Slowly shaking his head, Roger frowned. “I bid you to remember our last conversation about Phoebe, Owen. If you attempt to win her affections in any way, it is the end of our friendship.”
“I promise I will not try to turn her away from Evan. She is as much my friend as you are, yet we are expected to maintain our distance from one another. All romantic fancies aside, I’ve been delivered the news that my friend is gravely ill.”
“You worry me, Owen.”
Owen raised his chin. “You are an intelligent gentleman. I believe you knew full well how I would respond if you gave me news of Phoebe’s illness.”
“I may have expected you to pay a visit but not to turn from the Lady Ann and the dinner party hosted in your honor to run to be at her side. Those are the actions of a gentleman in love.”
“I have never pretended not to love her. But you have my word that I will do nothing untoward. I will ensure a chaperone is present, Roger. I promise you.”
* * *
Seeing Phoebe sitting up in her chair was almost enough to reduce Owen to tears. His worry had been tormenting him the entire journey. He had been reliving the night at the ball over and over, lamenting for how rash his words had been.
Lord Wycliff had allowed him entry but had declined to enter Phoebe’s room with him in an attempt to avoid contaminating any more of the house’s residents with the disease. Instead, he offered Miss Bennet at the pair’s chaperone.
When Owen entered the room, Miss Bennet gave him a look that was far too knowing. As brash and brazen as he was prone to be in regards to his beloved Phoebe, the way her eyes seemed to see into him was enough to cause him to blush.
He bowed his head in greeting. “Miss Bennet.”
“Lord Boltmon, Welcome. You can visit for a short while but not too long. Our Lady Phoebe is still quite weak.”
Owen lifted his gaze to see her. Phoebe had risen from her bed to meet him and dressed in a loose-fitting, comfortable day dress. Her hair had been combed through but was not styled and her face was deathly pale.
The sight of her made him weak at the knees. He wanted to lift her in his arms and carry her away to some place where he could lay her down and watch over her day and night. He could allow himself to be mesmerized by the rise and fall of her chest and the way her lips were softly parted almost as if she were waiting to be kissed.
He crossed the room and bowed before her, then he pulled up a chair at her side.
“My Lady, I came as soon as I heard you were ill.”
Phoebe smiled. “It was my understanding you no longer cared for me, Owen.”
Owen glanced backward to Miss Bennet to judge whether she was scandalized by Phoebe’s terms of address. The governess was purposefully occupying herself with embroidery on the other side of the room, acting as if she were unaware of the young couple behind her.
“Of course I care for you. I was a fool to speak to you as I did the night of the ball. I was a cowardly gentleman whose pride had been hurt…and whose heart had been broken.”
She nodded. “I know you believed me to be cold in the face of your confession but that was never my intention.”
“I know that.”
“You must understand that as free-spirited and independent as I may have always been, I still value honor. I still hold true to the principles of what is right and what is amoral. To betray my father, your brother, and the promise I have made would make me into someone I am not.”
“I should have known how you would have answered before I ever spoke. My Phoebe, who has always been so kind and loyal. It was a temporary insanity to imagine you would be anything other than true to your word. Now that I have had time to reflect on the error of my ways, I recognize how you have acted with dignity and integrity, and I offer every apology for how I have behaved.”
Phoebe’s smile grew and softened. She took hold of Owen’s hands to quickly squeeze them in a gesture of comfort.
“I am glad you understand. I accept your apology and all has been forgiven. Pray tell me, Owen, can we now continue as friends?”
“Nothing would bring me greater joy.”
She let out a long breath that seemed to release from her a great deal of tension. Owen saw how her posture relaxed and the muscles in her brow were no longer drawn taut.
“How are you feeling, Phoebe?”
“Depleted,” Phoebe sighed. “It is quite unlike me to be void of energy, as well you know. I am restless yet exhausted. My mind is caged in a body that has not the energy to even sit up without support. The boredom is the worst of it all.”
“And physically? Do you feel you are gaining strength?”
“I am not losing strength. Each day I am able to eat a little more. The dizziness has subsided somewhat also. I’m no longer plagued with nausea although my throat still pains me. I simply feel very weak, as if I had run circles around the grounds for days.”
Owen laughed. “You used to run circles around the ground for days. I remember listening in once on a conversation my father had with yours in with your father expressed his despair at how quickly your shoes wore out. If only he had known how we would chase each other relentlessly and find trees and hills to climb.”
“We were a pair of little squirrels, weren’t we?”
He reclined back in his chair. Now that Phoebe had accepted his apology, the burden of his guilt had somewhat subsided and the innate sense of panic that had driven him to rush from the dinner to her side had dissipated, allowing him to breathe at last.
