His Lady Midnight (15 page)

“Galen,” Phoebe said, turning to a short man whose wife was nearly a hand's breadth taller, “this is Barry Lyttle and his wife, Matilda. Mr. and Mrs. Lyttle, our host, Lord Townsend.”

It took every iota of the manners drilled into him for Galen to keep his smile a polite one as he greeted Mr. and Mrs. Lyttle. He doubted if any name had been more appropriate, for even though Mrs. Lyttle was taller than her husband, she was still the shortest woman in the room.

His urge to smile vanished when he found himself in a challenging discussion of the latest decisions to come out of Whitehall. Mr. Lyttle might be diminutive, but his brain obviously outdistanced his stature.

Phoebe watched Galen's eyes widen in amazement when Mr. Lyttle outlined his opinion on the shipping regulations that were under discussion in the Commons. Galen would quickly discover that Mr. Lyttle read every word in the newspapers he had delivered from every major city in England.

When Mrs. Lyttle tugged on Phoebe's arm, Phoebe went to stand with her by the double doors. Mrs. Lyttle opened her fan and laughed. “You should have given Lord Townsend fair warning of Mr. Lyttle's delight in having a new set of ears to air his vocabulary to.”

“Now, Mrs. Lyttle,” Phoebe replied, glad to be sharing an old joke when nothing else in her life remained the same as it had been when she had first met the Lyttles seven years ago. “You know Mr. Lyttle is not just talking for the sake of talking.”

Mrs. Lyttle laughed with an enthusiasm that was impossible to ignore. “No, he would relish getting into a deep discussion with anyone who is ready to debate with him. I suspect he has found a mind as honed as his in Lord Townsend. Or it may be that Lord Townsend is too polite to tell Mr. Lyttle that he has no interest in the subjects that intrigue my husband.”

“I collect it is the former.”

She was not sure if Mrs. Lyttle heard her because Mrs. Lyttle added, “I was so pleased to hear you had decided to pay Bath a visit.” Her bright blue eyes crinkled with her smile. “You should have let us know before this that you were here.”

Phoebe laughed lightly. “I fear that I needed some time to recuperate from the journey down from London.”

“It is a long trip.” Mrs. Lyttle waved her fan and laughed. “Mr. Lyttle tries often to persuade me to go to Town, because he would like to be closer to Parliament. He would like to express his opinions in the ears of any minister who could not elude him quickly enough. I fear I would miss the camaraderie of our small group of friends here in Bath. The excitement of the Season is not enough to convince me to leave Bath.” She put her hand on Phoebe's arm. “But I thought you would allow Mr. Lyttle and me to be your hosts when you visited here.”

“Galen believed he owed me a duty for offering him a way to continue his trip when his carriage was damaged.” Phoebe loathed the bitter taste of the lies. Somehow, before all of this erupted into such a bumble-bath, she had managed to live her dual lives without speaking too many lies. Now, every phrase she spoke seemed to be laced with falsehoods.

Phoebe pushed aside her uneasy thoughts as Galen introduced her to more of his friends who were in attendance. As the guests took their chairs to begin playing whist before dinner was served, she noticed how he glanced again and again at the doors to the terrace and the corridor. She said nothing, for she knew he was looking for his brother. Speaking of Mr. Townsend's absence now might cause Galen embarrassment.

She realized she was pacing about the room like a caged animal, but she could not sit and play cards. She tried to sit once or twice. It was impossible, and she was grateful when Lord Windham and his wife coming in from the terrace gave her the excuse to rise and go to them. She had not noticed them leaving. How rusty her skills as a hostess had become since she had begun her quest to save the almost innocent!

“I am fine,” Lady Windham said, although her voice was faint and her cheeks an unhealthy shade of gray. “The room seemed a bit close, so I thought I would be wise to get some fresh air.”

“If you would like, I—”

“You need do nothing.” Lady Windham's smile returned. “These odd sensations pass as quickly as they come. I am fine, and I am looking forward to playing cards. Do not worry on my behalf. Hamilton is doing that enough for all of us.”

Lord Windham chuckled. “Have pity on the poor father-to-be who has nothing to do but worry.”

