From the way she held her body so rigidly, that solution would not be welcome to her. But Leo could be mistaken. Callow was a brawny, bold man, the kind ladies often flocked to. Was Phoebe one of them?
Her brothers were more amenable, despite Tom’s lack of interest in the music. And while her mother was flamboyant, Leo had a grudging admiration for her. She knew who she was and where she belonged and was happy there. Similarly, when he had engaged her husband in a mild political debate over dinner, Sir Frederick had answered readily enough and with the sound understanding of a man who represented his part of the world.
But the older brother, known as Freddie, and the sister were beyond bearing. Freddie had tried to patronize Leo, kindly talking about the pleasures of hunting as if Leo had never heard of the sport, explaining the proper way to do it.
He should not judge, and he was trying very hard not to. But the way that man was engaging Phoebe in conversation made his blood boil, when he actually saw Phoebe recoil from him. What had the blackguard said? Perhaps he needed to invite him to a fencing match at the school he frequented. Or better still, call him out…
What on earth was he thinking? Just because Phoebe had moved away slightly, he wanted to maim a man? That was ridiculous.
Tonight had convinced him of a few things, but most of all that regretfully, he would have to draw back in his courtship of her. Not end it, even the thought made him shiver, but he must consider the original plan of letting it die. Or prolonging it for longer than he’d planned.
Her family would not fit into his world, and both sides would be unhappy. Phoebe clearly loved her family, and any division would distress her. That, despite Lucinda’s vaunting ambition. If she found a partner during this visit, it wouldn’t be in the echelons of society. One or two ramshackle dukes existed, the kind living off their uppers and not invited to the most influential functions. They might take an interest in the flashy Lucinda. The girl was eighteen and not yet settled into herself. But her vanity was deep-seated.
Even though personally, Phoebe drew him like a magnet. In her presence he wanted to kiss and touch, guard her like a dog ordered to protect his master’s most precious possession. That was even more reason to make the break clean. Who in society was married to a woman they had fallen in love with? Hardly anyone. True, in some situations love had grown after marriage, but that was not what marriage was for. A purely business transaction, to benefit both families and foster closer ties. He should be looking at the Howard women, or perhaps the Manners ladies. Not the Norths.
But he was still looking.
More obviously, his grandmother would not be happy to be associated with the Norths, and he would not for anything make her unhappy. He owed her everything, from preserving and rebuilding the title and estate after his parents’ deaths, to protecting and loving him. Without her love he would not have known what love was. He owed it to her to find a bride with a family she could be comfortable with. Sometimes a duke had to think of more than himself. More often than not, actually. Employees, duties, relatives—the list went on. Leo had never considered that part of his position painful before. That was a shock.
But then, every holder of a prestigious title had relatives they barely acknowledged. He could not, he must not, lose his head over a pretty face.
Usually he enjoyed musical evenings, but not this one, but at least the performances gave him time to consider his next move.
Striding down the stairs after the guests had left and his grandmother retired to bed, he wondered what Phoebe had that none of the other women in his life had even approached. Perhaps familiarity would breed, if not contempt, then boredom and satiation. That burning desire he felt for her would fade.
As he clapped his hat on his head and left the house, he let his memories roam, as he rarely did. They were too painful, for the most part, and his memories vague and patchy. One vivid memory haunted him, typical of many in his young life. Dressed in lace far too fine for a young boy, gossamer linen and light colors, held fondly by a beautiful woman who smelled of lavender and roses. His mother. Then she got to her feet, and he fell to the floor. She’d totally forgotten he was even there. Her words, “Take this away,” held no affection, merely boredom, and referring to him as “this” had scored his heart.
The memory was typical of many scenes with his parents, but he remembered that one most of all.
He had not wanted for affection, but he could never trust the women who crowded around him. He grinned. Maybe he should have gone away somewhere and passed as simple Mr. Cavendish, his family name, to see if he could attract a woman on his own. The nearest was Phoebe. Perhaps that was her secret, she gave the impression she didn’t care for his position or his riches. Women had done that before, of course, and for the most part he’d seen right through them, but Phoebe—she was honest and true.
All the more reason for him not to hurt her by putting a burden on her shoulders that she might not be able to sustain. She was a sensitive soul, and her stutter grew worse when stressed. He would have to put her under a lot of that, and she’d have to accustom herself to meeting strangers on a regular basis.
Despite his doubts, Leo had a vision of Phoebe greeting his guests at his London home, discussing political affairs or the latest literary sensation, and after they had gone, joining him in bed. Where they would share a passion only they would know about.
He could almost taste her most intimate flavors, hear her cries of fulfillment.
Even walking through this quiet London street, his body stirred. And wasn’t that why he was reluctant to let her go? He wanted Phoebe with a wild passion that made no sense but didn’t abate. Their kisses and caresses only served to stoke the flames of his desire, but he could not stop it. He could not take her without marrying her. She was a lady, so he had only one recourse to her. But she had never held that prospect before his nose, as other women had. “Marry me and you can have all of me.” That wasn’t her way. Despite her modest appearance, she had an excellent understanding—their letters were testament to that.
