“I already know her, and would be pleased to share with you what I think of her. She is quite—”
“I would like your opinion of her … countenance toward me.”
“You are not able to ascertain that yourself? Come, Jeffrey, I thought you were more astute than that.”
He took a deep breath as he tried to maintain his patience, then turned to Viola and gave her his full attention.
“Lady Phoebe puzzles me. In one moment, she is contrary and outspoken, and then in the next, she is pleasant and complimentary. I do not know what to think of her.”
Viola narrowed her eyes at him.
“It is not like you to take such interest in a woman, especially one that vexes you so. Why do you not find another young woman who would better suit?”
Jeffrey ground his teeth together.
“Will you help me or not?”
“Fine,” she said, sitting up straighter as she looked out the window at the white brick of the townhome, assessing it. “But only because I am altogether interested in why this woman has so caught your attention.”
“I am eternally grateful,” he said sarcastically, then softened somewhat. “You must know, Vi, that you are the only one I would trust with this.”
She rolled her eyes but allowed him to help her out of the carriage. Apparently, his compliment regarding her opinion meant enough to open her up a little bit.
A middle-aged butler let them in and led them into the first room, which Jeffrey assumed was a parlor of sorts, though it didn’t look like a typical London parlor. He studied the interior of the house as they walked. It was small, quaint, and decorated in rich colors. Paintings of far-off lands decorated the crimson walls, while the carpets were certainly not Aubusson—they looked quite exotic, and he wondered where they had come from.
As they entered the parlor, he was taken aback by the large number of curiosities that littered the room—tropical shells, magic lanterns, and paintings that seemed to have been completed with primitive instruments, yet were somehow oddly captivating. Magnifying glasses and a wide variety of timekeeping instruments hung on the walls amongst the more common draperies and English-made furniture. And in the midst of it, the most exotic of all in the room stood and walked toward them—Lady Phoebe.
Once they found her, Jeffrey’s eyes were arrested upon her, unable to look away, and she blushed under his scrutiny of both herself and the room.
“My father was somewhat of an eccentric,” she said by way of explanation. “This was his drawing room, though if you prefer we can meet in my mother’s. My father was always much more interested in what lay beyond England, out in the rest of the world. He loved to travel, and when his health failed him, others satisfied his love for the strange with gifts. I have not yet brought myself to put anything away.”
“Nor should you,” came a voice from the door, and Jeffrey turned and took a few quick steps forward to offer an arm to the woman who, while slightly elderly, held a twinkle in her eye that bespoke of the same spirit as her niece. “Your father is to be celebrated, Phoebe, not hidden away.”
“Of course,” Phoebe said with a smile. “Aunt Aurelia, may I introduce you to Lord Berkley. And Lady Viola,” she crossed over and took Viola’s hands within her own in a welcoming gesture. “I am so happy to see you again.”
Viola’s eyes widened as she looked toward Jeffrey and then back at Phoebe.
“Did you know I would be accompanying Jeffrey?”
“Not at all. Though on the brief occasion I have had to converse with Lord Berkley, he has specifically mentioned you, which leads me to believe that you are the sister he would choose to bring with him to call.”
Viola brightened at that, and even gifted Jeffrey with a small smile as Lady Phoebe led her to sit next to her on the coral cushions of the intricately carved rosewood settee. He and Lady Aurelia each took a seat in one of the matching rosewood armchairs across from them.
And now that the four of them were sitting here staring at one another in somewhat awkward silence, Jeffrey wished he had left Viola at home, so that perhaps Phoebe’s aunt and chaperone would not have felt the need to greet them. For he longed for another opportunity to have Lady Phoebe alone, to feel her lips under his once more. He glanced at her, sitting across from him in her fine forest green muslin dress that hugged her bosom and then dropped away to loosely gather around her. He caught her vivid emerald eyes when she looked over at him, noticing him scrutinizing her. He dropped his gaze, but not before the thought crossed his mind of just how much he would like to let down the pile of midnight locks upon her head, to run his fingers through their silky strands.
