The Girl with the Pearl Pin

by Lynne Connolly

  Her mind flung itself in all directions, panicking at having a man so close. He drew away slightly. “Do not concern yourself. I’m kissing you, that is all.”

  “How did you know?”

  He chuckled, his warm breath brushing her cheek. “Every muscle in your body tensed. Now let’s try again, shall we?”

  To her mingled horror and delight, he suited deeds to words.

  This time Phoebe heeded him. Instead of studying him, she closed her eyes, the better to savor the experience. She even dared to touch him, brushing her fingers against the soft cloth of his sleeve. He made a small sound in the back of his throat and tilted his head, sealing their mouths together more securely. His fingers bit through her sleeves into her upper arm, but not enough to bruise. She felt them like small brands, marking her forever.

  When she parted her lips, he took possession, sweeping his tongue around her mouth, claiming it as he had claimed the rest of her, touching her tongue and teeth, before gently finishing the kiss.

  Phoebe opened her eyes and gazed up at him, unwilling to move. She didn’t know what to expect, but not the warmth in his eyes when he gazed at her, and the smile that slowly spread as he watched her. Putting a hand to her cheek, he smoothed an errant curl back into place. “You really are quite lovely, you know. We shall have to ensure society does not miss that.”

  As a spinster—one, moreover, from a different stratum of society—Phoebe was completely unaccustomed to such remarks. Heat surged to her cheeks and she stared, not daring to speak. She’d never get a single word past her lips.

  He ran his thumb across her skin before he stepped back and bent to retrieve the china bowl. “I will leave you now, but I’ll return tomorrow at the proper hour to take you driving in the park.”

  “Oh, should we…” She bit her lip.

  His attention went to where her teeth indented her delicate skin. “We most certainly should. I will return to the ball and bravely bear the brunt of the congratulations. I shall tell them you have retired early, to recover from the distressing events. Unless you wish to accompany me downstairs? I will wait while you change.”

  The thought of all those people smiling and wishing her well made Phoebe feel sick. “Certainly not. They never n-noticed me before. Why should I notice them now?”

  That bark of sharp laughter returned. “You are perfectly right. I will tell Miss Childers that you have retired to bed. Good night, my dearest one.”

  Fortunately, he turned to leave, otherwise he’d have seen her decidedly gauche response. Her mouth dropped open, and she wildly tried to think of an appropriate reply. Her murmured “Good night, sir,” would have to suffice.

  Chapter 3

  Hurrying downstairs the next day, Phoebe heard the murmur of feminine voices from the club room and smiled. For once she felt at home, with friends. That happened so rarely that—goodness, she had felt like that with Leo last night. Surely that wasn’t right.

  “Phoebe, a moment!”

  Phoebe turned around to face her cousin.

  Angela wafted a handkerchief. “Truly, Miss Helmers can talk! And her isolation after her illness is pushing her to more. I swear she could talk the hind leg off a donkey.”

  “You should allow me to see her. I could keep her company.”

  Angela’s companion, currently recovering from a bout of influenza, only saw a few people, for fear the sickness would spread. Angela, having caught the illness a month before, declared herself immune. “Nonsense, my dear. I wish her to rest, and she will do so.” She patted Phoebe’s hand. “Besides, I am thoroughly enjoying your visit. You suit me so well, I am sorry you are not available permanently.” She tucked the lace-edged cloth up her sleeve, where she could produce it with a flourish if necessary. “Before we go into the club, I’d appreciate a word in private.”

  Phoebe could guess what that would be. She followed Angela into the small, pleasant parlor at the front of the house. Angela closed the door behind them. “I heard you telling Watson to inform the duke you were indisposed when he called.”

  Heat rushed to Phoebe’s cheeks. “I’m sorry, but I c-can’t face him. Not after last night.”

  Angela frowned. “How so? He behaved perfectly. I have to admit I didn’t think he would come up to the mark, and I was already devising some tale to appease the gossips, but I didn’t need it.”