No, it could not be. But first he would resolve the matter of the necklace.
Tonight he would trawl the worst of the hells, the places he avoided where his contemporaries went for a thrill, a glimpse of the sordid side their lives rarely afforded them. If the necklace was sold, it would be in those places. He couldn’t enter the rookeries of Seven Dials and St. Giles without being murdered for his purse, but he’d get as close as he could. The shacks propping up the piazza in Covent Garden, the gaming hells in crumbling cellars, the brothels. Even the notion made him shudder, but as long as he had guineas to spare, they’d welcome him there.
That attempted theft at Miss Childers’s house had given him a clue. Before that, he was convinced the necklace was long gone, broken up and sold on, but if someone thought Phoebe had it, that meant they didn’t. It had been mislaid, or lost, or stolen from the thieves. They might believe that Phoebe had indeed snatched the necklace from the thief.
But if they did not have it, who did?
He turned a corner into the Strand. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he set his course for Covent Garden.
The diamonds still existed. They could be found. Leo would not share his supposition because he had no proof, only a slim chance that they did. If he could trace them before the hue and cry went up, he would purchase them, whatever the cost, and return them to her infuriating ladyship.
It was worth trying. And he was spoiling for a fight. He didn’t want to give up. The male in him, descended from the savages who had slashed and burned their way to power, wanted Phoebe, roared for her, but the rational aristocrat told him something completely different.
But if he found the necklace, he could clear her name. Then they would be free to make their own future. Phoebe would not be compelled to do anything she did not want. And he could walk away, knowing he’d done his best for her.
So why was he still thinking of it?
Chapter 12
Preparing to enter the carriage on their way to yet another ball, Phoebe couldn’t believe the idea did not fill her with thrilled excitement. But apart from the prospect of seeing Leo there, the notion held nothing for her.
On the other hand, her family was excited.
Angela had hired another carriage to supplement her own, so they were thankfully alone, at least on the journey. Her parents and Lucinda crammed into the new vehicle.
Phoebe spread the skirts of her sky-blue gown, letting her hands linger over the flowers embroidered in raised work on the robings and flounces. They were done so well they almost appeared real. She loved it, but this time she had to pose a question. “You must render the cost of at least some of my new gowns to my father.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“But Angela—”
Angela held up her hand, the sapphire adorning the middle finger flashing in the dim twilight. “No. Consider it a wedding present, if you must. If you are to become a duchess, then you will have to expand your wardrobe, and I will enjoy helping you do it.” A teasing smile quirked the corner of her mouth. “Unless you mean to cut me, of course.”
The carriage jolted around a corner, and Phoebe grabbed the door handle to keep her balance. “Why on earth would I c-cut the richest woman in England?” she asked, teasing in her turn.
“Many people do.” Angela glanced out of the window. “Lord, we’re nearly there.”
The way she cut eye contact told Phoebe her remark went deeper than her light tone would suggest. “Who did that?”
“Nobody important.” Angela sighed when Phoebe kept her gaze sternly fixed on her. “Very well. The Latimers. Since that incident with the necklace, she is making life more difficult for all of us.”
The news infuriated Phoebe. Her fist clenched on the fine material under her hand. “How dare she!”
“She is commenting on your people. No wonder you stole the necklace since you come from such a vulgar family.”
Angela turned back to Phoebe, her gaze fulminating. “She forgets it is my family too. We will find that blasted necklace and the earrings she is whining about and announce the fact publicly. I am determined to do it. Either that or pay her the value. But she is claiming the compensation from an insurance company, and I cannot interfere with that. My name would be mud in the City.” A small smile curved her fine-cut lips. “She has forgotten something else, too. I own a bank. We are running a few checks on her and her husband.”
“Angela!”
Her cousin dismissed Phoebe’s concern with a wave of her hand. “Oh, we do so on all our customers from time to time. This is not out of the ordinary.”
That was how people got a reputation for being superior. Apart from actually being superior, that was.
The confidence had buoyed Phoebe’s spirits and encouraged her in her friendship. But she refused to accept anything further. “I don’t belong here,” she said. “I will be b-back soon in my rightful place.” Leo wouldn’t want her now, not after he’d seen her family. She would give him his freedom whenever he asked for it. Perhaps before that.
“And will you then marry Sir Marcus Callow, as your family expects?”
Phoebe repressed a shudder. “I cannot like him. For all that he behaves like a gentleman. Just not the kind of gentleman I like.” He had demanded kisses in the past, but when she drew back, he had laughed and told her she would welcome them in time. He had taken a few anyway, and she was right. She found his embraces unpleasant.
When Leo kissed her she melted into him, and he was not gentle either. He held her as if she was precious but ravaged her mouth. And she ravaged him right back.