He shook his head to clear it. This would not do. He could not be practically undressing Lady Phoebe in the middle of a drawing room with her aunt and his own sister present.
“Your father was a scholar of sorts, was he not?” Viola asked, prompting conversation, and Jeffrey thanked the heavens that at the very least his sister was astute.
Lady Phoebe smiled and shrugged slightly. “I do not think he could be called a scholar,” she said, a wistful look crossing her face as she remembered her parents. “But he was certainly a curious man.”
“And your mother, what was she like?”
“Viola,” Jeffrey cut in. “Perhaps Lady Phoebe—”
“It’s fine,” she said with a quick wave of her hand. “It is lovely to speak of them. My mother was an intelligent woman in her own right, though not in the same vein as my father. She did help him, however. She loved to write, and while he would concentrate on his studies, she would take notes for him. Somewhere in this house we have journals full of his thoughts.”
“How fascinating!” Viola said, leaning forward slightly. “I would love to see them sometime.”
At that, Phoebe’s smile dropped so slightly that Jeffrey wasn’t sure anyone else noticed. But clearly, those works were private.
Viola’s gaze continued to wander around the room, before finally coming to rest on the table in front of them. Phoebe was apparently taking note as well, for suddenly she leaped into action.
“I’m so sorry! Would anyone like tea? I completely forgot to pour.”
At their nods, she began to fill the cups and paused momentarily when Viola made another observation.
“Oh! You have a copy of The Women’s Weekly,” she said, pulling on a paper from the bottom of a stack of journals and newspapers. Somehow she must have seen the corner of it peeking out.
Jeffrey attempted to stifle the direction of the conversation. “Viola, I really do not think—”
“It is wonderful, isn’t it?” Lady Aurelia asked, her face more animated than it had been since their arrival. Jeffrey had never actually read a copy of the publication besides the initial two articles, and nor did he intend to. No, his intention was to shut down the bloody thing, not discuss it over tea with Lady Phoebe, her aunt, and his sister.
“It is smart,” Lady Aurelia continued, “and witty, and is written for ladies of every station. I think it should be in the home of every woman, although that would be altogether impossible at the moment. But yes, I believe these women should be commended for having the courage to write what they believe in, to embolden women to speak for themselves and to have a voice.”
She paused to take a breath, and Phoebe cut in, “Aunt Aurelia, it is a wonderful publication, to be sure, but you are far too complimentary.”
“I must say,” Viola said with a cautious look at Jeffrey. “I am enjoying it. And its true, it appeals to all women. Why, I enjoy the fashion column as much as I love the column discussing a woman’s role in a marriage. And the advice columnist is so fun and witty. I do hope it continues.”
“Is there any reason why it wouldn’t?” Phoebe asked as she took a sip of tea.
Curious, she hadn’t expressed her opinion. This was just the type of publication a woman with her ideals would celebrate. Perhaps after their previous conversation, she didn’t want to raise the matter.
/> “The reason it shouldn’t continue is that it contains articles which will disrupt the order of our society,” Jeffrey said, bringing his steepled index fingers to his chin.
“How so?” Phoebe asked, cocking her head, and all three women turned to look at him, discomforting him as they awaited his response.
“Well, if a woman is to wait to marry for love, or to pursue her own interests, then what will happen to families? Who will look after the households and all that reside within them?”
Phoebe’s lips twitched.
“You have never actually read an issue, have you?” she asked, her face emotionless.
“He read the first page of the first one,” Viola said, rolling her eyes. “But do not try to convince him that his opinion is incorrect. He is quite stubborn when it comes to issues such as this.”
Phoebe contemplated the both of them, looking from sister to brother and back again.
“Lady Viola,” she began. “You strike me as an intelligent woman, a practical one with a good head on her shoulders. Now, Lord Berkley. Would you force a woman such as your sister to marry against her will, to someone in whom she has no interest?”
