“Here we are!” Benjamin announced as the barouche rolled to a stop in front of Ashbury Manor. The Palladian-style mansion loomed tall above them, and Phoebe had to swallow her stomach back into place. There were three stories that Phoebe could count, a two-sided staircase that was hidden by a massive brick wall, and columns that reminded her of the sketches she’d seen of the Parthenon in Greece.
In a word: intimidating.
Benjamin helped her down to the street and she could hear Becky hop to the street on her own behind them. They proceeded up the left staircase and the door opened before they even had a chance to knock.
“Lord Glastonbury,” the very erect butler intoned.
Self-consciously, Phoebe pulled her own shoulders back and straightened her spine. If the duchess expected such uprightness from her staff, Phoebe wondered what she might expect of her brother’s future wife.
Future wife? Oh, dear, where did that come from? Of course, she wanted more than anything to be Benjamin’s wife, but after four days, even she realized the notion was a bit premature. She must put it from her mind, lest she slip and announce their betrothal accidentally. Their non-existent betrothal, that was.
“May I take your things, miss?”
She handed over her pelisse and bonnet, then bid Becky goodbye in a silent exchange of knowing glances, and walked with Benjamin down the hall to the grandest of grand drawing rooms.
The entire space was decorated in cream with regal gold accents. The floor-to-ceiling windows at the end of the gallery seemed a million miles away, the room was so long. Canaries chirped in their gilded cage, which stood in the center of the room. There were two designated sitting areas, both with identical furniture and both set up in the exact same way. The room was a masterpiece of symmetry and opulence.
Phoebe faltered a little as they crossed the threshold and moved to the closest sitting area. The duchess had yet to arrive, so it was just the two of them for the time being.
“Lovely birds, aren’t they?” Phoebe commented, trying not to sound as nervous as she felt.
“Only the loveliest for my sister,” he replied, rising from the seat he had just sunk into and sauntering to the cage.
Phoebe was distracted for a moment by the slight curve of his bottom under his tight-fitting coat, and the way his muscular legs moved beneath a pair of snug tan breeches.
“Would you like to hold one?”
“Hold one?” she choked out. “What if it pecks at me?”
Benjamin laughed and waved her over. “They’re tame, Phoebe. Come.”
She did as she was bid with a hint of reluctance. She wasn’t known for her adeptness with animals, but she supposed if Benjamin were there to assist, she might be all right.
As she approached, Benjamin reached a gentle hand into the cage and closed it around one of the bright yellow birds. It struggled for only a moment before it realized it was in good hands. Then he unclenched his fist, leaving it cupped slightly, cradling the small bird.
“Why does he not fly away?” Phoebe wondered, reaching a tentative finger out to pet him.
“She,” Benjamin corrected, “has had her wings clipped, for her own safety, of course.”
“Ah . . . like the ravens at the Tower. Is it painful for them?”
“Far less painful than getting loose and flying head-first into those windows. Besides, it’s only temporary. When she molts, they’ll have to clip them all over again.”
“May I hold her?”
Phoebe met Benjamin’s soft gaze and felt the color rise to her cheeks. The looks he gave her were so intimate they tended to reduce her insides to mush. She hated to get her hopes up for fear she might be let down, but her instincts told her a proposal might not be too far in the offing.
Benjamin carefully transferred the bird to her cupped hands, taking care to brush lightly against the exposed skin of her wrist before he pulled back.
“If you don’t stop that,” she whispered, “I’ll never be able to look your sister in the eye.”
“Stop what?” Benjamin asked, a playful smile lighting his dark eyes.
“Being so . . . familiar with me.”
“Why? Don’t you like it?” His voice lowered to a gravelly whisper and he leaned in closer, close enough that she could smell the distinct scent of his cologne. It was sharp and manly, and it made her feel . . . tingly inside.
“I like it very much,” she replied, matching his whisper. “That is the problem.” Desperate to change the subject before the duchess came upon them, she asked, her voice noticeably shaky, “Why does this one not sing?”
