“It always brings me the greatest of sorrow that your mother is no longer with us. I knew her before the fall of my own family. I’d met her several times at dances and dinners. She would certainly have something to say to this Duchess,” Miss Bennet said.
Phoebe smiled and nestled back into her chair for a good story from her governess. “What would have been her course of action?”
“Firstly, she would have spoken quite plainly to Her Grace. I imagine she would have said something such as ‘Forget fortune, my dear Duchess; the only huge thing you possess is that hideous nose.’”
Phoebe gasped in shock at the insult then folded into laughter until it made her throat too sore and she began to cough.
Miss Bennet rubbed her back kindly. “If that’s not a sign from the Lord I’ve gone too far…”
“You know how I love your candid nature.”
“It would be cause for dismissal should your father ever hear me speaking so frankly.”
“My father adores you, as I do. He knows full well it is you who raised me.”
“Give him credit where credit is due, my darling. Your father has watched over you all your life and made provisions to keep you safe and well. You have always been his greatest priority in life.”
“What do you make of the Duchess’s accusations? We are not in any kind of financial despair, are we?”
“I’m not privy to your father’s accounts, My Lady, but I would find it very difficult to believe that the Earl was capable of hiding such a thing. He is one of the most honest men I have ever met. I’m far more inclined to believe it is the Duchess who is concealing something. It seems to me that she is the aspiring social climber.”
Miss Bennet poured Phoebe a tea from the teapot on the serving tray that had been brought through for the benefit of the Duchess and gently pushed the cup into her hand.
Phoebe drank obediently and felt the soreness of her throat ease a little with the help of the warm, sweet tea.
“I don’t suppose you know the status of the Duchess prior to her marriage to the Duke?”
“No, I’ve never asked.”
“She was the daughter of a baronet. A baronet!” Miss Bennet hooted with gleeful laughter. “Nobody ever called her so much as ‘My Lady’ before she married the Duke. She was Miss Lycett, the lowly youngest daughter of Sir William Lycett, with no distinctions of her own.”
“How did she find herself engaged to a Duke?”
“That was very much the question of the time, or so my mother told me, for I was only a child when they wed. Although I’ve heard it said she was known to wear sheer dresses and neglect to wear her corset when the Duke was around.”
“You mean she used her sexuality?” Phoebe was not usually a gossip but she delighted in hearing the dirty secrets of the Duchess after she had been subject to such a cruel onslaught from her so shortly before.
“It is all conjecture, of course. You know how gossip spreads, but one does have to wonder how the youngest daughter of a baronet came to be with the wealthiest bachelor of the district.”
“But she is so ugly!”
“Only from the neck up, apparently.”
Phoebe threw her head back and positively cackled with laughter. “Miss Bennet! I never knew you could be so crude.”
“Forgive me, My Lady. My behavior has been quite unbecoming since seeing out Her Grace. I simply feel very protective of you, and I am aghast on your behalf for her rudeness toward you. It almost makes me want to roll up my sleeves and go at her like a bull in a pen.”
“As always, I am touched by your care and concern, Miss Bennet, but you have already succeeded in lifting my spirits. I suppose we are simply to assume that the Duchess has yet to forego her pursuit of money and power, and can only assume that all others have the same motives as she.”
* * *
My Darling Phoebe,
I am bereft with worry at the thought of you with fever so far from me. I have never been one to be afflicted by the turning and tossing of the waves but lately, I find myself sick to my stomach with every motion.
I know that you are strong and I tell myself that we shall see each other again soon, but a gentleman at seas is prone to fear and victim to the cruelest depictions of his own imagination. It fills me with terror to think anything might happen to you, my love.
I count myself grateful for how close we are to completing our work here and returning to England’s shores. When I am back, I will watch over you until you are in full health, and then I will take your hand in marriage.
You are not the only one afflicted, my darling. I am sick with missing you.
Your loving fiancé,
Evan
* * *
Dearest Evan,
You have nothing to fear, my love. Every day I am stronger and I am made resilient through the promise that you will soon be with me again.
I’ve been keen to tell you of a visit I received from you mother this week. I was grateful to receive her but disturbed by her manner. I do not believe she trusts me, Evan. She seems to think my intention is the pursuit of the Duke’s fortune. I pray this is not what you think of me.
Owen has also visited me, having heard news of my illness through my brother. I am pleased to tell you that he is well and also looking forward to your return.
I pray you stay safe and work quickly, my love, so that I might see you again soon.
All my love is yours.
Phoebe
* * *
My Darling Phoebe,
I am most glad to receive news of your improving health. Perhaps now I might sleep at last, knowing you wait for me at Wycliff. I’m sending you a type of herbal tea with this letter. I am not one for dabbling in Eastern medications, but it is said there is great health benefits to drinking Oriental tea of this type. I send it to you along with my wishes for your best health.
