His Lady Midnight (24 page)

“Thank you,” Phoebe whispered with relief.

Drawing her into his arms, he began to turn her to the music. “For asking you to dance?”

“Of course not.”

“You did not want to dance with me?”

When she smiled, he delighted in the joy rushing through him like a springtide. This warmth on her face lit his fantasies when he could not sleep, too overwhelmed by his longing to hold her.

“You know,” she said, her soft voice like a caress, “I want to dance with you. What I intended to say was that I am grateful for you intruding on my conversation with Carr. I was not sure if I could halt all his questions.”

“Do not think of them now. Think of dancing here.”

She laughed as he swirled her through that dance and the next. Knowing he should be a gentleman and ask other women among the duchess's guests to dance, he did not. He wanted to hold Phoebe and have the wisps of her hair brush his face and breathe in her sweet scent. As his fingers stroked her back, she gazed up at him with the enticing smile that made him ache to press his mouth to hers.

More than once, Galen noted Hill watching them. The blackguard even approached them once as a dance was ending. Stepping to where a quadrille was about to begin, Galen hoped Hill realized that Phoebe would not have the slaver's company inflicted upon her again this evening.

“You are going to have me dance my feet right through my slippers,” Phoebe said when the orchestra took a recess for a few minutes.

“That sounds like regret.”

She laughed again. “I have fancied every moment we have danced.”

“Shall we sit until the orchestra returns?”

“Yes.”

When he turned her toward chairs along the wall, she stiffened. He was not surprised to see Hill there. She abruptly grasped his hand and drew him into an alcove on the opposite wall from the minstrels' gallery.

“This is cozy,” he said as he looked around the space where the only furniture was a crimson bench that matched the curve of the walls.

“It is quiet, but we can see if anyone is lingering near the open door.”

He took two glasses from a passing servant. Handing her one, he said, “You are a master at deception.”

“I have learned.” Phoebe faltered, then, sitting, took a sip of wine before saying, “Just as your brother wishes to learn, Galen. He has been very focused on finding out the truth of what happened the night you were looking for him by the Little Lost Lamb.”

“He is simply irritated that he had to find his own way home that night.”

“Did he?”

He tipped her face back so he could see it. “Why are you questioning me on this?”

“Because I suspect you had your coachee send a message back to Town to have your brother retrieved from whatever place he had taken himself to that night.” She drew away from him. “
That
was the reason we stopped at the inn as soon as we had gone a few miles beyond London.”

“How long have you suspected this?”

“Since the beginning, for I would have done much the same.”

“So why are you speaking of it only now?”

She wrapped her arms around herself, although she wished he would wrap his around her. “I am very uneasy. Captain Hill—”

“Do not let that cur's boorish ways bother you.”

“'Tis not his ways, but what he has said.” She lowered her voice. “He spoke of stories along the wharves in London of Lady Midnight.”

“Which we have already heard.”

“But he said others were speaking of it here tonight.”

Galen chuckled and raised his glass. “Then allow me to offer a toast to this legendary lady whose escapades have set so many tongues to wagging.”

“This is not funny. Just as it is not funny that you may have jeopardized everything because you insist on acting as a parent for your wastrel brother.”

“Wastrel?”

Phoebe wanted to take back the heartless word, not because it was a lie, but because it had hurt Galen. When she started to speak, he waved her to silence.

“I have asked you to be honest with me,” he said. “It is clear what your opinion of Carr is.”

“He is using you, Galen.”

“No, he simply needs my help, and, as his older brother, it is my place to offer it. Would you do any less?”

Phoebe wanted to give him a quick answer, but she could not. Slowly shaking her head, she stared down at her wine. How could she be speaking so when she could not forget the packed bag at the back of her armoire? Her obligations were going to rip them apart more completely than any of Carr's childish antics.

As he offered his arm to bring her back out into the ballroom, she wanted to ask him to remain with her while they soothed the anger between them.