“Because she is a female. Typically, only the males sing.”
“Typically?”
“Yes.” He paused and captured her chin gently in his hand. “There are exceptions, though. Many of the females can sing . . . with the right coercion, of course.”
Phoebe wasn’t exactly sure what Benjamin was talking about, but she had a sinking feeling they were no longer on the subject of birds. Instinct very clearly told her that much. And his lips confirmed it as he swept low, like a bird of prey, and captured her lips.
If it weren’t for the slight flutter of the bird’s clipped wings in her hands, she might have forgotten all about the little animal. Benjamin’s kiss was so deep, so distracting, it was a wonder she had any wits about her at all.
She opened her mouth, allowed him to deepen the kiss. Their tongues mingled and teased and—
“Benjamin!”
“Ah!” Phoebe jumped what felt like thirty feet off the floor at the reproachful sound in Benjamin’s sister’s tone. But she didn’t have much time to dwell on it, for the little bird had taken a fright as well.
Or perhaps Phoebe had simply lost her grip on the poor thing when she jumped. Either way, her fingers had turned to butter, and the bird struggled in her hands. It seemed as though the entire world slowed as she watched the canary slip between her hands. Phoebe shrieked that the bird couldn’t fly, and she reached out to try to grab it.
But another voice, a soothing, calm voice was saying, “It’s all right, darling,” as the bird fluttered lamely above the ground.
Phoebe gasped for breath. Good Lord, she’d almost killed the duchess’s bird!
She stood there, unable to move, and saw a blur of black and crimson bend down before her, then appear right in front of her. As her heart slowed, her eyes focused on the woman staring back at her.
Phoebe had seen the duchess before, of course, at the Stapleton Ball and the Sheffield Musicale, though they’d never spoken. They didn’t quite run in the same circles . . . until now, she supposed.
The duchess was beautiful. Strikingly so, with her jet black hair and black eyes, olive skin so smooth Phoebe had an urge to reach out and touch it to see if it was real, and a dress that Phoebe was sure many women would kill to wear for just one night, let alone an afternoon at home, in their own parlor.
Phoebe opened her mouth to make her apologies for nearly killing the little bird that now sat contentedly on her mistress’s forefinger. But she stopped herself. All of this had happened because Benjamin decided to kiss her in a most inappropriate location. Was it her fault she’d been startled?
She supposed she could have stopped the kiss, but—no, she could not have. The king’s marching band could not have caused her to pull her lips from Benjamin’s in that moment.
Goodness, he’d turned her into a wanton woman!
“Miss Blake, Maddy is just fine. You needn’t look so panicked.”
“Maddy?” she parroted inanely.
The duchess smiled and returned the bird to her cage, perching her on a little swing next to another identical canary. How in the world did she tell them all apart? There was only one with any visible markings to distinguish it from the others.
“She’s named for the island she comes from. Madeira. Though we tend to know it more for the wine than the birds.”
“Miss Blake, may I introduce my sister, Katherine, Duchess of West
on.”
Finally, in a sudden moment of clarity, Phoebe was able to gain full control of her faculties and dipped into a curtsey before the duchess.
“Oh, good heavens, Miss Blake,” the duchess said. “While I admire your manners, I do not ever want you to dip before me again.” This was delivered as a command, but there was a hint of humor in the woman’s black eyes. “Besides,” she continued, turning what one could only refer to as a meddling eye onto her brother, “we are going to be great friends, Miss Blake, and dare I hope—”
“No, you may not,” Benjamin cut in with a warning glance at his sister and a wink for Phoebe.
Clearly, he meant to prevent Phoebe from further embarrassment by curtailing his sister’s thoughts.
The duchess laughed and then moved behind her brother to give him a little shove. “Fine. Now go,” she said. “Miss Blake and I have much to learn about one another if we’re going to go about the task of becoming . . . friends.”
