The Seduction of Lady Phoebe (24 page)

“Well, my sisters, of course, and I thought we could invite Lord Marcus . . . and his parents.”

“That will be delightful.” Ester entered into Phoebe’s preparations with zeal. Ester sent notes to Hester and Hermione, who’d been forewarned, before penning a more formal invitation to Lord and Lady Dunwood.

Surely, Phoebe was contemplating accepting his proposal. “Phoebe, do you know yet if you will agree to marry Lord Marcus?” The look on her niece’s face reminded her of a wild animal being cornered.

“I’ll decide soon, I promise.” Phoebe fled the room.

Ester sighed and rang for her dresser.

Later that morning, Henry joined her. “Have you spoken to Phoebe?”

“Yes,” Ester said. “Phoebe still doesn’t yet know if she will accept him.”

“What in the name of God ails that girl?” Henry paced the room. “It’s clear to anyone with eyes she’s in love with him, and she’s invited both Marcus and his parents to her birthday party. Doesn’t she realize that is tantamount to an acceptance of his offer?”

“My dear.” Ester closed her eyes for a moment. “For Phoebe, it is not that simple. She’s waited all this time to find the right gentleman. All the prodding in the world from us will not bring her around. We must leave it to Lord Marcus to persuade her.”

Henry stood thinking for a bit, and then, in a determined voice, said, “Ester, I want to insure they have time alone together this weekend. I’ve told Lord Marcus he must convince her. You know, as well as I, this state of affairs cannot go on without some sort of resolution. If she’s not betrothed soon, she’ll be labeled a flirt. Nothing could be more damaging to her reputation.”

Ester sighed wearily. “My dear, the only one who doesn’t seem to realize it is Phoebe. They’ll have their time alone. I’ll tell Hester and Hermione not to play gooseberry.”

Phoebe fled up the stairs to her room and the comfort of her window seat. What was she to do? She had invited his parents. He’d have to offer soon, and she would need to have an answer. Pressing her head against the chill of the windowpane, she blinked back tears of frustration, loathing the unexpected burst of panic. She was being foolish beyond permission.

Maybe Aunt Ester was right and Phoebe should just look at who he is now. But could she?

Drawing her knees up, she hugged them to her. Could she live without Marcus? What would happen if she had another bad dream about him after they were married, and he saw her remembered fear of him? If she did not decide soon, it would be taken out of her hands. Perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad.

Phoebe lowered her head to her knees.

That evening, Marcus kept her with him. Greeting friends and ignoring the calculating looks they received from the gossips, he strolled the room with her. Once again he and Phoebe formed a circle of friends, which included Lord Rutherford and Miss Marsh.

Having danced their two waltzes and gone down to supper together, the two couples decided to find Miss Marsh’s mother and Lady St. Eth when Phoebe was once again confronted by Travenor.

Huffing up to her, he said belligerently, “Lady Phoebe, I demand you grant me this next waltz.”

Phoebe’s eyes narrowed. “You what?”

Every protective instinct in Marcus rose to her defense, and he pulled her closer. Travenor would never touch her, if Marcus had his say. His tone was icy when he said, “Travenor, I am escorting Lady Phoebe to her aunt. They are preparing to leave.”

With Phoebe on his arm, Marcus took a step. Travenor stopped them by the expedient of moving in front of Phoebe. Marcus whisked Phoebe behind him, and clenched his hands into fists.

Marcus would have liked to have drawn Travenor’s cork and would have, had they been in Jamaica. Instead, Marcus fixed Travenor with a hard look and pitched his voice in a low threatening growl. “Travenor, I don’t know where you learned your manners, but I suggest you return for more lessons. I warn you, now. Do not attempt to approach Lady Phoebe again.”

Travenor stood rooted in place, his mouth open, breathing heavily.

Not waiting for his response, Marcus turned to Phoebe, smiled to reassure her, then escorted her to her aunt.

Phoebe’s voice shook in rage. “What a horrible man. Why does he persist?”

“Veritable troll,” Marcus said.