“Of course not,” he said gruffly. “That is different.”
“How so?” Phoebe asked. “It is the very same. How you would wish for your sisters to be treated is how all women want to be treated. The only difference between the newspaper and others you might see or purchase is that this one is written with a woman reader in mind. It still reports on the news, on sporting events that women have the opportunity to attend. You should read a copy sometime.”
“Yes,” Viola chimed in, looking over at him with a gleam in her eye. “You should.”
Jeffrey sighed. He was defeated, with the three women intent upon him. He nodded and resigned himself to the fact that they would always think him wrong, no matter what he said. Seeing they were waiting for an answer, he finally told them what they wanted to hear.
“Very well,” he said. “I will.”
They spoke a while longer on other matters—Viola’s interest in books, social events of the season, that type of thing. Lady Phoebe and her aunt were well informed, despite not being overly involved in ton matters.
Finally he rose to take his leave, Viola standing as well. But first, she had one more invitation to make.
“Lady Phoebe, Lady Aurelia, it was so lovely to meet you both today. Why do you not come for dinner tomorrow night?”
Jeffrey choked slightly, but of course to say anything contrary now would be the height of rudeness. But Lady Phoebe in his house, with his family? It was too much—at least, at the moment. He was still attempting to determine if they would suit, beyond the physical attraction that clearly drew them together.
“Oh,” Lady Phoebe said, looking from Viola toward Jeffrey. Apparently correctly interpreting his look of dismay, she began to shake her head. “Thank you for the invitation, but we really would not want to impose.”
“Please come,” Jeffrey heard himself say, and Phoebe looked over at him in surprise. Finally, after sharing a glance with Lady Aurelia, Phoebe slowly nodded her head.
“We would be honored to come, then. Thank you very much for the invitation.”
It seemed he could not stay away from the lady, and he wasn’t altogether sure what to do about it.
Chapter Eleven
“Are you sure this is the address?” Aurelia asked as she peered out the window of the carriage at the massive brick building that stretched out in front of them. It sat in the middle of Grosvenor Square, the center building that spoke of prestige and wealth. It even had wings—slight as they were, but they bracketed the fountain in the front of the house.
“This is it,” Phoebe responded. “Berkley House. It is rather extravagant, is it not?”
“I suppose we shall see when we enter,” Aurelia responded with all of her practicality as she took the footman’s hand to descend the carriage steps.
Their assumptions proved to be correct as they entered the foyer, which was clearly meant to impose with its grandeur, a white marble statue at the bottom of the steps, high, expansive ceilings upon which murals of cherubs and clouds were painted, and gilded cornices and lavish landscapes of what Phoebe was sure were the Berkley country estates and grounds surrounding them.
Aurelia looked over at her with a slight nod of her head and a wink, telling her that yes, this was very much what was expected, the grandiose residence of the marquess.
Phoebe bit her lip, as she suddenly wished they had never come. She had wanted to become close with the marquess, yes, but to be invited to his house for dinner? Of course, it would have been the height of rudeness to refuse, but now their families were involved in this charade. And she was no closer than she had been at the start of this in determining what the marquess was planning in regards to her publication.
But they were here now, so she supposed she would just have to make the most of it. They were about to follow the butler up the stairs when a huge, furry body came flying down them.
“Maxwell!” came a cry from up above. “Come back!”
But it was too late, as Maxwell found a welcome audience in Phoebe and Aurelia, who stopped to greet him, and he returned their affections by pressing his wriggling body into their legs while he licked their hands and faces.
“He’s lovely!” Phoebe exclaimed, to which Aurelia nodded in agreement.
“Maxwell, come!” came the bark from above, and Phoebe thought she caught the butler rolling his eyes. She suppressed a smile as Maxwell went bounding back up the stairs, and they followed him up, entering the first door, which proved to be a drawing room. No sooner had Phoebe stepped through the doorway when she was surrounded by a chorus of voices, all belonging to young women of varying heights and shades of the same blond locks that she had come to appreciate upon the marquess.