I was disheartened to hear you were upset by the visit you received from my mother. I know her well enough to understand that her manner can seem harsh and unkindly, but I am certain she thinks highly of you and only wishes us all the best. I am sorry if there was any miscommunication about her feelings toward you, and I assure you she does not speak for me in regards to my feelings for you.
I trust you implicitly, my love, and it is a ridiculous thought that you were pursuing me for any kind of wealth. I know well enough that our marriage was not arranged by us, so how could either of us be seeking personal gain? Over these recent months, I have only seen you strive to show greater affection and love toward me, and for that, I only love you more.
I will speak to my mother when I return. I assure you that you will be as accepted and loved by her as you are by me.
You shall never feel unwanted when I am near.
Continue to fight the fever, my love. Soon I will be with you.
Lovingly yours,
Huxley
Chapter 12
Phoebe was brought by carriage to Bentley Manor. She and her father were received by the Duke himself. After an illness that seemed to have lasted an age, Phoebe finally felt herself again. It was such a blessed relief to raise her head without a phenomenal effort and to be able to socialize once again.
He greeted her father with a warm embrace and offered a bow to Phoebe herself. Beside him stood the Duchess, a sickly and false smile upon her lips, although her eyes remained dead and dull.
“Welcome, welcome!” the Duke greeted them. “I am most excited to receive you here today. It has been my son’s greatest desire that you should see what he has done for you.”
The Duke was looking at Phoebe. “For me?”
“Yes, my dear. He has been preparing a surprise for you in secret for some time now. A secret which it is now his pleasure—and mine—to unveil. You shall, of course, join us for dinner. But first, let me reveal to you all that my son has prepared.”
The Duke led Phoebe and her father around the back of the manor to the grounds beyond. There was a section of the grounds t
hat was partitioned by means of a large and well-cropped hedge. As the four turned into the gap within the hedges, Phoebe recognized what Evan had done for her.
Enclosed by the hedge was a glass house all her own. Tall and wide, it was filled with benches to hold potted plants and raised beds upon the ground that she could fill with flowers and herbs.
She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands in delight. “My Lord Duke, I am speechless!”
The Duke smiled widely, beaming at Phoebe as if she were his own daughter.
“My son has never been one for grand gestures, but this was a design all his own. A true symbol of his love.”
Her father turned to her. “Phoebe—for what purpose has this glass house been built?”
“Evan promised me a glass house as a wedding gift. He vowed to send me cuttings from around the world so that I might grow a garden of my own in his absence as a means to connect us while he was at sea.”
The Earl laughed and exchanged a joyful smile with the Duke. “Our children have love for each other. There is nothing that brings a father greater joy.”
“What shall I tell him of your thoughts, My Lady?” the Duke asked. “Are you pleased?”
“You may tell him that in all my life, I have never been gifted anything that brings me more joy. You may tell him that even though we are seas apart, he is in my heart. Right now, he is with me.”
The Duke chuckled. “Love makes a poet of us all, does it not?”
A scoff could be heard coming from the Duchess. Clearly, she was less inclined to poetry or to love, it seemed.
Phoebe herself felt like somewhat of a deceiver at her own declarations of love and poetic prose. Surely, she loved Evan, but even through their letters and sweet nothings, she loved him only as a brother. She found comfort in his gentleness and romance, and put her faith in the belief that perhaps one day, she should feel the same intimacy toward him that he lavished upon her. If she pretended long enough, perhaps she would even fool herself.
Clapping his hands together gleefully, the Duke invited them to join him inside. “Let us dine.”
* * *
Present at the table were Phoebe and her father, the Duke and Duchess, Owen, and the Lady Ann. The Duke and Earl were both smiling broadly and eagerly discussing business. The Duchess sat sour-faced and bitter with her spine straight and her lips turned downwards in an eternal frown. Lady Ann was toying with her cutlery impatiently as she waited for the food to arrive, and Owen appeared excruciatingly uncomfortable with the company present.
Lady Ann was the first to speak. “Lady Phoebe, please allow me to congratulate you on your engagement. I have yet to meet Lord Huxley, but I have heard wonderful things.”
“He is a wonderful gentleman.”
She shot a sideways glance at Owen contemptuously. “Yes. I understand he is at sea. A naval officer, is he not?”
“Both a naval officer and a merchant, in turn.”
“How exciting! You must miss him greatly while he is gone.”
“I do. We were very close in childhood, and we’ve developed a special closeness in recent months as our marriage vows draw closer.”
“When will you choose your wedding dress?”
Phoebe laughed. “It had not even crossed my mind.”