  “He says that we c-can let the engagement d-drift away at the end of the season.”

  “Did he say he would do it?” Angela asked sharply.

  Phoebe shook her head. “He says I must. Of c-course I will, but with my p-parents coming to London…” She shrugged. Her mother would love to see one of her daughters marry a duke. Unfortunately, not Phoebe. Her family had planned to spend a few weeks in town, mainly to allow Phoebe’s younger sister, Lucinda, to make her curtsey, but they would not arrive yet. And with any luck, her parents wouldn’t hear about this latest start.

  “I have told Watson to show your suitor in when he arrives,” Angela said firmly. “If you really cannot bear to go driving with the duke, he deserves a personal explanation.”

  Yes, he did, and Phoebe was being cowardly not to give it to him. But she found his presence overwhelming, and she wanted time to control her reactions. She doubted herself more than him. “He made me st-stammer.”

  Angela tilted her head. “Did he indeed? I have found your stammer only makes itself known when you are agitated. Does he affect you in that way?”

  Miserably she nodded.

  Angela tutted. “Familiarity with him will help. Eventually you will discover a fault in him, and he will lose the rosy hue you have enveloped him in.” Angela left the desk, her sense of order finally satisfied. She picked up a leather pouch from the desk and went to the door. “In the meantime, the Society for Single Ladies awaits us.”

  So it did.

  A footman leaned in to open the door to the green drawing room, a large space on the ground floor. Inside, the chatter halted as attention turned to them, then started up again.

  A sense of familiarity and comfort settled on Phoebe. She was among friends, people who knew who she was, who noticed her. These were the ladies who went disregarded and unnoticed, the older sisters passed over in favor of their prettier, younger siblings, the respectable but poor, the companions and duennas. The ones she’d seen at the ball last night. The room contained about twenty women, the average for such meetings.

  Declaring herself one of their number, despite possessing more wealth than they did, Angela had started the society and provided the drawing room for their use, whether she was available or not. More of a club, she’d said. She’d provided a sanctuary where the companions, widows, and overlooked sisters could meet and be themselves. The single women, especially the unmarried ones rather than the widows, had unenviable futures. No home of their own, at the constant beck and call of more fortunate members of their families, they were shuffled around from place to place where they would be of the most use. And the worst, or so one had mentioned, was the loneliness.

  Ostensibly the club was a literary society, of which there were many. They made the text they were reading as obtuse and tedious as they dared, to deter others from asking to join.

  Phoebe slipped into a comfortable chair, receiving a few nods and smiles, which she returned, and took a dish of tea handed to her by one of her colleagues.

  Angela glanced at Phoebe as she took her seat. “The news of the theft of Lady Latimer’s jewels is all around town this morning, so I assume you ladies have heard of it.”

  “As well as Phoebe’s betrothal,” Miss Manners, a poor relation of the great family of the Duke of Rutland, commented with a smile.

  “The betrothal is one of convenience,” Phoebe confessed. “The duke saved me from ruin, but that might still come. He has been most kind, but neither of us expect a lasting connection.”

 
“He’s not known for his kindness,” one lady commented. “I have heard he is a stickler for the proprieties.”

  Phoebe could not reconcile the man she’d met last night to a stiff-rumped aristocrat. He had kissed her, he’d treated her with consideration and kindness, but he had not struck her as a man who depended on his rank to command respect.

  Angela got to her feet and waited for quiet. It wasn’t long coming. “Ladies, the affair of the necklace brings forward an idea I had. I have a proposal for you all. The Society needs an occupation, something to tie us together, and I have come up with a scheme. The bank occasionally develops problems we cannot solve in-house. Pieces of jewelry without owners, inheritances without heirs, mortgages with doubtful applicants. We handle a lot of delicate business. I would appreciate your help on occasion. Of course, there would be a reward for successful work.”

  The ladies glanced at one another, murmured.