He was relieved when Phoebe gave a small smile at his joke. If they were betrothed, then Phoebe could dance only with him. He’d have to find some way to make it happen.

Phoebe rushed to the window the next morning then chastised herself. Fine behavior for a lady of almost four and twenty. She could have been in her salad days for all her girlish impetuosity, but the weather was dry to-day, if not sunny, which meant she could ride.

Ringing for Rose, Phoebe washed and dressed quickly.

Lilly was being brought round just as Marcus rode up. He lifted Phoebe into her saddle, and her heart stopped as the now familiar sensation struck. The more he touched her the more she wanted him. Phoebe watched as he mounted Rufus in a single fluid movement and wished she hadn’t met him until this Season.

An hour later saw them back at St. Eth House, once again asking François for breakfast. In François, the lovers had found a kindred spirit. He was a romantic, and his ability to further their romance appealed to the Frenchman’s heart.

Ferguson once again stationed a footman inside the door to the breakfast room and left the door open.

Not long afterward, Henry took his seat as Ferguson poured him coffee. “Lord Marcus, it’s rather last minute, but I think it would be a good idea if you were to drive down with us to-day, rather than waiting for the rest of the company to-morrow.”

Uncle Henry took a sip of his coffee. “With the addition of the family and the children arriving then, it is likely to be pandemonium. The weather is fairly warm and dry. You may drive Phoebe in your curricle.”

Marcus glanced at her, sitting next to him. “Phoebe?”

Her heart for some reason was lighter. “Yes, I think it’s a wonderful idea. But I don’t understand what the children have to do with anything.” She waited, but neither Marcus nor Uncle Henry deigned to explain it to her.

Marcus leaned forward to see Uncle Henry. “Thank you, my lord. I shall inform my parents. Do you still depart after luncheon?”

Henry nodded and took the plate Ferguson offered. “An early luncheon, yes. You may join us, if you’re here at eleven o’clock. We’ll leave immediately afterward.”

She hadn’t had an opportunity to drive the whole team for some time. The trip to the manor house would be a perfect opportunity to do it. “Marcus, let’s take my blacks. We can take the whole team.”

He’d taken a sip of tea and sputtered. “You know how to drive a team?”

Phoebe was perplexed by his reaction. “Well, of course, don’t you?”

He shook his head slowly. “Other than making a very bad job of it on a stagecoach once, I’ve never done it. I’m very impressed that you can.”

She narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together. Was he actually saying what she thought he was? “You were one of those young men that got foxed and caused a wreck?”

Marcus flushed and nodded bashfully.

Phoebe opened her eyes wide in disbelief. “How could you have been so stupid?”

Henry choked, trying to hold back his laughter.

Marcus grimaced. “You do know that I was very wild in my youth.”

Of course. She’d gotten into the habit, when near him, to think of Marcus only as he was now. But she could very well imagine him doing it before. “You wouldn’t do so now would you?”

He crossed his fingers over his heart and grinned. “Absolutely not. On my honor. I am much older and wiser.”

Satisfied he was telling her the truth, she said, “Well, then, I shall teach you. It’s not that difficult. By the time we arrive at the manor, I daresay, you shall be perfectly proficient.”

Uncle Henry set down his cup. “Phoebe, my dear, I have no wish to cast aspersions on Finley’s abilities, but what will happen if he doesn’t pick it up quite as quickly as you hope?”

She sat up straighter. “I shall drive, of course.”

Henry raised both brows. “Not on a major post road. It wouldn’t do.”

“Oh, you’re right.” Only someone like Lady Lade would tool a carriage on a post road. Drat.

When Phoebe pulled a face, Marcus took her hand and squeezed it.

“Phoebe, let’s just take a pair. I can easily manage them, and we may share the driving. You can teach me how to drive the team later. I can’t tell you how excited I am that you’ll trust me to handle your horses.”

“Yes, I suppose that is the only thing to do.”

That decided, they discussed the arrangements for their trip to the manor. The curricle being a much faster conveyance than Uncle Henry’s coach, Phoebe and Marcus arranged to meet Henry and Ester at the Golden Ball, an inn known to Phoebe and the St. Eths, for tea, before continuing on to the manor together.

