“Is it really so terrible?” Augustus threw up his arms and cackled insensitively. “You must want to kiss me. I know you do.”
“I will admit no such thing! And even if I had aspirations of that sort, I would certainly never permit you to kiss me in the middle of a crowded room!”
“I would not say we're in the middle of a room. We're quite secluded, actually,” he sarcastically defended himself. “It's not even that crowded, Phoebe. It's--”
“Miss Bowden,” she corrected him. “Call me Miss Bowden, for I do not believe I gave you permission to act so... familiar with me.”
“If you're going to be this difficult, Miss Bowden...” Augustus sneered as he overemphasized her name, “I'll lose interest, and you'll go back to being a wallflower.”
Phoebe glowered at him. She had officially heard enough nonsense from him. “Farewell, Mr. Wolfe.”
“Miss Bowden...” When he tried to reach for her arm, she pulled away. “Miss Bowden, I assure you, my affection for you is--”
“Farewell,” she forcefully repeated, and promptly turned her back on him.
Sadly, the rumors about him had proven to be true. Augustus Wolfe was a rake, a rogue, and a blackguard.
And he was no one she cared to know better.
Chapter Fourteen
“Phoebe...”
When her aunt entered her bedchamber, Phoebe rolled onto her back and tried to look alive. She had been nestled beneath her blankets all day, quietly lamenting her disastrous encounter with Augustus Wolfe.
“Phoebe, are you still in bed?” Marie sounded shocked. “But it is nearly noon! I have never known you to be such a slugabed!”
“My apologies.” With a tiny groan, Phoebe dragged herself into a sitting position. “There is no excuse for my malaise, although I must confess I was unaware of the time.”
“Mr. Wolfe arrived just minutes ago. He's asking to see you.”
“Mr. Wolfe?” Phoebe's nose puckered at the thought. “I don't care to see him. Tell him I am unwell.”
“Are you unwell, or is it an excuse?”
“An excuse,” Phoebe admitted. “But please... do not make me see him. I would really rather not.”
“Very well. I will tell him you're not well.”
“Thank you, Aunt.” Phoebe turned toward the window, where copious amounts of sunlight bled into the room. It reminded her of how late she had slept, and she felt a bit ashamed. “I have no interest in his company.”
“I'm glad to hear it. In truth, I was beginning to think you had formed a bit of an attachment to him, which made me worry. As you know, his status as a gentleman has been called into question by various rumors. I would prefer that you did not interact with such a man.”
“Then I never shall. Never again.” Though she said the words with confidence, she felt a pang of sadness within her heart. Try as she might, Phoebe could not bring herself to hate the rogue. His behavior was reprehensible, but it was not as if he had no redeeming qualities. When her aunt left, and she felt a dull ache in her chest, Phoebe had to face an uncomfortable truth:
She desperately wanted to see Augustus Wolfe.
Regardless of her feelings, she was determined to keep him at a distance. He was not, without a doubt, the right sort of man for her.
Thirty minutes later, Phoebe rose from bed to swap her nightrail for muslin, then she collapsed into her blankets again. Her entire body ached with senseless remorse. She wished the previous evening with Augustus would have gone differently. What if she let him kiss her? What if she had not refused him?
“Then I would probably be ruined,” she said aloud, then she closed her eyes and tried to push him from her thoughts.
An hour later, Phoebe's aunt returned. When she realized her niece was still lying listlessly in her bed, she gasped. “You have not risen still?”
“I was... contemplating. And until moments ago, I was reading a book,” Phoebe lied. She did not want her aunt to think she was wasting her day on nothing—which was precisely what she was doing. She was determined to fill the entire day with nothingness.
“Are you ill?” Marie asked.
“No.” Phoebe answered with a sigh. Unless heartsickness was considered illness, she was perfectly healthy.
“Mr. Rhodes and Julian Sedgeford have arrived. Should I send them away as well?”
“Edward and his uncle?” Phoebe whispered the names aloud. “N-no... do not send them away. Tell them I will join them shortly.”
