Lady in Demand

by Wendy Vella

  She and her sisters had lived their early years with everything they could wish for, but all that had changed after the death of their father. Left penniless, they had resorted to stealing to survive. Donning disguises, Phoebe and Olivia, her eldest sister, had ridden out at night and robbed carriages. Phoebe still remembered the fear and how it had clenched at her insides and clawed at her throat as she had held her pistol pointed at their victims. When a person was forced to take such drastic measures to survive, it changed you. She understood what it was to be hungry and cold, and looking at the opulence and extravagance around her, she sometimes struggled to mask that difference, and sometimes she didn’t want to. Phoebe believed she was a better person now than the sweet-natured, sheltered child she had once been.

  “Will you walk outside with me, my lovely Miss Langley.”

  “I will not, Lord Hitchcock.” Phoebe kept her words cool, when what she really wanted to do was slap the man silly. Idiot!

  The problem for Phoebe was that she felt as if she didn’t fit here. After years of dreaming about stepping into London society, she now realized that the differences inside her made it hard for her to conform. She craved independence and the need to be herself, and struggled to be the lady she knew she should.

  Thankful that the musicians chose that moment to stop, she slipped into a curtsy and then fled. She would take a few minutes alone in the retiring room, a small respite from the noise and odors of so many bodies squashed in one space. A delightful crush, the hostess had cooed. ‘A bloody squash,’ Phoebe had muttered to her sister.

  She saw that Olivia and Will were talking with Lord Levermarch and Miss Arbinger, and had no wish to speak to the viscount, so Phoebe made for the door. She could always find her brother-in-law and his friend in the crowd. Both were big and towered over many of the other guests. Shooting another look at Lord Levermarch, she felt her stomach clench as he leaned down to hear something Miss Arbinger was saying to him.

  It wasn’t as if he showed any interest in her like others did, yet she always felt as if her skin was itching when he was near. He was always rigidly polite, even when she was saying something outrageous or teasing him. Although sometimes when those cool blue eyes of his were on her, they came to life and she saw something flare in their depths, but then it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He was proper and never raised his voice. However, Phoebe believed that under that correct façade lay another side to the Viscount, one that he held carefully leashed and occasionally Phoebe provoked a response from.

  He was big, broad-shouldered and his dress was always immaculate, if a little somber for her tastes, although again she often saw a brief flash of defiance to convention like the strip of blue satin he wore this evening. His thick, black hair was sprinkled with silver and he kept it short and well-trimmed. He was everything she always believed she would loathe in a man; however, much as she tried, Phoebe could not bring herself to loathe Lord Finneous Levermarch. He smelled good, too, like the woods surrounding her family’s home in Twoaks on a winter’s evening, crisp and fresh. He also disapproved heartily of her and everything she did. On this depressing thought, Phoebe turned left at the top of the stairs and reached the retiring room. Eager for some privacy if only for a few brief minutes, she entered.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Miss Langley, don’t tell me you have run out of dance partners! La, I declare this must be a moment documented in history, our dearest Miss Langley without accompaniment.”

  It was as Phoebe had told her sisters after last night’s social event. She didn’t go looking for trouble; it just invariably found her. Eyeing the bristling Lady Croxley, Phoebe realized her hopes of snatching a few moments of privacy were futile. She wondered why the women of society were either terrified of her or loathed her. Livvy said it was her beauty that intimidated them, which was hardly her fault, and she was not about to go about wearing dull brown dresses with her hair in a severe bun just to appease the masses. Fashion was her passion, and wearing these wonderful gowns a long-sought dream.

  “Will you not answer the question?”

  Wincing at the shrill tone, Phoebe looked around the retiring room. Apart from Lady Croxley and her two minions, there was only one other lady present. Miss Wooller, who, like Phoebe, was having her first season. They had never actually conversed, only exchanged the occasional head nod or smile.

