“Has Mr. Blunt gone as well?”
Elizabeth looked from one to the other as they spoke.
“Yes. I believe he will return tomorrow.”
Darkness shadowed his eyes. “I am certain we will see a lot of Mr. Blunt.”
“He is your secretary.”
“I do not think that is why we will see him often at Rosefield, Miss Hallsmith.” One hand caressed the side of his daughter’s face while the other fisted in the grass.
“If it bothers you that Mr. Blunt is giving me attention, why did you send him to assist me?”
“It does not and I did not. If Mr. Blunt assisted you, he did so of his own accord.” He adjusted Elizabeth on his lap and fussed with a smudge of something on her dress.
A blanket of relief flooded over Phoebe. Markus had not doubted her abilities. It shouldn’t matter, yet she could not deny her pleasure at the new information. “I assumed you had sent him. In any event, he was very helpful.”
Markus’s regard was direct. His gaze never left her face. “How old are you, Miss Hallsmith?”
Unexpected and impertinent, she closed her teeth down on a cutting retort. “I cannot see how that is any of your business.”
He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. Those green depths remained sad and distant. “It is absolutely not my business. You may disregard the question if you like.”
Oh, how she hated society’s rules. “I am four and twenty.”
“I see.”
“What do you see? That I am too old to make a good match and had no choice but to join the Everton Society? That I have wasted my best years? That I should be married and raising a family by now? That I am an old maid put on the shelf to be pitied and despised by the women of the ton?” Her entire body had clenched into a frustrated knot. It became hard to breathe and even harder to keep from raging at him. It was a miracle that she had spoken without raising her voice. If Elizabeth hadn’t been watching them, she might have delivered a setdown that even her mother would be proud of.
He raised his eyebrows. “Who was that just now, Phoebe? Your mother? Your brother Ford?”
Breathing too hard to respond, she took several long breaths to calm herself. “I apologize, my lord. I have failed to control my emotions again. As I told you before, it is something I am working on.”
A spark of something lit his eyes. “I do not think you an old maid. I am certain that Jared Blunt does not think so either. He looked like he might devour you when I walked in on the conversation in my office.”
Cheeks flaming, she clamped down on her emotions. “I was looking for you. Mr. Blunt was there.”
“You need not explain yourself to me. I am not your warden nor your father.”
A short unladylike laugh escaped. “No. You are certainly not.”
“I only meant to say that you are not on any shelf. You could marry if that is your wish. Blunt is only one man and I’m sure there are many who would wish to wed an attractive, intelligent woman like yourself. As to why you joined the Everton’s, I would not presume to know. Perhaps one day you will share those details with me.”
His cool tone set her nerves on edge. Clearly both Markus Flammel and Honoria found Mr. Blunt a perfect match for her. Perhaps they were right. So, why did the idea make her nauseous? “Perhaps it would be best if you went back to your telling the tale of Jack the Giant Slayer, my lord. I believe he had just reached the giant castle.”
A happy squeal from Elizabeth indicated she too had enough “adult” talk for one afternoon.
Markus returned to the telling without so much as a knowing look, for which Phoebe was grateful. The problem of her marital status could wait for another day and certainly was not a subject to discuss with Markus. She closed her eyes and let the warm, rounded tone of his voice lull her as it did Elizabeth. Phoebe had nearly dozed when Mrs. Donnelly came to fetch them for tea.
Markus stood with Elizabeth in his arms, stopped, and offered Phoebe a hand up.
In her haste to get out of the house, she’d forgotten to don gloves. She didn’t care for the silly things and often conveniently forgot. Though when her fingers met Markus’s, she wished for a barrier between them. His skin was warm and rough and the contact sent a pleasant chill down her arm to the pit of her stomach and lower. Rising, she tugged away and met his gaze.
The surprise in his eyes mirrored her own shock at the effects of the simple touch.
A touch from Markus Flammel was more unsettling than the few kisses she had shared with her fiancé. Gavin had not sent chills down her spine or given her goose flesh. “Pleasant” was how she once described it to Arwen, when asked. Just touching Markus’s hand was far more than pleasant.
Emma’s face flashed in her mind. Intense guilt shot through her, nearly buckling her knees.
Markus caught her with one arm around her waist. “Are you ill, Miss Hallsmith?”
She pushed away. “No. I am fine. I just rose too quickly is all. Perhaps I had better go and lie down.”
Grunting, Elizabeth smacked Markus’s chest.
“I believe Elizabeth would like you to taste the biscuits we baked earlier. They will be served at tea.”
Staring at her was the sweetest face in all of England. There was no way she could refuse. If she were honest, she didn’t want to be away from either of them. Wanting the wrong things was another one of her flaws, and she must correct that as well. With a sigh, she preceded Markus and Elizabeth into the great parlor.
Becca brought the tea in as they arrived in the freshly dusted room. Katy must have worked like the devil to clean the tall widows. Every inch of wood was polished to a high shine. It still held the musty odor that came from a room being closed for a long time, but the frills and lace reminded Phoebe of Emma and made her happy with memories.
As soon as they took their seats near the coffee table, Elizabeth grabbed a biscuit and ran out of the room.
“Elizabeth.” Phoebe stood.
Becca laughed. “I’ll keep an eye on her, Miss. You enjoy your tea.”
“Thank you. She should be ready for a nap too.” Phoebe poured the tea.
Watson cleared his throat from the doorway. “Mr. Hallsmith is here to see you both.”
Heart in her throat, Phoebe cringed. “Ford is here?”
“Do not panic, Phoebs, it is only me.” Miles Hallsmith crossed the threshold and stepped around Watson. His smile warmed the room immediately and his good nature warmed her heart.
She ran over and hugged him. “Oh, Miles, it is good to see you. I was very disappointed that you were in London when I arrived home and I have not a moment since to see you.”