  “The rooms are open to you all, no matter what you decide. But if you are interested, please let me know. You have access to society. We move unobtrusively, we’re barely noticed, so why not use that to our advantage? The bank definitely needs people prepared to undertake difficult and confidential cases. When I was discussing the matter with my managers, I came up with this idea. But you are the first I have told.” She looked around the room. Almost everyone was smiling.

  The opportunity to earn money of their own, the chance to have something useful to do, struck Phoebe as brilliant. As was Angela’s point that the ladies here were uniquely situated to help.

  “I have a gift for you all.” Pulling apart the strings of a leather purse, she spilled a stream of silver onto the table. Plucking one item loose, she held it out. “Pins with our insignia. We may use these as identification and communication. And decoration, if you will.”

  “Why, this is marvelous!” Miss Manners got to her feet and accepted a pin, taking more to hand around. “We are the people who notice while nobody notices us. We see it all. I have longed for something useful to do.”

  Angela continued. “I shall open accounts for you all at the bank if you do not have one already and pay your rewards into that. If you have no male sponsors, or you do not wish them to know, my managers will oblige. Finding lost objects, lost people… Which brings me to our first case.” She beamed at Phoebe. “Lady Latimer’s lost jewelry.”

  The ladies murmured, and some sent Phoebe smiles. Phoebe turned her new pin over in her hand, stroking the smooth surface. The pin consisted of the three letters SSL entwined, but flat, so the pin could be worn discreetly. Rather look at that while she blinked the tears of happiness away. These people thought of her as a friend. If her stay in London achieved nothing else, she would have new friends to exchange letters with.

  “Lady Latimer is saying that Phoebe had something to do with the theft, placing her prominently in her account of the incident,” Miss Manners said. “She has spread the news all over town. She claims that Phoebe was waiting in the garden for the thief, who was to pass the goods to her. If he was caught, he’d have nothing. I was shopping with my great-aunt this morning, and everyone was talking about it.”

  Angela’s brows drew together in a frown. “The accusations are of course false, but Phoebe will have no peace until we discover the true perpetrators. Lady Latimer will settle for nothing less than her jewels back, and she will continue to cast aspersions on Phoebe until the matter is resolved.” She pursed her lips. “I do not scruple to tell you that Lady Latimer is a spiteful woman.”

  “Then we must find them,” said Miss Hansen brightly. She appeared much more approachable here, without her customary stern frown and steely glare.

  Angela finished her tea and put the dish back down in the saucer with a decided clink. She rarely lost her temper, but small signs like that showed she was on the edge. “Her ladyship claimed she saw the corner of Phoebe’s gown as she was leaving the room where she was resting. If not for the duke, Phoebe’s reputation would be ruined.”

  “That means there was a woman, as well as the man I saw,” Phoebe said. “A conspiracy, not an impulsive theft.”

  “We will stand your friends, Phoebe, you may be sure of that,” Miss Manners said.

  Phoebe felt strangely humbled. “Thank you.”

  Angela gave a triumphant smile. “We are the single ladies that society ignores at its peril. We will make our mark. And we will start by solving this mystery.”

  * * * *

  When the doorbell clanged, Phoebe jumped in alarm. From her seat opposite, Angela grinned. They had repaired to the small upstairs parlor to wait for the Duke of Leomore to call.

  She spread the skirts of the modish carriage gown Angela had lent her, trying to make it appear she was wearing a hoop, and consequently, not expecting to go anywhere. The full skirts of the dark blue stuff gown were in the latest mode, masculine in style, plain but beautifully made and obviously of the finest quality. She would return it to Angela when she was done, but her surreptitious smoothing of the folds gave her great pleasure and helped to calm her tingling nerves.