Benjamin pulled his sister along with him to the door, leaving Phoebe to stand alone by the birdcage. He whispered something to the duchess that Phoebe couldn’t quite make out, but she assumed it was a warning of some sort. He left a moment later after one last smoldering look for Phoebe over the top of his sister’s head.
And then she was alone with the duchess, who, truth be known, looked positively ravenous for gossip.
Chapter 7
“Well, well, well,” the Duchess of Weston said as she glided across the room to Phoebe. How did she do that? The woman must have wheels on her feet, for it seemed impossible that one could walk without an ounce of bounce in their step.
Phoebe stammered and stuttered as she said, “Please accept my apologies, my lady, for . . . everything.”
“Apologies?” The woman grabbed her hands and led her to the sitting area. When they sat, their posture was close and familiar, as if they’d been friends for years. Phoebe wasn’t sure whether it made her uncomfortable or set her at ease to have the woman’s knees bumping hers, her hands still clasped tightly in her grip. “My dear Miss Blake—may I call you Phoebe?”
Phoebe nodded. “Of course, Your Grace.”
“Then you shall call me Kat! Now, my dear Phoebe, there are no apologies necessary. As you see, Maddy is just fine.”
They both turned to the cage to see Maddy still nuzzling the identical bird on the little perch.
“I thought she couldn’t fly. Your brother had just told me all about the wing clipping—”
“It only hinders their ability to fly, Phoebe. It doesn’t incapacitate them.”
Phoebe smiled a little. “That would have been nice to know before I went into hysterics over the little thing.”
Kat erupted into laughter and then jumped from the sofa, releasing Phoebe’s hands as she did. “I’m going to ring for tea. Are you hungry? Cook makes the most exceptional lemon cake . . . ”
She chattered on until the maid came to take her instruction and then returned to the sofa beside Phoebe.
“Phoebe,” she said, leaning in and dropping her voice to a whisper. “I don’t mean to pry, but I must know . . . was that the first kiss my brother has given you?”
Lord above, this woman was forward. Not at all what Phoebe would have expected from the Duchess of Weston. At balls and such, she seemed so poised and elegant. The lady before her was lively and vibrant and nosy. And waiting for an answer.
Phoebe gulped, unsure of whether to confide in Kat about her intimate relations with her brother, but she wasn’t much of a liar. Finally, after a long pause, Phoebe shook her head.
The duchess squealed and startled Phoebe to jump. “I knew it. Oh, Phoebe, my brother is smitten with you, I can tell. He even asked me about you the other day. He has never done that. Never!”
A maid appeared in the doorway, pushing a shiny, silver tea-cart, loaded with fine china and a large cake. Phoebe’s stomach grumbled rather loudly, but thankfully Kat was too busy, instructing the maid on where to leave the cart, to hear. Their meager funds didn’t allow for very filling foods. And it was her mother who needed the hearty meats and breads. There was an upside to living on a diet of mostly broth for a year, though; Phoebe had lost at least a stone, leaving her body slimmer and more fashionable. It was unfortunate she didn’t have very fashionable dresses to accompany it.
“Now,” said Kat, returning to the sofa and handing over a large slice of lemon cake, “I hope you won’t think me too forward, but it is my hope to gain an understanding of your affections towards my brother.”
Phoebe had taken a small bite of the cake, but it somehow lodged itself in her throat. She coughed, the duchess offered her a cup of tea, and finally she was able to swallow the cake down. However, she still couldn’t quite believe the duchess wished for her to confide in her so soon. She’d only known the man a few days. True, she fancied herself in love with him already, but who wouldn’t? He was quite the most perfect man alive. As a matter of fact, there were probably a dozen other girls pining away for him at this moment. And perhaps he even called on them, too! It wasn’t as if they’d made any promises to one another.
She looked up to find Kat staring at her with an intensity that made her want to either laugh or flee—she wasn’t quite sure which. Either way, Phoebe could not remain silent. “I-I find that I enjoy your brother’s company quite a bit. He is most kind and . . . solicitous. He seems to be a man of great intelligence and ambition, and . . . ”
Katherine’s brows rose in a skeptical arch. “Solicitous?”
