The Seduction of Lady Phoebe (3 page)

Her sister raised an enquiring brow.

Phoebe briefly closed her eyes. Hermione had seen her leave the gallery that day, but they had never discussed it.

“Amabel invited her brother, Lord Marcus Finley, to meet me in two days.” Phoebe adjusted Mary on her hip. “I told him eight years ago at Worthingtons’ estate, when we had that unfortunate contretemps, that I never wanted to see him again and nothing has changed.”

Hermione nodded. “I remember how upset you were.”

Holding Mary closer, Phoebe said, “Now that he has returned for good, I know I’ll not be able to avoid meeting him at some point, but I do not wish to be placed in the position where I must be alone with him. That’s exactly what would have happened had I stayed at Cranbourne Place.”

Phoebe was distracted by her niece, whose bouncing had become insistent. “What is it, my love?”

Mary took Phoebe’s face between her small chubby hands. “Don’t be ’set,” Mary said, and kissed Phoebe. “It be all wight.”

She held her closer. “Yes, sweetheart, I’ll be right as a trivet. Aunt Phoebe just needs to escape the troll.”

Hermione frowned. “That was a piece of high meddling on Amabel’s part to be sure. My dear, what
will
you do when you see him again? As Dunwood’s heir, Lord Marcus is bound to be at many of the same events you will attend.”

Her sister was right, Lord Dunwood was very politically active, as was her uncle, Henry, the Seventh Marquis of St. Eth. Phoebe raised one brow and haughtily looked down her nose. “If we meet, I shall, of course, be civil,” she said icily.

Her sister burst into laughter. “Oh, yes, that look should send him to the right about.”

Phoebe responded, “Well, I certainly hope it does. The last time I had to punch him in the nose to dissuade him. It’s a shame I am too young to set up my own household.”

“Oh, Phoebe!” Hermione’s eyes widened. “Do you wish to set the
ton
on its ear?” She tapped her cheek, appearing as if she were deep in thought. “Hmm. I have just the thing. You could find a husband.”

“Et tu, Brute?”
Phoebe tried to look hurt, but couldn’t stop the laugh. “Marriage to just anyone won’t solve anything.”

“Phoebe, we just have your best interests at heart. Surely there must be someone.”

“Well, Hermione, at least you
do not
try to make matches for me.”

“No, and I will not do so,” her sister responded. “You will know when you meet the right man, without any assistance from me or anyone else.”

Suddenly wistful, Phoebe raised her gaze to her sister’s. “Do you truly think I shall know?”

“I do indeed. You need only remember what Mamma told us. That when you find the gentleman of your heart, it will be as if he is the only person you can see.”

Hermione’s husband, Edwin, the Earl of Fairport, said from the portico, “What is this?
Et tu, Brute
. You’ve only just arrived, and you’re already discussing the classics? You’ve become very blue, my dear sister.”

“No, silly.” Hermione laughed as Edwin approached. “We are discussing marriage.”

His gray eyes twinkled. “But what, I ask, does the betrayal of Julius Caesar have to do with marriage?”

“Not Julius Caesar,” Hermione said, “Amabel.”

“You have lost me.” Edwin hugged and kissed Phoebe.

His wife fondly patted his arm. “We will explain it later.”

He nodded toward Phoebe’s horses, about to be led to the stables. “Is that the team you had off Marbury?”

“Yes, do you like them?”

“Don’t I just.” He signaled to the groom to stop and began to look them over.

Hermione took Edwin’s arm and pulled him toward the steps. “Oh, no, you are coming into the house, else the two of you will be discussing horses and carriages until dinner.”

She glanced back at Phoebe. “And you, my dear, you must spend some time with your nieces and nephew, if we are to have any peace at all.”

Glancing at his children, Edwin asked dryly, “Why is it, my normally well-behaved children suddenly become heathens whenever their aunt Phoebe arrives?”

Arabella and William vociferously denied being heathens rather than only very happy to see their aunt.