  Lifting her chin, she pasted on the gracious smile she’d been practicing in the mirror. Angela had advocated it as a way to recover from her social awkwardness. And that damned stammer. Phoebe hated her stammer. The more she tried to overcome it, the worse it grew, and to have her problem reemerge at the worst possible time made everything worse. Thinking of the times when she’d stood before someone, trying to push out the words and only succeeding in embarrassing herself, made her cold with guilt and embarrassment. Maybe she could smile instead of talking.

  The footman opened the door, and both ladies stood. Phoebe firmed her jaw and lifted her chin. And kept smiling.

  As he entered, her tension spiked. He wore dark green, a cloth coat that had to have been tailored to his form, so closely did it fit to the waist, before flaring out into full, stiffened skirts that reached nearly to his knees, the open front framing strong thighs clad in buff breeches. The cut-steel buttons on his waistcoat caught the light from the bright spring day outside, and his tall black boots were polished to a blinding sheen.

  He paused a few steps inside the door. “Ladies.” He bowed first to Angela, as was only proper, but after he made his bow to Phoebe, he lingered a fraction longer, and when he rose, his smile was warmer. “I am fortunate to find you ready to leave, ma’am. Not every lady is so punctual.”

  “Will you not stay for tea, sir?” Angela asked.

  “Thank you, ma’am, but I am anxious not to keep my horses waiting,” he said in reply to Angela’s question. “I have been smitten by the desire to show Miss North my new grays. They were an extravagance, I admit, but they are beautifully matched and delicate high-steppers.” His easy smile made Phoebe smile back. How he could make her comfortable and nervous at the same time passed her understanding. “Miss North is probably acquainted with the basics of horsemanship, and she will undoubtedly know a good carriage horse when she sees it.”

  Phoebe’s breath stopped. She had finally admitted the truth to herself, that she wanted this. For once in her life, she would be the person other women envied. She had this one time, this chance to shine, and she would take it. She’d dreamed of it, all the time knowing it would probably be better left as a dream unfulfilled.

  And with this man, of all men. He sent the tiny hairs prickling along her body. But he was a duke. She couldn’t have him. She was from a different world with different expectations, her dowry was modest, she had no powerful connections, she stammered…any number of reasons. But none of them were enough to stop her wanting it.

  She picked up the little velvet box she’d found for his pin. She’d had to sacrifice the container for one of her few pieces of jewelry, but she couldn’t bear to press the pin into his hand without any wrapping. That would be taking gaucherie to its extreme. Nobody would know that she had pinned it to her pillow last night.

 
To safeguard it, she’d told herself, but in the dead of night she’d reached out and stroked its smooth, bulbous form.

  “Sir, this is yours. I thank you s-sincerely for your loan. It saved me when I was in d-dire need.”

  She closed her mouth, shocking herself with her eloquence. She’d just said the words, not even thought about it, and usually she had to work out what she would say and practice it a few times before she could get it out without faltering.

  He took the box from her and laid it aside. “I would rather collect that another time. I don’t want to wear two pins in my neckcloth, so I prefer for you to take care of this one a little longer.”

  Phoebe had no answer. She could hardly ask him why he couldn’t slip the box in his coat pocket.

  After bowing to Angela, he led her from the room and down the stairs. “May I say how lovely you look today, ma’am?”

  Caught in the act of taking her dashing cocked hat from the footman, Phoebe nearly dropped it from nerveless fingers. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to accept compliments, it was the way she accepted them from this man. He affected her far too deeply for her comfort. “Th-thank you, s-sir,” she managed to get out.

  She concentrated on pinning the hat into place and putting on her gloves. As usual she did not have her hair powdered, and even if she said it herself, she had to admit that the rich blue of the gown suited her better than her usually insipid colors, enhancing her looks rather than making the mousiness appear even worse. Unfortunately, most of her wardrobe was purchased with her blond sister Lucinda in mind. They were of a similar size, and Phoebe was fully aware that Lucinda would adopt most of her new gowns. And probably ruffle and furbelow them to death, since Lucinda was fond of embellishments.

  Phoebe braced herself to face the world.