  “No,” Phoebe said, returning her gaze to the woman before her, holding her ground she stared calmly back at Lady Croxley. She was really quite pretty. Correction, she would be quite pretty were it not for the sour expression she wore permanently on her face. Blonde hair, pale skin and green eyes, Phoebe had never really stood this close to her before, mainly because they had clashed from their first meeting.

  “No?” Lady Croxley lifted one elegant eyebrow. “Would you care to elaborate, or was my question to complex?”

  Her two puppets dutifully giggled.

  “No, I have not run out of dance partners, and as I am at present in the women’s retiring room,” Phoebe emphasized the word women’s. “I fail to see how you could come to the conclusion that I have, as surely it would take a very persistent and indeed foolish man to follow me in here.”

  Lady Croxley screeched which made her look like a child throwing a tantrum.

  “You are an ill-bred creature with nothing but your looks to recommend you!”

  Phoebe had a temper. She also very rarely showed restraint. However, in this instance she found some. ‘Breathe and then speak,’ Livvy always told her.

  “You are, of course, entitled to your opinion, Lady Croxley.”

  “No true gentleman will ever offer for a trollop like you, whereas I shall be a viscountess before the season is over.”

  As viscounts were not overly abundant this season, and two of the three currently in London Phoebe knew were over sixty, she could only guess the lady was referring to Lord Levermarch.

  “I find your manners both offensive and unjust, Lady Croxley. I will also point out that it is you that are shrieking and behaving in a manner unbefitting a lady. Therefore, perhaps the title of trollop should be offered to you instead.”

  Surprised that Miss Wooller had decided to enter the fray, Phoebe turned to watch her approach. Usually she was found on the edges of the ballroom, sitting quietly.

  “Shut up, Wooller!” Lady Croxley shrieked. “You shouldn’t even be in this room, let alone at this ball. You stink of trade, and all the money in the world will never make you appealing!”

  “That is quite enough, Lady Croxley. Your argument is with me, not Miss Wooller,” Phoebe said with a calm that was rapidly deserting her.

  “How dare you speak to me in that manner! Why, I’ll have you know that my father is disgusted that Miss Wooller—”

  Sometimes actions spoke louder than words, and this was one of those sometimes, Phoebe decided as she watched Lady Croxley open her mouth to launch another attack on Miss Wooller. Swinging her hand, Phoebe slapped one pale cheek. The noise echoed around the small room and everyone but she and Miss Wooller gasped.

  “Now, you listen to me you spoilt, pampered witch. Neither Miss Wooller nor I have any further wish to converse with you or your minions; therefore, you will take yourself out of this room, or I will make the other cheek match that one,” Phoebe said, glaring at Lady Croxley who was clutching her face and staring at her like she had two heads and five eyes. “And if I hear one more word about either myself or Miss Wooller out of your poisonous mouth, I will have to tell the Duke and Duchess of Rossetter about your less than stellar behavior.”

  “You’ll be sorry you did that!” Lady Croxley cried.

  “I’m only sorry I didn’t clench my fingers into a fist,” Phoebe muttered as the three women scurried across the room and out the door without saying another word, slamming it behind them.

  “Do you think she will remain silent?”

  “I have grave doubts; however, it is her word against mine and I do have a duke and duchess and
a couple of lords up my sleeve should I need them,” Phoebe drawled as she once again looked at Miss Wooller.

  Her black hair was piled high and pinned in place with a single diamond clip that exposed the slender line of her neck and enhanced the delicate curve of her jaw and cheekbones, she had the beautiful pale skin of a porcelain doll and looked as though she would blow away in a puff of wind.

  “The problem is I do stink of trade, and equally horrifying is that I don’t care a fig about that fact.”

  “I’m not sure I follow?” Phoebe said as she accompanied Miss Wooller back to her seat and took the one next to her.

  “My father was in trade before he received his title and I’m afraid one never quite loses the taint,” she said by way of explanation.