Phoebe felt her lips twitch. What a ridiculous word to use in regard to the man she thought she might be falling in love with . . . or perhaps had already fallen in love with. She started to laugh and so did the duchess, and Phoebe thought that was, perhaps, the happiest she had been in a very long time.
“All right, Phoebe, the truth. If we are to be friends, there must be complete honesty between us, which is why I’m going to tell you a secret of my own.”
Phoebe felt the excitement of sharing secrets bubble up inside of her. Becky had been her only friend for the last year, but there were no secrets there to share. It was their commiseration that brought them together.
But this was entirely different, and, oh, so exciting!
A wide smile broke out on Kat’s red lips, and she took a breath that made Phoebe feel as if she were in a play, waiting for the main character to make her announcement that would add an intriguing twist to the plot.
At last she opened her mouth and said, “I’m going to have a baby!”
For a brief moment it occurred to Phoebe how odd it was for her to feel so very excited for this woman she barely knew to be having a baby. But she couldn’t stop herself from throwing her arms around her and squealing with delight at the news.
“Oh, that’s wonderful, Kat!” Phoebe said as they pulled away from one another.
“Yes, I know,” the duchess replied, and then, as if they hadn’t just been squealing and bouncing up and down on the sofa, she straightened her spine and sobered her expression before leveling Phoebe with a serious stare. “Now, it’s your turn.”
Phoebe swallowed and tried to acclimate to the sudden change of pace. The duchess could be a confusing woman.
And then, out of her confusion, she said the one thing she had promised herself she wouldn’t say during this visit: “I am in love with your brother.”
***
“Care to join me on a shopping trip?”
William looked up from his desk, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Do I look like a woman? Of course I don’t want to go shopping with you.”
Benjamin laughed and sauntered over the threshold. The study at Ashbury Manor was about as masculine a study as Ben had ever seen. Dark walls, dark wood furniture, dark, solid wood paneling on the ceiling. And it smelled like wood, too. Benjamin wondered if he’d come back with sticky sap on his fingers if he touched anything.
“Not even for an engagement ring, Duckie?” he asked, approaching his brother-
in-law’s desk.
The pencil Will had been holding dropped to the desk and made a clacking sound as it bounced to its final resting place. “Dear God,” he muttered, staring back at Ben with wide eyes. “You’re going to propose? To whom?”
“Not quite yet,” Ben told him. “But soon . . . to Miss Blake. I have some things to take care of first, but . . . ”
William was already up and making his way to the sidebar. He poured two generous helpings of brandy into snifters and brought one to Ben before taking a seat in the large armchair beside him.
“I thought Mr. Potter had a bid in for the girl as well.”
“I have a feeling when Mr. Potter called on Miss Blake the other day, he realized she was not the one.”
“The one to what?” Will wondered.
“The one to save him from financial ruin. I’ve done some research in the last few days to find out what, if anything, I was up against, and discovered that Mr. Potter is almost as poor as Miss Blake. Though one wouldn’t know it. Clearly, he still has available credit, but not for long, the way I’ve seen him squandering his money at the tables the last few nights.”
“And what were you doing at the tables?”
Benjamin chuckled. “Nothing, other than keeping an eye on the two troublemakers I’m forced to call my brothers.”
“That bad?”
“They’ll grow out of it, like the rest of us did. I just have to make sure they don’t drain the family coffers in the meantime.”
Ben took a long sip of the brandy, savoring the perfect balance of fruit and wood. When Will shifted in his chair and cleared his throat, he knew the dreaded question was coming.
“You haven’t told her yet, have you?” Will asked.
Ben shook his head. “There hasn’t been an opportunity yet. But, I will. I must, before I propose.”
“And what if she doesn’t take it well?”
Gentleman Never Tells (Regency Historical Romance) Page 5