The duchess peered around the edge of the alcove. “Here you are! I have been looking all over for you, my boy.”

“What is it?” Galen's face grew rigid. “You look distressed, Your Grace.”

“That boy always distresses me.”

“Boy?”

“Your brother, my boy. This was delivered for you.” The duchess thrust a piece of paper into his hand.

Galen opened it, then smiled it at the duchess. “It is nothing out of the ordinary.”

“I am glad. I—Oh, pardon me.” The duchess scurried away at a pace usually unseen in a woman of her years. Her greeting to a friend reached into the alcove.

Phoebe ignored the duchess's voice as she watched Galen crumple the page into a ball. “Nothing out of the ordinary?” she asked. “More trouble?”

“Carr seems to find it wherever he goes.”

“Where is he?”

“He has vowed, according to this note that his coachee passed to Tate, to repay those bumpkins who gave him a thrashing last night.” He grimaced. “You may be quite right about my brother. He seems in need of a guardian to get him out of this pickle.”

“Galen, I am sorry. If you must go and find out what Carr is up to, go.”

“To assuage your conscience?”

She shook her head as she put her hands on his arms. “No, you should go to ease yours. You have taken on this obligation, and I was wrong to belittle it. You have understood why I must do what I do.”

“No, I do not understand that at all. I don't
want
to understand it. I want you to stop.”

“I can't.”

“You must.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You sound as if I have a choice.”

“You have a choice. You could stop any time you wished.”

“I vowed to help these people.”

“And you have.”

Phoebe knew she must put an end to this conversation before she said the very worst thing: telling him that she intended to return to London posthaste. “Go,” she urged. “Go and save your brother from his own carelessness.”

“Only if you promise me that we will continue this conversation after I have retrieved him.”

“Galen—”

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” she whispered, knowing that if she delayed Galen further, he might not return home before the mail coach was due to depart on the morrow.

He pulled her into his arms. “I may not be able to save him from his folly, but I must save you from yours.”

His lips slanting across hers gave her no chance to reply. Not that she wanted to when she feared he would discover that she was kissing him good-bye.

There should have been a path cut into the rug.

As Phoebe paced between the window and the door to the hallway in the parlor of Thistlewood Cottage, she was sure she must be wearing out both her slippers and the pattern on the rug. She had not been surprised that Galen had not returned before she went to sleep. When neither he nor Carr had made an appearance when she woke, she had begun to worry.

At dawn, she had begun pacing. Now that midday had passed, along with the time when she should have left to get on the mail coach, she continued walking back and forth.

“Would you like some hot chocolate now, my lady?” asked Mrs. Boyd as she came into the parlor.

“I am not hungry.”

“You must eat something, my lady.”

Phoebe wandered from the center of the room back toward the window. “Mayhap later.”

“Not eating will do nothing to bring Lord Townsend home.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Eating will allow you to be strong enough to help him when he arrives.”

“Help him?”

“I should not have said that.”

“But you did.” Phoebe lowered herself onto the closest chair and motioned for Mrs. Boyd to take the one beside her. “I have seen your dedication to Lord Townsend. You would not have said that if you did not wish me to know it.”

Mrs. Boyd sat on the chair, her hands folded in her lap. “I know you care for Lord Townsend, my lady.”

“We have had this discussion before.”

“Yes, that is why you should know that he is not a foolish man. He will do what he thinks is best for those he cares about.”

“He has rescued Carr so often.”

“So often that Mr. Townsend expects that he will continue to do so.”

“Yes,” Phoebe said. If she expressed her dismay with that thought, she might offend Mrs. Boyd who had so much affection for Galen's family.

A throat was cleared, and Phoebe looked toward the doorway. Vogel was standing there, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Yes?” Phoebe repeated, but this time as a question.

“A Mrs. Gerber to see you, my lady.”

“Mrs. Gerber? I don't know anyone by that name.”