“For you know, Papa,” William said, “she is the most fun of all our aunts, and she’s always interested in playing games with us and knowing what we are doing.”

“What I know, you young cawker,” retorted his father fondly, “is that
my
definition of heathen and
yours
bear little in common.”

Giggling, Phoebe allowed herself to be tugged by William and Arabella’s small hands into the children’s parlor at the back of the house. With Mary on her lap, she sat on the comfortable sofa and enthused over William’s drawings and Arabella’s watercolors.

All too soon, it was time for the children to return to the nursery. Upon being assured that their Aunt Phoebe would come bid them good night, the children obediently followed Nurse out of the parlor.

Edwin and her sister immediately turned the discussion to the reason for Phoebe’s early visit.

Phoebe’s heart raced at the mention of Lord Marcus Finley’s name. “Please, can we not discuss him? I’d much rather talk about the pending legislation concerning the trade issues.”

Her brother-in-law gave her a curious look, but diplomatically changed the topic.

Once in her room, Phoebe tried to block out the memory that continued to return since her discussion with Amabel. She could still smell the brandy and feel his hands as they brushed her breasts. She shuddered, remembering the strange feelings when he’d touched her and the sudden fear she’d felt. Why did
he
have to come back?

After dashing a tear from her cheek, she dipped a cloth into the water basin and applied it to her face. If she appeared in the drawing room looking as if she’d been weeping, Hermione and Edwin would just ask more questions.

Edwin entered his wife’s dressing room to try to get to the bottom of his sister-in-law’s distress. “My love, what happened between Phoebe and Lord Marcus?”

Hermione shook her head. “I am not precisely sure, other than it happened at the house party where you and I were betrothed. One minute Phoebe was asking me about love, and the next time I saw her she was leaving the gallery in a tearful rage. When I looked down the corridor, Lord Marcus was lying on the floor.”

“On the floor? Doing what?” Edwin asked.

“Bleeding.”

He motioned for her to continue.

“From the nose, I believe. Phoebe punched him.”

“What the deuce did the man do?”

“I have no idea,” Hermione said. “Phoebe would never discuss it, and she made an excuse not to come down for dinner. When we left the next morning she acted her normal steady self. Frankly, I was so caught up in our wedding plans, I forgot all about it.”

“Hmm, his peculiar behavior makes much more sense now.”

His wife leaned back to gaze at him. “What makes more sense?”

“You will remember I went to Town to get the documents needed for the settlement agreement?”

She drew her brows together. “Yes.”

He continued. “Finley came back to London like the devil was chasing him, sporting a swollen nose and a black eye. Made an addle-pated fool of himself. He was well in his cups when he admitted a woman had planted him a facer. Though he had sense enough to keep her identity a secret.”

Edwin chuckled at the memory of that night. “Finley was, by all accounts, quite dazzled by her. Called her his
Vision
. Of course, it was all over Town by the next day. His behavior was shockingly outrageous.”

Edwin glanced at his wife. “But Finley had never before behaved toward any female, lady or not, in a way that would have caused that sort of reaction.”

“Indeed?” Hermione said tightly. “I thought he was just some young blood trying to take advantage of a girl not yet out. How do you know he was dazzled?
I
never heard anything.”

Edwin grinned. “Well, my love, you could hardly have expected to have been told. After all, it’s not the sort of thing one discusses with a lady. Besides, none of us knew
who
the female was.”

He kissed his wife. “Finley has changed a great deal since then. I met him a couple of years back, and can say, without a doubt, that the West Indies was the making of him.”

Edwin glanced down. “Socially and politically, it would be a good match. Phoebe could do much worse.”

Hermione placed her hand on Edwin’s cheek and kissed him. “Be that as it may, my love, I shall own myself surprised if Phoebe can be brought to
unbend
enough to do more than be polite to him. Do you honestly believe she’ll allow Lord Marcus close enough to
woo
her?”