“How often I find myself yearning for those times. In fact, it was only a day or two ago I was walking through gardens with Lady Ann and such an urge came over me to climb one of the exotic trees and see the flowers from above.”
Phoebe frowned. “Lady Ann?”
“We are courting.”
“Oh,” she said.
“It is unbecoming of a gentleman of my status to be willfully single, as well you know, Phoebe.”
“Yes, I know well indeed.”
“It is for the best, all things considered.”
“Yes, it is.” Phoebe folded her hands in her lap and nodded. “Tell me, Owen—does she make you happy?”
“She is a suitable match.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I often believe true happiness is an impossible aspiration. We must constantly make compromises, more so with ourselves than any other.”
“Your heart is too valuable a gift to give away to a lady who does not appreciate it, Owen. If you are to marry, marry for love,” she implored.
“I am inclined to believe you are not following your own advice.”
“I love your brother, Owen.”
Her words were as a dagger in his side. Owen’s mouth grew dry and his chest tightened at the thought that Phoebe could love anyone but him when he had adored her all his life, and adored her still.
He cleared his throat and forced the right words from his mouth. “I am glad for it. It would sadden me greatly to think you were anything but happy.”
“I am. Happy.”
A heavy silence fell between them. So much and so little had changed between them since they were young. No matter how far they tore themselves apart, there was something between them that fated them to love one another forever.
Miss Bennet broke the silence. “Lady Phoebe, you look tired. Forgive me, Lord Boltmon, but I must ask you to bring your visit to an end. I shouldn’t want to tire her anymore. She must rest now.”
“Of course.” Owen rose to his feet and looked down upon his beloved one last time. “I am thankful that we shall always have our friendship, Phoebe. I care a great deal for you, and I always shall.”
Chapter 11
The very last person that Phoebe expected to see at her bedside the following day was Lady Bentley, the Duchess of Bentley, and mother to Owen and Evan.
“Your Grace, it is such an honor to have you in our home,” Phoebe said when the Duchess entered the drawing room where P
hoebe was resting with a book in her lap. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
She felt nervous in the presence of the Duchess. Lady Bentley had the most intense air about her that seemed to make the very air of the room turn cold upon her arrival.
She was dressed in white, as always. Her skin was tight on her angular, high cheekbones and her hair was drawn back into a severe style. She lowered herself into the chair furthest from Phoebe and snapped her fingers at Miss Bennet to request tea in a way that Phoebe found most rude.
“My husband believes it proper that I paid you a visit considering your current condition.” she grimaced, as if being close to Phoebe was disturbing her. “I’ve been led to believe I will not contract this disease.”
“The physician believes the worst has passed.”
“I suppose we should be grateful for that.”
“I’m certainly glad.”
The Duchess didn’t recline in her chair but sat straight-backed and rigid, accepting the cup of tea when it arrived but making a sour expression upon sipping from it.
“This tea tastes quite old.”
“Lord Huxley sent me the tea leaves only a few weeks ago.”
She looked around the room with distaste evident in her expression, examining the space from the floors to the ceilings, taking in the oil paintings and passing judgment on the quality of the furnishings.
“Who was it who decided on the furnishings for this room?”
“I believe it was my mother, the Countess of Wycliff.”
“She passed some time ago, did she not?”
“Within days of my birth, Your Grace.”
“Yes, one can tell. I get the sense this whole house is most outdated. I sense your father is not as wealthy as he would lead people to believe.”
Phoebe was rarely given reason to be shocked by others but the Duchess’ words caused her to gasp.
“Why, I don’t believe my father cares for the impressions of others at all. If the furnishings haven’t been changed, it is only to preserve the memory of my late mother.”
“Hmm,” the Duchess rolled her tongue around her mouth contemptuously as she dragged her slow gaze around the room. “I should hope so. My husband, the Duke, was most keen for this match to be made between my son and you, and I fear his friendship with your father has clouded his better judgment.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Phoebe narrowed her eyes, her voice becoming terse. She took great displeasure in the company of the Duchess. She found her to be a most vile character.
“I’ve long believed your father has hidden his financial difficulties from the world. I’m inclined to believe this marriage is simply his means of securing his own security for the future, through our fortune.”
“My marriage to Evan was arranged even before I was born and confirmed many years ago when I was just a child. You imagine my father to have an incredible amount of foresight.”
“Devious men often do,” the Duchess interpreted the offense in Phoebe’s expression and laughed coldly. “Oh, my dear, don’t look so affronted. Are we, as ladies, not to discuss these things? Others have the impression that you are worldly somehow. Not that I can see it myself.”