“You’re here!”
“We are so glad you came!”
“You are as pretty as Viola said!”
“Penny, that’s enough!” came a voice from behind the three women in front of her, and Phoebe smiled, knowing it was Viola admonishing them. Apparently she was altogether unlike her sisters.
Viola pushed through her sisters now, taking Phoebe’s hand.
“My apologies for my sisters,” she said, looking at each girl with some reproach. “They can be … slightly overwhelming at times.”
Phoebe had to laugh at that. Not only was Viola correct, of course, but Phoebe was also enjoying the fact that these were Lord Berkley’s sisters. Somehow she had pictured prim and proper young ladies who would be waiting for her, sitting in a line on the sofa, with the same reserve that he possessed. But no. She looked around the room, finally finding him leaning against the mantle of the fireplace, and he raised a shoulder helplessly. She shook her head. How could a man who, at the very least, allowed his sisters to be women of character, have opinions so annoyingly old-fashioned?
She looked down when she caught motion at his feet and saw that Maxwell, friendly yet unkempt, was sitting next to him, with one of Lord Berkley’s hands on his head. Phoebe was drawn to the dog—not the man, she assured herself—and was about to approach him when an elegant older woman, streaks of grey running through the same light hair as her son, entered through the doorway, shooing away her daughters as she took Phoebe’s hand.
“Good evening, my dear, and welcome. I am Lady Clarissa, Jeffrey’s—that is, Lord Berkley’s—mother, and the crowd that greeted you when you arrived is made up of my children. My apologies if they are slightly overbearing. And Lady Aurelia! How lovely it is to see you again.”
Phoebe raised her eyebrows as she looked at her aunt, who had never mentioned that she was acquainted with the Berkley family. Her aunt winked at her before turning to greet Lady Clarissa.
“I am Rebecca,” said the girl who looked to be eldest after Viola, as the three light-haired young women once again crept closer to Phoebe, studying her as though she were one of the curiositi
es on the walls of her home.
“And I am Penny.”
“Annie.”
“It’s lovely to meet you all,” Phoebe said, nodding to each of them in turn. “And thank you so much for hosting me.”
She included Lord Berkley in that statement, and he finally pushed himself off the mantel, sauntering over toward her, a half-smile on his face.
“Are you allowing her to breathe, children?”
“We are not children, Jeffrey,” Penny said with a dramatic roll of her eyes.
“Yes, Jeffrey, we are young women,” said Rebecca with a sniff. “I am 20 years old for goodness sake, and have been out already for a season. You cannot call us girls any longer.”
“Act like girls, and I shall call you girls,” he said nonchalantly, but his eyes were on Phoebe. “Lady Phoebe,” he said with a nod, as though he had happened upon her in a ballroom and not invited her into his home.
Although she supposed he actually hadn’t invited her. His sister had, and he had simply done the polite thing and agreed with her request.
“Lord Berkley,” she said with equal stiltedness. “Your dog is lovely.”
“That is the first time I have heard Maxwell referred to as such, but thank you.”
It was their only conversation before they went into supper, for his sisters did not allow anyone else to say a word, as they questioned Phoebe about everything from how long she had been “out” in society, to when she had met their brother. She couldn’t exactly tell the truth of that. Somehow she didn’t think the marquess would be pleased with her sharing the fact that the two of them had argued to the point of her slapping him in the middle of one of the Earl of Torrington’s drawing rooms.
The women were equally curious of who in society Phoebe was particularly close with, and what her plans were for events this season. She tried to appease them as best she could, but they weren’t exactly enthralled with the fact that she only attended the odd event, and solely when she knew her friends would be in attendance. When she thought about it, she wasn’t entirely sure why they went out in society, though now it was helpful in order to review the fashion and gossip columns of her newspaper. Not that she would call it a gossip column. No, it was more of a who’s who in order to entice new readers, who would then hopefully continue on reading the rest of the paper.
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