Vogel said, “She insists on seeing you, my lady. She says it is an emergency and that Jasper sent her.”

“Jasper?” Phoebe came to her feet. “Bring her in without delay. Mrs. Boyd, thank you.”

“Y-y-yes, my lady,” Mrs. Boyd said, clearly shocked at the sudden dismissal. The housekeeper glanced at her again and again as she went out of the room.

Phoebe's fingers curled into fists. Later, she would apologize to Mrs. Boyd, even though the apology must be laced with lies. She could not trust anyone here … except Galen.

Why had Jasper sent someone to call on her here? Jasper should not have allowed even his name to be spoken here.

Vogel brought a woman to the door, then stepped away. Her simple dress was pocked with the same dust that had stolen the shine from her light brown hair. She must have been traveling for a long time. All the way from London? Or had she come from somewhere else? It did not matter. All that mattered was how this woman had come here with Jasper's name on her lips.

“My lady, thank you for seeing me,” the woman said, staring at the floor.

“What can I do for you?” Phoebe asked the question with caution. Even at this juncture, she must be careful not to say anything to betray herself.

“You helped my husband, Charlie, my lady.” She knelt and held up her hands. “Please help me now.”

Phoebe took the woman's hands. Bringing her to her feet, she said, “Tell me your name.”

“Mona—Mona Gerber.”

“Mrs. Gerber, I do not know any Charlie Gerber.”

“But you do. You helped him get off
The Southern Cross
before he could be sent to Botany Bay almost two years ago. You—”

“No, you are mistaken.” Jumping to her feet, Phoebe rushed to the door. She looked around and saw no one. She hoped no one stood just out of sight. Mrs. Gerber's words might carry through the house. Closing the door, she turned to face Mrs. Gerber. “Please sit,” she said.

“Oh, Lor', my lady. I couldn't sit on that fine chair. I'll get it all dirty.”

“Please sit.” Her voice cracked as she whispered, “Please.”

Mrs. Gerber sat, wide-eyed, while she stared at everything in the room. But when Phoebe took a seat across from her, Mrs. Gerber's eyes focused directly on her.

“You know that I should not be receiving you,” Phoebe said.

“I know.” She wrung a handkerchief with torn lace, then dropped it into her lap.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“That was easy. We all know where to find you.” She smiled broadly. “Those of us who know we can depend on you, my lady, know that you left London and came here.”

“Those of us?” She pressed her hand over her heart, which seemed to have forgotten how to beat. “Who?”

“Those of us who need you know where you are all the time.” Mrs. Gerber smiled hesitantly, and Phoebe realized the woman was younger than she appeared. “We don't tell no one else. We know you have helped us, and we do not want to betray you.”

“But you are here.”

“I must see my Charlie.”

“But if I were to help you, then others might come.”

“That is true.”

“You must see why I must say—”

Mrs. Gerber slipped out of the chair and knelt beside Phoebe again. “My lady, do not say no. Charlie's mother is dying. She wishes to see her son just once more.”

Closing her eyes, Phoebe shook her head. “Anything I say will sound coldhearted.”

“I am not asking for Charlie to come home. I simply am asking if he might see his mother one last time.” Tears ran down Mrs. Gerber's face so fast she could not wipe them away. “He can be snuck in and out of the house without anyone being the wiser. I know he can, my lady. Then he can go back to wherever he has been since you took him off
The Southern Cross
, and he will finish his time.”

“I must think about this.”

“Please help us, my lady.”

Phoebe took a deep breath. “I must think about this. Where can I reach you to let you know my decision?”

When Mrs. Gerber gave a street address at the far edge of Bath, Phoebe struggled to breathe evenly. Discovering that Phoebe was staying at Thistlewood Cottage must have been a temptation Mrs. Gerber could not ignore.

“I will be in touch as soon as I can,” Phoebe promised.

Mrs. Gerber smiled so broadly that Phoebe was unsure how her smile could be held by her thin face.