Raising a brow, Edwin responded, “She may not recognize him. I almost did not, and I’ve had a much longer acquaintance with him than Phoebe.”

“Well,” his wife retorted. “I do not believe she will allow him within ten feet of her.”

Edwin pressed his lips to his wife’s temple. “When do we go to Town? I think we are going to be entertained this year.”

“How
incorrigible
you can be.” Hermione narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what you expect to happen. As you well know, Phoebe has never given the vulgar food for speculation.”

“Yes, all very true”—he nuzzled Hermione’s ear—“but the same can’t be said of Finley. Although he is expected to take over the title, which will help restore him to respectability. Still, I would dearly love to watch this courtship develop. For a courtship it will be. That, I would wager on.”

“I think you very vulgar, my lord,” Hermione said with an exaggerated sniff.

“Oh no, my love, not vulgar. I just like a little sport now and then.” Edwin lifted his wife and kissed her soundly. “And everyone deserves to be as happy as we are.”

“Edwin, put me down. You know how scandalized Tuttle will be if I must call her in to dress my hair again.”

He continued kissing Hermione, aware that hidden behind his wife’s maid’s brisk exterior, Tuttle had an incurably romantic disposition, and one of the joys of her life was to repair the depredations his lordship made upon his lady’s toilet. “I’ve been scandalizing her for years.”

“I’m lucky she hasn’t left,” Hermione mumbled, returning his kiss.

The following morning, Hermione and Edwin accompanied Phoebe to her coach.

Hermione hugged her sister. “We will see you in Town soon, my dear. I shall write Aunt Ester with our date.”

Edwin looked up at the cloudless sky. “It seems you’ll have a good day to travel. When do you plan to arrive in Littleton?”

Phoebe glanced up as well. “We should reach the town in the late afternoon. We’ll travel by easy stages to spare the blacks.”

“Are you staying at the White Horse Inn?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, always,” she replied. “The landlord and his wife are so
very
accommodating, and their head groom allows Sam, my groom, to have his way. That is imperative.”

Edwin broke in with a shout of laughter. “Of course, it’s the horses with which you are most concerned.”

“Well, they
are
important.” Phoebe glanced fondly at her team. “I find it much easier giving my custom to the same inns and coaching houses. Besides, I like the consistency.”

“Yes. The better to insure Sam can take over their stables. What a piece of work you are.”

Phoebe’s eyes twinkled, but she had grace to blush. Hugging Edwin, she said, “I’ll look forward to seeing you in Town.”

“Indeed, it promises to be a very interesting Season.” He smiled enigmatically as he handed her first, then Rose, into the coach. He wondered how soon he and Hermione could be ready to leave for London.

He waited until Phoebe’s carriage was down the drive before escorting his wife back into the house. “Will you write your sister, Hester?”

“I think I shall.”

Retreating to their respective desks, Edwin penned a letter to his brother-in-law, Geoffrey, explaining that he knew Phoebe had refused to meet Finley, but that the man had changed appreciably. Edwin urged Geoffrey to stay safely ensconced at Cranbourne Place until he had reason to come to Town as his wife might be tempted to meddle.

Hermione picked up her pen, made sure it was sharp, and took a sheet of her elegant writing paper.

My Dear Sister,
You will remember in what a rage Phoebe was at Lord Marcus Finley during Lady W’s house party. However, E seems to think that there is hope for Lord M yet, as P has
Never
remained so angry at anyone for so long a time. E is convinced that Lord M will try to court her. I beseech you—come to Town in support of our Sister. At the very least it will be diverting!
All my love,
H

Chapter Three

T
he carriage bowled south along the Great North Road. Lately, Phoebe couldn’t stop thinking about Lord Marcus and, last night, the bad dreams she’d had eight years ago returned.

Phoebe was so looking forward to walking off her agitation with her customary stroll around the small market town of Littleton before dinner. She would visit the old Norman church and walk past the picturesque little cottages, which always delighted her.