Phoebe gestured toward a settee. “There is a place if you feel lightheaded and have the need to sit.”

“I think I shall be fine,” he replied.

“I didn't mean … that is …”

Lady Windham slapped her husband on the arm, her color becoming more normal as she laughed. “Stop hoaxing her, Hamilton.”

“Any friend of Sir Ledwin Woods must appreciate a good jest,” Lord Windham said as he took a glass of wine from the nearby table. “He is known for his excellent sense of humor. She must be well accustomed to it.”

Phoebe tried not to stiffen. She did not want to own that she had never met the man who owned this house. Then she realized she could be honest. “To own the truth, my lord, I have never had the privilege of meeting Sir Ledwin. He is Galen's friend.”

“I understand that you are quite the heroine, my lady.” Lord Windham lifted his glass in her direction. “You saved Townsend from his own folly in driving his carriage at a dangerous speed along those rough roads.”

She flushed, not wanting to be false with the kindly viscount. “I did only what anyone else would have done.”

“You are being too generous in your estimation of many of the people I have met.”

“You are cynical, my lord.”

His wife slipped her arm through his and laughed. “Do not let Hamilton's skepticism disturb you.”

“Skepticism?” Lord Windham asked with a laugh of his own. “I only wish more people would be like this kindhearted lady. She stopped to help someone in need.”

“As you would have,” Phoebe said.

“Yes, he would have.” Lady Windham smiled. “After all, that is how we met. He paused to help me when I was nearly ridden down.”

“How horrible!”

Looking up at her husband with a soft smile, Lady Windham replied, “It all worked out for the very best. Wouldn't you agree, Hamilton?”

“Yes, for the very best. If—”

“Pardon me,” said a voice accompanied by an elbow that drove Phoebe back a half step.

She jumped forward so Mr. Townsend did not reel into Lady Windham and hurt her unborn child. When the odor of brandy flowed from him toward her, she scowled. He was foxed!

“Yes, do excuse him, my lord, my lady,” she said as the viscount scowled at Galen's foolish brother.

Lord Windham took his wife's arm again and steered her away from Mr. Townsend who was weaving on his feet. Phoebe wanted to run after them, not only to apologize, but to prevent Mr. Townsend from engaging her in conversation when he reeked with brandy.

Mr. Townsend must not have been as drunk as she had guessed because his voice was not slurred when he said, “That was rude of them. Windham has always thought himself the better of the rest of us.”

Galen crossed the room, his smile becoming a frown. He must have heard his brother's words, because Mr. Townsend took no care to lower his voice. “Carr, I am glad you have decided to join us.”

“Join you?” He sniffed. “I thought I had no choice. You were quite clear in your orders.”

Phoebe began, “Mr. Townsend—”

Putting his hand on her arm, Galen said, “You might be more comfortable addressing him by his given name.”

She nodded, even though she would have preferred to keep as much distance as possible between her and Carr Townsend. Quietly, she said, “It would be more courteous to our guests to take this conversation elsewhere.”

“Why?” Carr retorted. “Are you ashamed of anything you or Galen might own to in your guests' hearing?”

“That is enough,” Galen said, his tone becoming stern. “Recall your manners, Carr.”

“I shall when … What are you wearing?” Carr bent toward Phoebe and exclaimed, “You are wearing Grandmother's rubies!”

“Grandmother?” Phoebe gasped and looked at Galen who was frowning at his brother. He had not told her this necklace was a family heirloom. No wonder he had cut Mrs. Boyd off in the midst of her question. He must have suspected—quite rightly—that if Phoebe had known the truth, she would not have accepted such a gift. Her fingers went to her throat.

Galen halted her from taking off the necklace as he had in her private chamber. Color scorched her cheeks when she remembered that. Had she lost every bit of good sense she had ever had? “Phoebe, they are mine to do with as I please.” He drew her fingers away from the necklace. “And it pleases me for you to wear them.”

“But, Galen …”

A throat was cleared.

Looking over her shoulder, Phoebe tried to ignore how every eye on the room was focused on them. Instead she turned to Vogel who said with quiet dignity, “My lord, you asked me to speak to you about this evening's wine.”