  “It’s funny because my brother-in-law also runs a business yet he seems to get away with it,” Phoebe mused. “Perhaps because his brother is a duke?”

  “He’s from an established family with a very long line of noblemen at his heels, Miss Langley, and therein lies the difference between him and my father.”

  “Perhaps you have the right of it, Miss Wooller. One thing is quite certain, however; we are both destined to be different from the vast array of simpering, insipid madams who we are in competition with,” Phoebe stated. “I find it hard to conform to what is expected of me at such occasions and must admit that my forthright speech can sometimes get me in trouble.”

  Phoebe was subjected to a thorough examination by an intelligent pair of green eyes.

  “If you’ll pardon me saying so, Miss Langley, I should imagine it’s your beauty that puts you at odds with people, especially women.”

  “Perhaps, but there are plenty of beautiful women here this season; you included, Miss Wooller.”

  “Thank you. However, your beauty is in your poise and confidence as well as your looks, Miss Langley. The combination, I assure you, is devastating.”

  “Not my wit or intelligence, Miss Wooller? I’m devastated.” Phoebe thought this woman was a lot like her youngest sister, Bella. Sweet-natured and gentle and happy to stay in the shadows, yet there was spirit there when one took the trouble to look.

  The silence that filled the room was not uncomfortable, and then Miss Wooller sighed.

  “My cross to bear is that I am too old to be a debutante, thus I am termed an old maid and should be happy with my position on the shelf.”

  “But you are not?”

  She smoothed the skirts of her ivory silk dress over her thighs before speaking.

  “I am happy to be there, however my father is not. It is his fondest wish that if I cannot convince the King to wed me, then a Duke will do. It is because of him that I am here every night putting up with the silly conversations and equally silly men. It would destroy him to hear that in fact I loathe these outings. Therefore, I keep up the façade.”

  “You’re far too beautiful to be on the shelf, Miss Wooller,” Phoebe said, meaning every word. “And I will add that I have gnashed my teeth many an evening watching you glide, with not a hair out of place, around the ballroom. Elegant and graceful, I believe one man called you.”

  “My name is Hannah and I would be honored if you called me by it,” she said as she brushed aside Phoebe’s words with an elegant flick of her wrist. “You should see me sit a horse. Hopeless,” she added, shuddering.

  “And I am Phoebe,” she said, holding out her hand which Hannah took in her own. “And riding is the one thing I truly excel at.”

  “I’m good with clothing,” Hannah said softly. “In fact, I excel at fashion.

  “Are you really?” Phoebe looked at her more closely. “Because I, too, am rather skilled in that direction. Actually, I used to make all our dresses before we came to London.”

  Hannah looked excited by Phoebe’s comments; however, Phoebe couldn’t believe she had actually said them. No one knew how poor the Langley sisters had once been. “I’m not sure why I told you that.”

  “I won’t tell.” Hannah waved her hand about. “But tell me more of your styles. Where did you get your material and trimmings from and how did you come up with your designs?”

  “We had a copy of La Belle Assemblee and Bella, my sister, was my model and will tell you to this day that she still has pin holes in her person.”

  “How wonderful that she shared your passion.”

  As usual, when she thought about her little sister she felt a stab of pain in her heart.

  “You look sad suddenly, Phoebe. Is everything all right?”

  Phoebe nodded at the softly spoken words.

  “Our mother was killed in the same accident that injured Bella’s leg and Father’s arm. He did not live long after and she suffers every day.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Looking at Hannah, Phoebe wondered what it was about her that made her want to confide. She may be outspoken on many things but she rarely shared her intimate thoughts or feelings with anyone other than family.

  “I’m not sure why I’m telling you all these things, Hannah, as usually I’m not one for confidences.”

  “It’s nice, though, don’t you think, to talk without fear that what we say will appear on everyone’s lips tomorrow.”

  “Yes,” Phoebe said softly. “Very nice.”

  “Is there anything to be done for your sister’s leg?”

