The Seduction of Lady Phoebe (16 page)

Marcus helped Phoebe down from the phaeton as a groom took charge of the horses.

The ladies came forward, heartily embracing Phoebe.

One sister’s curious gaze focused on him. “But we forget our manners.”

“Ah yes,” Phoebe said. “I would like to make Lord Marcus Finley known to you. Lord Marcus, my sisters Hermione, Countess of Fairport, and Lady Hester Caldecott.”

Marcus bowed elegantly over their offered hands. The ladies had quickly hid their shock, but the cat was out of the bag now.

Hermione shot Phoebe a questioning look and Phoebe sighed. She wasn’t ready to discuss Marcus with her sisters.

Hermione and Hester took charge and insisted Marcus join them for a few minutes. Each of them took an arm, escorting him into the house. Once all were ensconced in the morning room and tea had been brought, two pairs of very curious twin eyes focused on their quarry.

Phoebe opened her mouth and shut it. There was little use trying to stop them. All she could do was to sit back and observe how Marcus handled their inquisition.

“Lord Marcus.”
Hermione smiled. “I believe you are acquainted with my husband, Fairport.”

“Yes, indeed,” Marcus replied. “I’ve known Lord Fairport since Eton. He is a friend of my brother’s. Howbeit, they have not seen much of each other of late.”

“We’ve been told of your brother’s illness,” Hermione said sincerely. “I am so truly sorry for you and your family.”

Marcus nodded. “Thank you for your kindness. It’s interesting that Arthur seems to be dealing with his disease—and what we know are the consequences—far better than the rest of us.”

Hester jumped in. “I’ve heard that you have spent the last several years in the West Indies. Tell me, how did you like it?”

“Very well indeed, though it was time to return to England.”

Marcus stood up under their probing questions better than Phoebe thought he would, deftly deflecting any question he did not choose to answer. It was very much like watching a fencing match with verbal thrusts and parries. She almost expected one of her sisters to ask what he had for breakfast. Though he did not glance at Phoebe, she could tell that she was never far from his mind.

The interrogation continued until the door to the corridor opened and Uncle Henry entered. He opened his eyes as if shocked, and said in mock severity, “I wondered who was creating all the noise in the house. I could hear you in my study.”

Phoebe grinned. Uncle Henry’s study was located on the ground floor on the other side of the house.

Matching their uncle’s tone, her sisters exclaimed as one, “That I would hear my noble uncle tell such a bouncer.”

“I am surprised my aunt will allow you to be so untruthful,” Hester said. “
I
certainly should not allow it.”

Sufficiently chastised, Uncle Henry came forward, chuckling, to greet his wife, nieces, and Marcus. “Good morning, Lord Marcus. How come you to be in the middle of these bagpipes?”

Marcus assumed a bemused expression, but his eyes twinkled with merriment. “Well, sir, I think I was kidnapped. I’d just finished assisting Lady Phoebe from her carriage, when I was borne into the house and here you see me.”

Hermione and Hester protested and Marcus responded, “No, no I am quite
happy
to have been captured. How else would I have come to be in such lively and, if I may say, delightful company?”

Phoebe kept silent. Marcus really was doing a good job charming her sisters and Uncle Henry. She glanced at Aunt Ester and though she’d not said much, she had an indulgent smile on her lips. Soon all the female members of her family would expect her answer concerning Marcus.

As her sisters and Ester began to converse, Uncle Henry engaged Marcus’s attention. Finally, Marcus rose to leave, explaining his father had commanded his presence that morning and his mother in the afternoon.

Uncle Henry bid Marcus to give Lord Dunwood greetings. Once Marcus left, Henry returned to his study.

Phoebe eyed the door, but before she could slip out, the twins, freed from the constraint of a visitor, turned to her as one.

Hermione raised a brow. “Well, Phoebe, consorting with the troll. How did that come about?”

Perhaps if she told them some of what happened, it would be enough to avoid an extensive interrogation and their meddling. Deciding that partial honesty was her best course, Phoebe told her sisters about her interaction with Marcus at the inn, followed by greatly abbreviated versions of what occurred in Bond Street and at the ball.