“I don’t consider insulting my father behind closed doors to be a sign of anything other than poor taste and bad manners,” Phoebe uttered, “and in his own home, no less!”
“You show incredible loyalty to a gentleman who has sold you off like cattle in order to better his own lifestyle.”
“Your impression of my father is misguided, Duchess.”
“I am a very good judge of character,” she leaned forward and narrowed her eyes, letting her cold gaze pierce through Phoebe. “I judge you to be weak minded and vapid, my dear. Like many ladies of your generation, you are simply waiting for a gentleman to provide you some kind of occupation for your days. I suppose you are overwhelmed with the desire to breed?”
“Quite the opposite.” Phoebe changed her tone to match the Duchess’ sharpness. “I am a lady of her own pursuits. Motherhood is a burden I will bear, but I would hardly say it is my calling.”
The Duchess smiled maliciously. “My goodness. Does my son know how opposed you are to the idea of bearing children? He has his heart set on a wife who bears him sons.”
“Perhaps I only have daughters in me.”
“That would be of little surprise. It takes a certain disposition to bear sons. I should know, I bore two.”
Phoebe felt as if she had come to a duel unarmed. She hadn’t expected to meet with the Duchess today, much less to have to face her verbal assaults. Her head was swimming with fever and she already felt weak. It was difficult for her to grasp what the Duchess was saying and respond as acutely as she so wished.
“Whatever my disposition might be, I do know that Lord Huxley has love for me.”
“He has love for your pretty face and small waist.”
“That is not so. We talk at great length about our interests.”
“Poor girl. It has been the greatest fear of my life that I should be so gullible and easily led. Fortunately, I am able to see past men beyond their superficial turns of phrase and interpret their true intentions.”
“You married the Duke for love, then.”
The Duchess laughed as if Phoebe had told the most tantalizing joke. “I married him for money, as any wise lady would do.”
“It surprises me then that you firstly accuse my family of only pursuing your fortune and show contempt in this regard, only to tell me you yourself have married only for financial gain.”
“The difference is, My Dear, this time you are after my fortune.”
“I have no care for your money, Your Grace, and I believe it to be a vulgar topic of discussion.”
“It is a vulgar world we live in.” The Duchess laid down the cup from which she had not taken another drink and stood. “I have done my duty as your future mother-in-law to see that you are well. I’ll take my leave now.”
Phoebe did not know how to respond. It was her desire to tell the Duchess that it was a great relief to see her go and she wished she would never return, but she was too sensitive toward her father’s love for the Duke and the importance of their business relationship to risk insulting the Duke’s wife.
“You can report back to the Duke that I am quite well and on the mend. You can tell him I’m looking forward greatly to Evan’s return.”
“I’m not your messenger, girl.”
As if she’d been physically slapped, Phoebe’s head jolted back at the coldness and hostility of the Duchess’ words. She wondered what her father would say if he had been present to witness such nasty behavior, or whether the Duchess would have behaved in such a manner had there been anyone to hear how unkindly she spoke.
Miss Bennet saw the Duchess to the door and then returned to the drawing room to share in Phoebe’s shock.
“Forgive me for saying it, Lady Phoebe—I know this is not my place and a scandal for me to confess—but I believe the Duchess may be the devil himself.”
“I’m not mad, then?” Phoebe replied. “I was so caught in the disbelief that she should speak to me like that I was inclined to believe the fever caused me to imagine it all.”
“You imagined nothing, My Lady. The Duchess spoke to you as if you were the dirt beneath her feet.” Miss Bennet visibly bristled in anger, her skin flushing red from her collarbones upwards. “If I were your mother, I would retract this offer of marriage immediately simply to spite that bitter hag.”
Phoebe giggled. Miss Bennet often lost her temper and spoke freely before she remembered herself and apologized. They had been so close for so long that each practiced discretion when the other departed from proper social graces. Phoebe would never reveal how Miss Bennet would speak of disliked members of high society while Miss Bennet would never tell of how Phoebe and Owen would speak in a manner more becoming of lovers than childhood friends.
“I don’t believe it would spite her at all, Miss Be
nnet. I quite believe a retraction is exactly her intention. I’m sure she aspires to greater status for her son than my family can offer. Perhaps Princess Charlotte should be worthy of his hand.”
Miss Bennet chuckled. “You are far lovelier than she.”
“Treason most high, Miss Bennet!”
“I believe she is intimidated by your beauty and youth. Older ladies often are when they realize their reign is at an end.”
“It is not my intention to overthrow anyone. I only want to pursue my own interests alongside a gentleman who treats me kindly.”
An Immoral Dilemma For The Scandalous Lady (Steamy Historical Romance) Page 9