  “We learned of a clinic in Scotland that may be able to help her and our brother-in-law has arranged for her to go there in a few months.”

  Hannah placed one hand on hers. “And you worry that it may not help her.”

  “Yes.”

  Phoebe did not know how long she sat with Hannah in that small room—thirty minutes; perhaps an hour maybe less—and she had never enjoyed an evening more. They talked no more of families, instead focusing on fashion, and talking with someone who had the same passion was a joy.

  “Do you enjoy society, Phoebe?” Hannah said when they paused to draw breath.

  “I have to admit that I had built up my first season in my dreams to be something wonderful, and in truth the reality is far from that,” Phoebe sighed. “There are so many fools masquerading as gentlemen. Don’t you think, Hannah?”

  “Absolutely, and the women are foolish, too. I told Father just this morning, when he wanted me to attend a book reading salon with Lady Hindle, that I had had more informative conversations with the scullery maid than I did with some of the woman in society.”

  Phoebe laughed at her despondent expression. “What did he say?”

  “That the scullery maid did not have a brother who was a duke.”

  Phoebe laughed again. “As much as I would like to stay here in this room for the remainder of the evening, Hannah, I fear my sister and brother-in-law will grow worried if I do not return.”

  “Lord and Lady Ryder are lovely people, Phoebe. I talked to them over the supper table one evening. They’re very much in love, aren’t they?” Hannah added with a sigh.

  “Very much so.

  “I don’t think I want that.”

  “What?” Phoebe’s brow wrinkled as she looked at Hannah.

  “To give someone so much of myself that if he chose to, he could destroy me.”

  “One day I want it.” Phoebe’s words were almost defiant. “But I will be certain the man is the right one before I commit to him.”

  “Phoebe, I want to ask you one more thing before we return to the ballroom and your many admirers, who I am sure are probably distraught at your continuing absence.”

  “Stop belaboring the point, Hannah, if you please.”

  Hannah didn’t giggle, she snuffled, which made Phoebe smile as the sound was at odds with her elegant appearance. She sounded like a puppy.

  “I have always actively involved myself in my father’s businesses; however, lately I have decided to start one of my own.”

  “Don’t let Lady Croxley hear you speak that way.”

  “I’m hoping that one day it is I or we who shall have the last laugh on her.
With your help, that is.”

  “I’m intrigued, Hannah. Tell me more.”

  “I will, but I’d rather show you. Will you meet me

  tomorrow at midday.” Rising to her feet, Hannah waited for Phoebe to do the same.

  “And you will give me no clue as to what I am to see?”

  “It would be easier to show you.”

  “I think that’s cruel of you to leave me hanging.”

  “Yet still I will remain tight-lipped until then.”

  It was then that Phoebe noted the stubborn thrust of Hannah’s jaw.

  “You may look angelic but you’re not, are you, Miss Wooller.”

  “I have no idea what you mean, Miss Langley.”

  Phoebe laughed. She liked this woman very much.

  “Behind that sweet face are many secrets, it seems.”

  “We all have secrets, Phoebe.”

  Phoebe didn’t add to that, as she certainly had her fair share.

  “I will send round a note to you in the morning with details of where we are to meet.”

  “It’s all very secretive, Hannah, and I have to say I’m intrigued.”

  “Excellent. I feel a long friendship ahead of us, Phoebe, and let me say until tonight I did not think that amongst these people, that would be possible.”

  “I second that in all aspects,” Phoebe’s step felt lighter as she followed her new friend from the room.

  “Thank you, Hannah. I enjoyed our talk very much.”

  They exchanged smiles, and with a quick squeeze of their hands they went to find their families as they entered the ballroom.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Finn believed in routine. It kept him focused and ensured his life ran smoothly. He rose early every day, even the morning after a late, restless night spent dreaming of a certain woman in various passionate positions, and rode in the park.

  Letting Titus have his head, he galloped over the dew-drenched grass and soon felt the last of the cobwebs inside his head clear.