“Might I suggest a turn around the garden?” Marie asked. “You look so wan and frail... I suspect you could benefit from a bit of cool air.”
“Certainly,” Phoebe agreed. “I will meet you in the garden in a moment.”
When her aunt was gone, Phoebe wrangled her thick red hair into a tight bun. As she stared at herself in the looking glass, her nose wrinkled. Her aunt was telling the truth: she did look sickly and pale. She pinched her cheeks several times, desperate to give them a splash of color.
When Phoebe was confident that she looked at least a little bit alive, she left her room and searched for her visitors in the garden. Julian Sedgeford, Edward Rhodes and her aunt were standing in a sea of flowers, awaiting Phoebe's arrival.
“Mr. Sedgeford...” Phoebe greeted the older man before turning her attention to the young gentleman at his side. “And Mr. Rhodes. It is a pleasure to see you both. And we have such pleasant weather as well!”
“Indeed,” Julian agreed. “Rarely are we blessed with such a refreshing breeze.” As he exchanged pleasantries with Phoebe, he lightly nudged his nephew in her direction.
Edward took a step toward her and held out a small black book. “For you, Miss Bowden,” he said. “'Tis a... a book. Of poetry.”
“A gift? Ah, that is too kind of you!” As Phoebe accepted the book, a slight smile stretched her lips. “What an unexpected surprise.”
“I believe you said you liked to read?”
“Oh, yes. I do,” she answered softly. Though reading poetry was hardly her favorite pastime, she knew she could not admit such a thing to him. He was so kind, and Phoebe did not want to disappoint him. “I appreciate your gift very much.”
Julian gave his nephew a slight nod, which must have meant something to them. A nod of reassurance, perhaps? A cue to whisk her away? The ladies could only speculate.
Edward captured Phoebe's arm and escorted her down the coddled garden path, while Julian and Marie trailed a bit further behind. When Edward smiled at her, she caught a quick glimpse of his crooked front teeth. She did not; however, view them as a flaw. If anything, they added to his charm. Edward Rhodes was not traditionally handsome, certainly not in the way Augustus was, but he possessed an innocent boyish charm that Phoebe had always appreciated. She wondered—could she make herself care for him? He was, more than likely, a better match for her than Mr. Wolfe. Even if Edward was young, he was certainly the safer bet.
“You look very pretty today, Miss Bowden,” Edward timidly complimented her.
“I do? Truly?”
“Of course. Why do you sound surprised?”
“My looking glass told me something else entirely, Mr. Rhodes,” she attempted to explain. “My reflection... and my aunt... were determined to tell me I look somewhat like a corpse today.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “No! Certainly not! You look pretty. As always.”
“It was unfortunate that you did not attend yesterday's fete,” Phoebe said. “A few gentlemen saved me from becoming a complete wallflower, but I would have rather danced with you.”
“Was one of those gentlemen... Mr. Wolfe?”
“Indeed.” When she heard her other beau's name, Phoebe sighed deeply. “Though I would rather not speak of him.”
“You are too good for him,” Edward abruptly said. “You are too pure, too precious and too kind. A man like Augustus could never be worthy of you.”
“But others have said I am not worthy of him.”
“Nonsense! Who cou
ld ever suggest such a thing?”
“I would rather not say.” She did not think it was necessary to drag Emily Watkins' name through the muck any more than she already had.
“If anyone said such a thing, they are ridiculous,” Edward insisted. “That cad is not good enough for you.”
“And who would be a good match for me, Mr. Rhodes? You?” Her question was decidedly flirtatious—possibly more flirtatious than any words that had ever passed through her lips. When she saw his ears turning red with embarrassment, she regretted having been so bold.
“I... I do believe... th-that is to say, I... well...”
Phoebe was grinning as he stuttered through his reply. She hated to make him uncomfortable, but his reaction was truly adorable. Mr. Rhodes was every bit as unseasoned as she was, and there was something undeniably endearing about that fact.
Edward asked another question, likely because he was incapable of answering Phoebe's. “What are your thoughts in regard to marriage, Miss Bowden?”