Her sisters asked pointed questions, but finally seemed to be satisfied they had the whole story.

Hester smoothed her skirts and took a sip of the tea that had arrived. “I must say, my dear, it doesn’t appear as if there is anything wrong with him now. He is really quite handsome.”

Phoebe forced herself to smile. She loved her sisters, but she did not want them involved in the courtship. “He’s in much better looks than he was before. Indeed, I didn’t recognize him.”

She fiddled with the fringe on her shawl. “In any event, Lord Marcus assured me I was quite right to have planted him a facer
and
ring a peal over his head at Lady W’s house party.”

“He did not!” Hermione exclaimed. “A man admitted that?” Phoebe sat up straighter. “Indeed, he did.”

Hester tilted her head. “When was that, my dear?”

“Last evening at Lady Buxted’s party,” Phoebe replied without thought. “When we strolled on the terrace.”

Her sisters’ eyes widened and their jaws dropped open. Shutting their mouths in unison, they continued to study Phoebe closely.

Berating herself for being so stupid to have told them anything, Phoebe attempted to feign indifference. Unfortunately she couldn’t keep a slow blush from infusing her face, which was quite as telling as any admission she would have made.

“Phoebe,” Hermione said after several moments. “What did you do? You never stroll terraces alone with gentlemen.”

“I have not strolled
terraces
with
gentlemen,
” Phoebe retorted. “It happened one time.”

“Hermione, you were not sufficiently specific.” Hester went straight to the heart of the matter. “Phoebe, what were you doing on the terrace, alone, with Lord Marcus?”

Phoebe gathered what dignity she could under her sisters’ penetrating stares. “We . . . conversed.”

Hester’s brows drew together. “Doing it much too brown, my dear. If you did nothing but ‘converse,’ why then is your face as red as a fire?”

Hester was definitely the better inquisitor. Phoebe’s eyes narrowed. “Has anyone told you that you should have been a Jesuit? I am rather more than seven, I assure you, and I am in complete command of my actions.”

She tried to wiggle out from under their disquisition and was beginning to feel as if she were a child again.

“Phoebe if you don’t tell us, we will suspect the worst.” Hester pressed her lips together. “We know better than anyone how up to snuff you may be on many issues. With men, however, you are still a green girl.”

Phoebe threw her hands up. “We kissed. That was all.”

“All?”
her sisters said in unison. “On a terrace? At a public event?”

By the exasperated look on Hester’s face, she obviously wasn’t done. “Since when have you begun allowing gentlemen to kiss you?”

Phoebe rose, drawing herself up to her full height, which unfortunately was much shorter than her aunt and sisters. “You are making much too much of this. It was
one
kiss with
one
gentleman. If he had done anything I didn’t like, I would have stopped him.”

Phoebe knew she hadn’t helped herself. Kissing meant marrying, and she wasn’t ready. Not yet, and possibly never.

She started to walk to the door, but stopped when her aunt spoke. “That, my dears, was only to be expected after the way they stood staring transfixed at each other in Bond Street. . . .”

Phoebe turned and glared at Aunt Ester, unable to believe she’d betrayed her.

Her sisters’ amazed gazes once again focused on Phoebe.

“Do you plan to marry Lord Marcus?” Hermione asked.

“He hasn’t asked me yet.”

“Do not equivocate.” Hester frowned. “He told you he wanted to marry you. Have you decided if you wish to marry him?”

“I don’t know yet.” Phoebe rubbed her forehead. “I know I must make a decision. I just require more time. I have spent far too long disliking him immensely to agree to marry him just because he brings out feelings I have never had before.”

Hermione sighed, then came to Phoebe and put an arm around her shoulders. “My dear, dear sister, we do not do this to make you unhappy, but you cannot be kissing a gentleman and not plan to marry him. With these feelings you have for Lord Marcus, how far do you think you can take this without making a choice, or ruining your reputation in the process?”

“I don’t know. I feel I’m being pulled in two directions.”