When she went to sleep at night, she’d pretend he was with her, lying just out of reach, so that she could touch him any time she wanted. She still stuck his pearl pin into her pillow sometimes, too. The notion gave her comfort, and she slept far better than usual. She would keep that secret close to her chest. Nobody would discover her dreams, least of all the man who had inspired them. She knew how pathetic her little fantasies were.
While she could, she’d enjoy what she had. Give herself memories she could fall back on when life became too tedious.
By the time they reached their destination the sky had dimmed, the velvet thickness wrapping around her like a blanket. A footman helped her down, avoiding her gaze, but unlike Angela or Leo, she always noticed them. At home they lived closer with their servants and knew them by name, instead of referring to them by a generic “James” or “Jane.” She thanked him by name.
Home seemed so far, although it was in reality a mere day away. Her cozy, comfortable life in a place where everyone knew everybody else, where she didn’t have to introduce herself or suffer strangers staring at her, seemed so different to this. People watched her, talked about her, published her name in journals and print shops. They took notice of her.
But not for long. If she was to accept reality, that meant Marcus or spinsterhood. She would do well not to forget that. She constantly reminded herself, in an effort to keep her feet firmly planted on the ground.
By now she knew how to make an entrance. As her family climbed down from their carriage, she held back just long enough to allow Angela to lead the way, then lifted her skirts the bare inch she needed, climbed the stairs and swept inside without stopping. The footmen stationed at the door stepped back to let her through.
Her family had the invitations they needed to get in, and they had to show them.
London houses in Mayfair had very similar layouts. The serried rows of white stuccoed town houses, made to look like one great mansion, had replaced the palaces and mansions over the last fifty years. Owners of those great houses had, for the most part, moved the treasures to the country and either sold the property or had the house demolished, and a square of houses put in their stead, which provided useful unentailed income. The smaller, elegant buildings were all most families needed for the three months or so they spent in London every year. And Lord knew they were still spacious enough.
They had a layout she could probably navigate without having set foot in them before because they were so similar. Upstairs they would find the reception rooms, the largest room set aside for dancing, and the others for card playing, refreshments, and general gossip. There might be a terrace, the gardens built up so the guests only needed to go down a short flight of stairs to outside. Sometimes she wasn’t even sure whose house she was in until she saw their hostess at the top of the stairs.
Next to Lady Comyn stood one of her daughters. Her ladyship was blessed with what seemed like a plethora of daughters, but Phoebe had made the acquaintance of this one, and they got on well. She had visited the SSL, although she was not in possession of the precious silver pin.
A shock went through her. She was beginning to belong here. She could walk into a ball without showing her card, knew enough members of society to be comfortable, and nobody raised eyebrows when they saw her. Goodness, who would have thought it? She’d been in town for six weeks now, and already she had found a niche.
When she left, the space she occupied would disappear with few people missing her. Would Leo? Would he want to write to her when their betrothal was at an end? He said so, but he had the most exquisite manners she could not be entirely sure he meant it when he said he wanted her to write. She so enjoyed getting his letters. Writing to a gentleman was allowed, under the rules of gentility, so she could continue to do so. But he might not have time. Or he might lose interest in her.
Her mother’s voice floated up the stairs, stridently declaring this house was very beautiful, and she would take note of the flooring in the hall when she got home. �
��You can probably hear that woman’s voice across a forest,” their hostess muttered.
Phoebe made her curtsey. “Why yes, you can,” she said brightly. “But my m-mother is well aware of it. I b-believe she has met others who enjoy hunting.”
Lady Comyn flushed, but Phoebe chose not to see it. “Ah, Miss North. Of course, she’s your mama, isn’t she? Her presence has livened several affairs recently. We will no doubt miss her next year.”
When the Thames flowed on and would continue to do so.
The air stirred, and she turned her head to see Leo approaching her. His smile warmed her, and her confidence built. “Your Grace.” She swept into a curtsey, but he caught her elbows and gently raised her up.
“My dear, I’m delighted you arrived in good time.” He nodded to Angela. “Miss Childers, well met. I believe Col is here somewhere. The last I saw of him, he was heading for the card room.”
“Indeed, I have no interest in knowing where the Duke of Colston Magna might be,” Angela declared, but her color was up, her lightly powdered cheeks clearly revealing her blush. “I shall ask Phoebe’s brother Tom to escort me to the main room.”
“I would be delighted, ma’am,” said Tom, who knew his manners.
Smoothly, Leo caught Phoebe’s hand, brought it to his lips, and then placed it on his maroon velvet-clad arm. Automatically, she curled her fingers into the soft, silky material. “You look wonderful,” he said softly.
“Thank you.” She would be in possession of a collection of gowns too magnificent to wear once she got back to Buckinghamshire. Most of her female acquaintances would suspect her of having high-and-mighty airs. And they wouldn’t be shy about saying so.
For now she could enjoy her grand clothes and the way some members of society accepted her presence. That was balm to her soul, especially since nobody felt that way at home. The rivalries were closer and more personal. Society in London was larger and had room for more people to move in and out. Phoebe liked that.
The Girl with the Pearl Pin Page 14