“I must find a husband, Mr. Rhodes, just as every woman must.”
“Your aunt seems content enough, and she has no husband.”
“True... but her situation was entirely different. She has been in love, and does not see herself finding love again,” Phoebe explained. “I, on the other hand... I long for love, though I am reluctant to admit it.”
“And yet, you just admitted it to me.”
“So I did.” A shy smile tugged at Phoebe's lips. “And what are your thoughts in regard to marriage, Mr. Rhodes?”
“Some might say I am too young, but I want a wife. I want children. I want a family,” Edward confessed. “Do you find that odd?”
“A bit. Most men your age are not yet thinking of marriage. They are, in fact, more concerned with sewing their wild oats.”
“Perhaps I am more mature than most gentlemen of my age,” he suggested with a shrug. “I am, without question, more mature than Augustus Wolfe... even though he is older.”
“Again, the topic shifts to Mr. Wolfe.” Phoebe heaved a sigh as she repeated his name. “How very tiresome. I have been trying very hard to forget his existence. Can we not mention him again? I would rather not waste another thought on him!”
When he heard her opinion of his rival, Edward smiled. He once feared that wooing Phoebe was a hopeless endeavor, but her words gave him hope. “Miss Bowden, I...”
He hesitated, so she raised a brow. When she studied his profile, she saw that he was noticeably worried. Her eyes wandered to his lips, which were somewhat thin, but strangely appealing. Oddly enough, she started wondering what it would be like to kiss him—and inevitably, her thoughts wandered to Augustus as well.
A very particular thought had haunted her throughout the day.
“Miss Bowden...” Edward started again. “Do you... do you think... that...”
As he continued to struggle with his sentence, she continued to dream of Augustus. Phoebe's unwelcome thought refused to leave her mind. It tormented her.
“Do you think you could ever care for me?” When Edward finally asked his question, he was so pale that she pitied him.
“Of course. I already care for you, Mr. Rhodes.”
And yet, more than anything, she wished she had submitted to Augustus' kiss.
Chapter Fifteen
Phoebe was suffering from yet another restless night. She had slept too late in the day, which meant she was wide awake when night descended. It was thirty minutes after midnight, and she was beginning to accept the fact that sleep would not find her at any decent hour. Phoebe feared it was the beginning of a vicious cycle: she would always be tired in the daytime and tragically awake at night.
She was plagued by racing thoughts, mostly of her beaux—if, in fact, Augustus could be called her beau. He did not seem like the sort of man who focused all of his attention on one lady. If she was a woman with any sense at all, she would have purged him from her thoughts entirely. And yet, she could not quit dreaming of him. Augustus was determined to creep into her mind and permanently reside there.
As shadows danced on her walls, Phoebe closed her eyes and tried to sleep—fruitlessly, of course. There was an odd tapping on her window, possibly a branch from a nearby tree, which was utterly vexing. The noise persisted for a few minutes, at which time she had heard enough. Phoebe ran the window and threw it open, determined to rip off the offending branch. What she saw; however, surprised her.
Augustus Wolfe was standing below her window with an abundance of pebbles in his hand.
“Mr. Wolfe!” she hissed his name. “What on earth are you doing here? If anyone finds you here, it would be the ruination of us both!”
“But soft,” he began, “what light through yonder window breaks?”
“Mr. Wolfe...” Phoebe expelled a tremendous sigh as she repeated his name. “Please, you must go!”
He ignored her reprimand and continued unabashedly. “It is the east, and Phoebe is the sun!”
“Are you truly going to stand there and recite Shakespeare?” Phoebe's arms were crossed as she glowered down at him. “At midnight? No... it is after midnight!”
“Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon... who is already sick and pale with grief... that thou her maid art more fair than she.” Augustus suddenly hitched a shoulder. “Truth be told, it sounds like a bit of blather to me. If I was Romeo, I would try a more direct approach.”
“And your approach would be better than his?” He was too far below to see her face, but Phoebe's eyebrow was skeptically raised. “I somehow doubt you are particularly skilled in the art of romance, Mr. Wolfe.”