“Lady Phoebe’s mind has been filled with a host of other pressing things,” the Duchess added. To the others present, the comment seemed innocent enough but Phoebe understood the assertion between the words. The Duchess was implying she was thinking only of the Duke’s money.
“What style will you wear?” Lady Ann pressed. “There are so many fashions from which to choose these days.”
“I am not one for extravagant designs,” Phoebe replied. “But perhaps, for once, I should like to appear almost regal. I imagine myself in a long white dress made of lace, no flowers, but I should like beading. Bell sleeves, but not too stiff. Upon my head, a wreath of sorts, made from white flowers and pearls.”
Lady Ann sighed wistfully and melted upon her chair. “The vision is divine.”
Owen’s expression was sorrowful as he met her eyes and muttered a single word. “Divine.”
Divine. To Phoebe, Owen was divine. His unwavering loyalty to her and his deep understanding of the person she was and who she longed to be had always made her heart sing.
Tonight, to see him with another, her heart sunk down into her stomach. When he met her eyes, she felt that tingle of forbidden desire coursing through her, making her heart race and her mouth dry.
She blushed and cleared her throat. “We are some time away from wedding plans and bridal gowns yet. I shouldn’t wish to make any arrangements while Lord Huxley is not here to approve them.”
“I heard about the glass house,” Lady Ann said. “I was overwhelmed with the sweetness of it all. It is the sort of wonderful gesture one reads about in books. Your love strikes me as a love for the ages.”
“A toast to that,” the Duke echoed, raising his glass. “To Lady Phoebe and Lord Huxley—a love for the ages.”
Phoebe would have enjoyed the toast were it not for the pain she saw in Owen’s eyes. While those around them spoke of the perfection of the love between she and Evan, Owen was inching ever further away from the lady he himself was courting. Several times Phoebe even caught him wince at the sound of Lady Ann’s voice.
She felt somewhat sorry for the lady. It was certainly not unusual for a lady—especially a lady of her age—to dream of marriage, yet Owen seemed vehemently opposed to all wistfulness in her voice at the mention of weddings, gowns, and cakes.
“I never knew my brother to be such a hopeless romantic,” Owen said. “It seems the sea brings out the sentiment in him.”
Lady Ann laughed at him. “It is not the sea; it is Lady Phoebe. And why should she not draw romance from him? She is most beautiful.” She smiled across at Phoebe kindly and Phoebe warmed to her further.
“Where will you live when you are married?”
“I have not yet discussed that with Lord Huxley,” Phoebe replied. “I imagine we will have a home of our own somewhere in the proximity of Bentley and Wycliff.”
The Duchess interrupted her. “It was my understanding you would be living at Bentley Manor immediately after the wedding.”
Phoebe faltered. “It is?”
“A newlywed couple requires a certain level of support. It is, of course, my pleasure to teach you how to be the Lady of the house. I don’t believe it would be too much to recommend even that you reside with us until your firstborn so that I might teach you how to mother.”
Lady Ann smiled. “Your Grace, what a kind offer.”
Phoebe was not so enamored with the prospect. She frowned and busied herself with folding and refolding her napkin upon her lap. “It is something to be discussed with my husband.”
“He is not yet your husband,” Owen spoke quickly and sharply.
“My apologies. We have been speaking of marriage and wedding vows for so long it sometimes feels as if we are already wed. I already think of him as my husband.”
She met Owen’s eyes defiantly. Over and again it was necessary for her to remind him—and herself—that it was Evan she must love. As she had learned to embroider even though it was against her nature, so too would she learn to be the loyal wife of the Marquess of Huxley. Practice and repetition were the keys to learning any skill, so Phoebe practiced loving Evan and repeated her devotion to herself and others to make the fiction seem real.
“Yes, you already think of Lord Huxley as your husband and of yourself as Marchioness,” the Duchess said, seething.
The Earl did not seem to hear the contempt in the Duchess’ voice and merrily continued the conversation. “Indeed. You will be a fine Marchioness.”
“A big leap for an Earl’s daughter.”
“Not so great as from the daughter of a Baronet to the wife of a Duke,” Phoebe muttered.
A shocked silence fell around the table. Phoebe glanced across at her father and
could see he seemed mortified. The Duke laid down his fork, turned red and cleared his throat several times. Lady Ann’s mouth had fallen open.
Owen was different. He fixed his eyes on her and his steady gaze seemed to glow with pride and showed no surprise. Of course Owen is not surprised; he is the only one here who truly knows me.
His silent support made her want to run to him and hold his hand so that they might face the world together. Although to hold his hand would be its own delight without necessary cause.
An Immoral Dilemma For The Scandalous Lady (Steamy Historical Romance) Page 10
