that the unexplained order was followed exactly as she had requested.

She stared out the window that gave her a view of the rolling hills vanishing into the east. Johnson was a great ally in her work, devising tales of how she had retired early or was not receiving any callers that day. He had found ways to hide those who had escaped when the wagons they had expected were delayed. Like her butler, Galen's housekeeper was determined to do all she could to ease any stress in the lives of those she served.

And play matchmaker.

Phoebe dropped the gown back on the bed and went to the tub. A matchmaker was the last thing she needed now. Her heart was leading her into Galen's arms, when her head should be considering how she could go to London and resume her work.

She undressed and sank into the bath, sighing with pleasure. Sponging off at a bowl in a wayside inn was not the same as a real bath. She washed her hair and used the extra water to rinse it.

Regretfully, when the water grew chill, she dressed quickly in fresh smallclothes. She sat on a tufted chair and combed her hair until it hung in drying waves along her shoulders. She drew on her gown and smoothed it down her. As she began to hook it up, she realized she could not reach all the tiny hooks. The last time she had worn this, her abigail, Marie, had been there to assist. She would ring for assistance after she did her hair.

Coming to her feet, she tried to check her appearance. The glass was not at a convenient height, but, if she stood on tiptoe, she could see her reflection. Sweeping her curls up around the crown of her head, she pinned them in place with silken flowers that she took from a vase by the window. A few wisps framed her face. She adjusted the curved neckline, which dipped to offer a hint of her shoulders. Its bodice clung close before falling from the high waistline to brush her gold velvet slippers.

At a soft knock, she called, “Come in, Mrs. Boyd. Could you help me finish hooking up my gown?”

“I would be delighted,” came an answer followed a masculine chuckle.

“Galen! What are you doing here?” she gasped, as she saw his smile in the glass. He was dressed in prime twig as he had been in London. His navy coat was worn over sedate gray breeches. The stripes on his waistcoat matched the lace on her gown, and his cravat was the same pristine white as his shirt.

“This is my friend's house, and he invited me to run tame through it,” he said with a broadening smile.

“But this is my room, and I did not invite you to run tame through
it!
”

“I understand that, Phoebe. Let me hook you.” Galen quickly closed the few Phoebe could not reach. He kept his groan silent as he pulled his fingers back before they could linger above the low neckline that revealed enough of her soft skin to urge him to undo all the hooks and toss all thoughts of caution aside.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“I am glad to help. It went much faster than the last time I hooked you up.”

When she stepped away and trembled, he cursed his thoughtlessness. Even the most obtuse chucklehead would have known better than to remind her of what she had suffered when his efforts to protect her by giving her a false name had resulted in her abduction. He stroked her bare shoulders and bent forward to whisper in her ear, “Forgive me, Phoebe. I will never mention that again.”

“You need not abstain from speaking of it because you think you are reminding me of it.” She shuddered again. “'Tis something I cannot forget.”

“Think of something else.”

“I try, but those memories refuse to be shunted aside. I see that man's horrible leer or hear the disgusting sound of his laugh, and it is as if I am there again.”

He turned her to face him. Slipping his arms around her, he rested her cheek against his chest, taking care not to disturb the flowers in her hair. He stroked her back in silent solace, wishing he could find a way to turn back time to the moment when he had given her the name that had nearly caused her death.

She raised her head to look at him, and her eyes brightened with pleasure. His heart seemed to halt in midbeat as he admired her loveliness. Her chin might be tilted a bit too assertively for the preference of most men he knew, who preferred the women in their lives to be docile. Not him. He appreciated her spirit as much as her beauty. She fought to control many strong emotions, and he could not keep from savoring the fantasy of being the man to unleash them. In addition, her beauty possessed an intriguing radiance. As if his dreams had awakened to stand before him.

Stepping back a half step, Galen withdrew a long box from beneath his coat. Holding out the box that was covered with gold brocade, he said, “Take it.”

“What is it?”

“You will not know until you open it, will you?”

Her nose wrinkled, and he smiled. Teasing her was delightful. He had not realized, until she climbed into his carriage and into his life, that he had become so focused on trying to oversee his brother's pursuit of entertainment that he had forgotten to think of his.

“Open it,” he urged, impatiently, as she stroked the brocade.

Phoebe continued to stare at the glorious material. It reminded her of drapes in the solarium at Brackenton Park. She was unsure if they still hung in the sunny windows, or if the housekeeper had sold them to help pay the staff while Phoebe used her inheritance to continue her work.

“Are you going to stare at it all evening?” Galen asked.

She smiled at his impatience. That he was able to smile back without wincing pleased her more than she could have expressed. He had not complained, but she knew from talking to Roland, his valet, that the injuries Galen had endured were even more painful than he had let her know.

She raised the cover of the box. “Oh, my!” She touched the bed of emerald velvet as she stared at a spectacular gold-filigree necklace set with rubies. A pair of matching eardrops were set to one side. She traced the complicated pattern with a fingertip before looking back at him. “These are lovely.”