“Thank you, Vogel.” Galen took a step, then glanced at his brother. “Carr, would you check the wine with Vogel?”

“So you may put an end to this conversation?”

“So we may tend to the needs of our guests.” Phoebe wanted to bite back the words as soon as they were uttered, because Carr aimed his furious gaze back at her.

Carr smiled coolly. “I would have thought, Galen, that you might have asked
me
before allowing Lady Phoebe to wear grandmother's rubies.”

“Did you wish to wear them this evening?” Galen asked, his voice as chill.

Phoebe looked from one brother to the other in disbelief. She had heard Galen speak so often about how he fretted about his brother's safety. Now, when they stood face-to-face, they spoke like enemies.

Carr muttered something and stormed out of the room.

“Don't say anything, Phoebe,” Galen said. Raising his voice, he called, “Dinner will be ready soon. If you will excuse us …” He offered Phoebe his arm and swept her out of the room before she or anyone else could speak.

The dining room was deserted. It was a lovely room. Everything shone with tender care. A chandelier was gleaming with brass and glass prisms. The candles burned brilliantly in their silver candelabra, and the china and crystal on the long mahogany table seemed to be dancing with the flames.

Galen did not give her a chance to admire it as he led her to the far side of the room and a sideboard beneath a stained-glass window. Picking up a bottle of brandy, he poured a serving into one of the waiting glasses. He downed it in one gulp.

“Say what you wish now,” he said.

“It is not my place to say anything.”

“Nor do you need to speak what you are so obviously thinking. Let me tell you what I am thinking. Carr is my brother. I want to keep him alive and hope that he will assume the life of a gentleman rather than a blackguard.”

“You do your duty as his older brother.”

“Yes.”

“But nothing more?”

Galen started to answer, then poured more brandy into his glass. “Phoebe, you have your reasons for making a mess of your life. Allow me the liberty to do the same with mine.”

“But I have a good reason for doing what I do!”

“Ridding yourself of guilt? It has served Carr well.”

She turned to look at the doorway. “Guilt? He does not act the least bit guilty.”

“I said guilt served him well. I did not say it was his guilt.”

“Yours? But, Galen, you watch over him so closely. It is clear that you wish nothing to happen to him.”

“Again.”

“Again?”

Phoebe listened as Galen spoke of how his brother had almost died. Although she wanted to tell him that she could not see where his fault was in expecting his brother to behave with some sense of responsibility, she bit back her words. She could not fault him for his decision to help his brother. She was risking her life and her family's reputation by doing the same for strangers.

“You should take care,” she said, knowing that was advice she should heed as well.

“In what way?”

“Carr is … He is coming to depend on you.” That was the nicest way she could say what was careening through her head. “Maybe you should—”

Galen pulled her to him and gave her a tender kiss. It had not taken him long to learn this was the best and sometimes only way to silence her, she realized, but she could not push him away when she wanted him near.

He raised his mouth from hers. “Why are you prattling on about my brother? I would rather think of you.”

“Of just me?”

“Of you and me.”

She caressed his cheek, and his hands at her waist tightened. Hesitating, she sought words to tell him that he did not need to give her priceless gifts to make her happy. The demanding pressure of his mouth against hers was heavenly.

Carr's uneven footfalls warned Phoebe who was entering the dining room. She stepped back and out of Galen's arms, although she wanted to linger there all evening … and longer.

“The wine for dinner is ready,” Carr announced, holding up a nearly empty glass. Sarcasm added a further chill to his voice as he added, “I appreciate your trusting me with such an important task as it appears that you do not trust me to do anything else.”

Galen regarded his brother steadily. “I see you have not given up your habit of eavesdropping on otherwise private conversations.”

“Eavesdropping?” He twirled the glass and smiled. “No, I was not listening to your court-promises to Lady Phoebe. I saw you sampling some of the brandy, and I thought I might as well.”

“Serve yourself.” Galen put his hand on Phoebe's arm and turned her toward the table. “Phoebe and I—”

“Phoebe and
you
? Is there something you were remiss in not telling me?”