Marcus raised Phoebe’s hands one at a time to place a light kiss on them. She wished she could kiss him and have his strong arms around her. Phoebe stood, watching him as he strode through the door and onto the walkway. Would what she was feeling for him now last? She would give him her decision this weekend.

Marcus found his father in the study and explained that St. Eth wanted him to leave to-day. Lord Dunwood balked at the change in plans, until his wife came into the room. Upon hearing of the invitation, she arched a brow at her husband and gave her full approval to the plan.

His father immediately agreed.

A few hours later, Marcus stood amazed and impressed at the large cavalcade in front of St. Eth House. One baggage coach, a carriage for the upper servants, another for the lower servants, who would augment the skeleton staff at the manor, and the elegant conveyance in which the St. Eths would ride.

Upon being assured by Phoebe this was very common for a four-day trip, Marcus laughed. “I’ve been away from England too long.”

St. Eth glanced at him with an amused expression. “If you think this is extraordinary, you should see the twins when they set off with the children. Come to think of it, you will see them when they arrive to-morrow. Prepare yourself to be stunned. Their entourage is madness. Let’s be on our way.”

Marcus’s curricle was brought up with Phoebe’s blacks harnessed to it. That Phoebe would allow him to drive her horses had humbled him. In general, she did not allow anyone other than her coachman or her groom to handle her cattle.

As agreed, she tooled the curricle out of London, keeping the team well up to their bits as she maneuvered through the busy London streets. Once they reached the main toll road out of London, Marcus took the ribbons.

The day was fine and dry, the countryside interesting. They arrived at the Golden Ball to be greeted by the inn’s landlord.

Phoebe, having visited many times before, greeted the landlord warmly. “Good afternoon, Mr. Bagwell. How are you and your family doing?”

The man flushed. “Good day to you, Lady Phoebe. We are very well, thank you for asking, m’lady. My rib being most particular glad you’ve come.”

Phoebe introduced Marcus to the innkeeper.

The innkeeper led them to the parlor St. Eth had reserved. Taking off her gloves, Phoebe asked that tea be brought and informed Bagwell that her aunt and uncle should arrive within the half hour.

There was much to admire about the inn. Built in the Elizabethan era, the Golden Ball was mainly stick and waddle construction, with a rush roof and mullioned windows. The rooms were large but low, the ceiling in the parlor less than a foot over Marcus’s head. Though the day was warm for October, the fire burning in the large hearth was welcome and gave the room a feeling of cozy comfort. Removing his gloves and drab sixteen-caped driving coat, he joined Phoebe at the fire where she warmed herself.

Alone for the first time that day, Marcus sighed as Phoebe walked into his arms. This is what he wanted, always, to hold her and keep her safe with him. Standing still and content, they embraced each other until a knock announced their tea.

Mrs. Bagwell and her daughter brought tea, wine, sherry, an assortment of sandwiches, small cakes, biscuits, bread, cheese, and fruit.

“My Lady Phoebe”—Mrs. Bagwell bobbed a curtsey, curiosity burning in her eyes—“Mr. Bagwell and me are very happy to see you. A sight for sore eyes you be, and that’s a fact.” She flushed. “You and your young lord here.”

Phoebe introduced the landlady to Marcus. As he closed the door behind the innkeeper and his wife, Mrs. Bagwell said to her husband, “Mr. Bagwell, I believe Lady Phoebe is finally in love.”

Marcus sincerely hoped that was the case. Otherwise, he didn’t know what they were doing. He returned to Phoebe, drew her back into his arms, and kissed her. She responded eagerly and held on to him as he stroked her. When his hands reached her already swollen breasts she moaned, melting against him.

“I love the way you make me feel.”

He heard the wheels of a coach crunch on the stone drive, and silently cursed. “Phoebe, your aunt and uncle are here.”

“Oh, no.”

Marcus opened the door and took a place at the table.

Phoebe was preparing the tea when Lord and Lady St. Eth entered. She glanced up. “There you are. Would you like tea or sherry?”