Hermione searched Phoebe’s face. “Tell me, my love, if his name was not Lord Marcus Finley, would you marry him?”

Phoebe thought back to the kiss in the library, about which she had told no one, the kisses on the terrace, waltzing with him, the warmth in his eyes when they rested on her, conversing with him, and the easy camaraderie they’d achieved when she was able to forget who he had been. “I think I might. I would be much closer to knowing my mind.”

“So then,” Hester said as she stood and briskly shook out her skirts, “it is only that you have discovered he used to be the troll. Although, in the now several times you have met, he has not been at all troll-like. Can you concede he may simply have matured over the years and is now quite different?”

“Perhaps.” Phoebe worried her lip. “If I could just forget the other, if I knew I could trust him not to revert, I would like him very well indeed.”

Phoebe waved her hand. “I must be certain that he’ll never treat me that way again.”

“Come then, we are making progress.” Hermione led Phoebe back to the sofa. “What do you want from him? What assurances do you need?”

“I don’t know.” Phoebe covered her face with her hands and rubbed her temples. “I just don’t know.”

She was saved by Ferguson announcing luncheon.

“I had no idea it had become so late,” Hester said.

Hermione rose. “I suppose we should be going.”

“My ladies,” Ferguson said. “Lord St. Eth sent messages round to your husbands asking that they join you here for luncheon. The gentlemen are all ready in with his lordship.”

“What wonderful ideas Uncle Henry has,” Hester exclaimed, her and Hermione’s faces wreathed in smiles.

Phoebe hid her sigh of relief. Now maybe they’d leave her alone to work out her feelings without their help. She glanced at her sisters and aunt. No, most likely not. They would want a decision soon and Phoebe was not ready. Perhaps she should just stop kissing Marcus. Despair rose in her at the thought of what she’d miss. Phoebe gave herself a shake, she would have to get her emotions—and her body—back under control, then she could take all the time she wished.

Chapter Eleven

L
ord Fairport and Mr. John Caldecott had promptly answered St. Eth’s summons. Ferguson escorted them to the study. St. Eth motioned to them to sit, then came out from behind his desk to offer brandy or wine.

Once the glasses of wine were accepted, he took a place on the small sofa and studied them for a few moments. Both gentlemen had his full trust. “I’ve brought you here to discuss a family matter.

I don’t know how
au courante
the two of you are on Phoebe’s courtship.”

John, in the process of taking a sip from his glass, choked. “Phoebe’s what?” he sputtered, his attention on St. Eth.

A slow, interested smile played on Fairport’s lips. “I take it this has something to do with Lord Marcus Finley?”

St. Eth raised a brow. “You
are
well informed, if you know that.”

“Fairport may be, but I am not at all,” Caldecott complained. “All I have been told is that we are in Town to support Phoebe, in the eventuality she needs it.”

St. Eth told him the story of Marcus and Phoebe, as he knew it, and was interested to hear what Fairport had to add.

Caldecott, after having interjected questions to clarify certain aspects, looked from one to the other and, as was his wont, went straight to the point. “How many weeks has this ‘courtship’ been going on?”

When St. Eth thought of the time that had passed, he could do nothing but grimace. “Several. To no apparent avail. She’ll drive out with him, only in her phaeton and only in the mornings, not during the fashionable hour. They meet at political balls and parties, where Phoebe is much in demand, and she holds court all evening, spending little time with Lord Marcus.”

Caldecott took a sip of wine. “It sounds as if this woo is proceeding at a snail’s pace. Now with her sisters here to keep an eye on her it will be even more difficult for him, because no matter her age they
will
look after her.” He made a disgusted noise. “I don’t understand this reticence on Phoebe’s part. It doesn’t fit her behavior in Bond Street or at the ball.”

Fairport tapped his fingers on the chair arm. “John, remember, all of that was
before
she knew he was Finley. I think she’s frightened and doesn’t know what to do about it. This is the first time Phoebe has allowed any gentleman close to her, and it happens to be the one person she never wanted to meet again.”