“On the contrary, there is no one more skilled than I.” Augustus seized the trunk of the nearby tree and began to pull himself upward. “I would not waste time on drivel about suns and moons. I would simply tell you that you're beautiful, that I long to see you again, and that I utterly adore you.”
As shocking as his words were, Phoebe was more concerned with the fact that he was climbing a tree. “Mr. Wolfe... please. Are you actually planning to climb this tree and enter my bedchamber?”
“That is the plan, yes.” He was a remarkably fast climber as well; in a matter of seconds, he had nearly reached her window.
“Please. I must kindly ask you to desist.”
“And I must kindly tell you that I shall not desist.” Before she could utter another word of protest, he stepped through the window and into Phoebe's room. “Ahh. It's quite cozy in here. And I must say, it is a pleasure to see you again.”
“In such a case as this, the pleasure is truly all yours.” A deep line appeared between her eyes as she glared at him. “You really should not be here, Mr. Wolfe. I am... utterly disappointed in your behavior!” She hoped he could hear the exasperation in her voice.
“And I am utterly disappointed in your behavior!” he returned the sentiment with a grin. “Had you agreed to see me earlier in the day, I would not have had to resort to such drastic measures!”
“I was ill!” she continued the lie.
“Were you? Or were you simply trying to avoid me?” Augustus leaned closer to her, so close that she felt his breath on her forehead.
“I was not trying to avoid you, Mr. Wolfe... I was ill!” As she lied, Phoebe suddenly became very aware of her state of undress. She was wearing only her nightrail—and when it dawned on her, Phoebe's embarrassment was so immense that she might as well have been entirely without clothes. As crimson flooded her cheeks, she grabbed a blanket from her bed and coiled it around her shoulders. “And now I must insist that you leave!”
“Very well. I will leave, if that is your wish. I care about you, and I would not want to make you uncomfortable in any way.”
“I couldn't possibly be more uncomfortable, Mr. Wolfe.”
“Then I shall go... but before I do, allow me to say a few words.”
Phoebe sat at the end of her bed with an exasperated sigh. As frustrating as his behavior was, and despite the sheer impropriety
of the situation, she could not deny the excitement she felt at seeing his face after midnight. “Go on...” she urged him. “I shall listen with a frown.”
From the pocket of his greatcoat, Augustus pulled out a single red rose. As he presented it to her, he said, “I deeply regret my actions. Forcing my lips on yours was beyond unacceptable, and I apologize profusely.”
Though she accepted his rose, her face was marked with disappointment. “And what of tonight? Will you also apologize for these actions... for sneaking into my room and refusing to leave?”
“I haven't refused to leave. I will go, if that is your wish...”
When she saw him turning toward the window, she shouted, “No! You... needn't go. Not yet. Your company is not... entirely unpleasant.”
“Not entirely unpleasant,” he repeated her words with a chuckle. “Only mostly unpleasant?”
“A bit unpleasant...” she decided with a smirk. “To say it is not somewhat thrilling would be a lie.”
“A lie... just as your illness was a lie! Admit it, Miss Bowden. You weren't ill when I came to see you, you were avoiding me!”
“I was ill!” Phoebe insisted. And she was laughing, which lent no credence to her claim.
“You were avoiding me, even though you have feelings for me.” Augustus playfully clicked his tongue. “Silly girl.”
“Goodness! You are positively brimming with confidence, are you not?” She watched him rake a hand through his golden blonde hair, which promptly accelerated her heart. He was so handsome, it was impossible to be angry with him.
“My ego is without limits!” he said, and a moment later, he added, “and that is a joke, of course.”
Joke or not, Phoebe suspected it was at least somewhat true. Whether he owned to it or not, Augustus Wolfe was, without question, more than a bit vain.
“Again,” Augustus continued his speech. “I am truly sorry for my actions. I ask you to forgive me, and I ask you to give me another chance.”
“Another chance to... what, precisely?” she asked.
The Captain's Letters Page 8