“Nice to see you, Hallsmith.” Markus approached and shook Miles’s hand.
“You are looking better, Markus.” His gaze went from Phoebe back to Markus.
“Yes, well, your sister has forbidden me from drinking my brandy.”
Mrs. Donnelly brought another teacup, they all sat and Phoebe poured her brother a cup. “Did you ride over just to see me, Miles?”
He sipped his tea and wolfed down a biscuit. “It had been over a year since I have seen you, Phoebs. I was very disappointed when I got home and found you gone already. Mother went on for hours about your decision to become employed.”
“I am certain she did.” Phoebe could practically hear her mother’s voice screeching down the walls of her family home.
Smile never dimming, Miles continued, “Also, there was a note from his lordship telling me to get my sister out of his house.”
A rock clogged her throat. Markus had sent a note to have her removed. That was why Miles was there. Markus wanted her gone. She swallowed down the stone and pulled her shoulders back. “I will leave when the situation here is in hand.”
Honoria floated in. “We have company. How wonderful.”
Phoebe rose w
ith the men. “Lady Honoria Chervil, may I introduce my brother, Miles Hallsmith.”
Miles’s grin widened and he bowed low to Honoria. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady. Are you here as chaperon to my sister?”
“Your sister is my favorite Everton lady. It is my pleasure to work with her.”
Markus remained standing until Honoria sat, but he didn’t meet Phoebe’s gaze.
Once again unwanted. It was to be expected, since she foisted herself on people who were perfectly happy being miserable. She should learn to mind her own business or at least not care so much about the outcome.
Markus cleared his throat. “How are things at your brother’s estate, Hallsmith?”
“All is well, running smoothly. Ford hasn’t the slightest clue where his money comes from or where it goes, but we all live comfortably.” Miles grinned around another biscuit.
“What will he do if you ever strike out on your own?” Markus asked.
Shrugging, Miles brushed crumbs from his trousers. “I have no plan to do so, but any good secretary could take over. I keep good records in case anything were to happen to me.”
Unable to keep the horror of losing Miles silent, Phoebe gasped. Her teacup rattled in the saucer and she put them down before she made a mess. “You should not say such things, Miles.”
Miles reach over and squeezed Phoebe’s hand. “Nothing is going to happen, Pheobs. I am fine. I only meant that I take precautions to keep my family from suffering in my absence. You know Ford has no interest in the finances and only what they buy him. He only cares about gambling and drink. It’s all I can do to keep him from wasting it all. The family is lucky he has some skill at the card table or things might get dire.”
Ordering her pulse to slow and her breathing to steady did little good. “I know you are too good to him.”
“I enjoy the work, and you, Mother, and Aaron are my main priority.”
Phoebe hmphed. “One day you might like to marry and have a family of your own, Miles. You cannot run our brother’s life forever. You need not worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
Elizabeth’s high-pitched squeals pealed through the parlor as she ran in. Spying Miles, both she and the noise stopped.
“Hello,” Miles said. “This must be the one running the house these days.”
Cocking her head, Elizabeth studied him.
Phoebe said, “Miss Elizabeth Flammel, may I introduce my brother Miles Hallsmith.”
Miles knelt in front of Elizabeth who gazed from her father back to the newcomer. He held out his hand and she backed up a step.
The most distinctive expressions crossed Elizabeth’s face. Fear, wariness, surprise when he knelt then acceptance as she offered her own little hand in friendship.
Bowing over her hand, Miles said, “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Miss Elizabeth.”
Showing all her teeth, she grinned at him before snatching a biscuit and running back into the hallway.
Miles laughed and sat in the chair. “She seems like quite a handful.”
“She is full of life and spirit,” Honoria said. “Just as a little girl should be. How long are you staying, Mr. Hallsmith? Have you just come for tea?”
Phoebe felt his gaze on her but she couldn’t meet it. Staring into her teacup, she did something she hated more than anything. She let men decide her fate.
“I brought the large carriage in case you ladies needed transport.”
“Goodness, no. There is much to be done here. His lordship needs a staff, and Phoebe is still amid interviews. The child needs a nanny and the advertisement was only posted to London this morning. We shall not leave for several weeks at least.”
Avoiding looking at her brother did not make the conversation hurt any less. She lifted her head to meet Miles’s gaze, but he turned and addressed Markus.
“Can I count on you to see to their safety, Markus?” A rare and serious frown settled on Miles’s face.
“My note to you was premature. I apologize. Miss Hallsmith and Lady Chervil are my guests and can stay as long as they like, or leave with you if that is their preference.” He spoke through a clenched jaw.
* * * *
Once Miles went home, Phoebe spent the rest of the day avoiding Markus. Cordial at dinner, she poked at her food, eating little. She had no right to feel betrayed. He’d never pretended to want her at Rosefield. Still, approaching him with her notes could wait until her ridiculous wounds healed.
What did she expect after she had thrust herself into his life without giving him the option to decline? She twisted and turned in her sheets for hours until she couldn’t bear it anymore. Her stomach grumbled loudly. It was late enough. Markus would have come and gone from the kitchens by then.
She padded down the stairs but when she reached the servants’ level the glow of candlelight filtered out of the kitchen. Frozen on the bottom step, she decided to rush back to her room. She turned. The stair creaked. Closing her eyes, she waited, praying that he hadn’t heard.
“Please do not run away, Phoebe.”
Turning back toward the kitchen meant swallowing down fistfuls of emotion. He could not see how much he’d hurt her. Donning a mask of indifference, which she’d learned long ago from her mother, she faced him.
Even in the shadows of the candlelight, he shone with energy that drew her in. The glowing light came through his loose blouse and detailed his torso.
Mouth dry, she trudged past him to find a snack. “I expected you would have gone back to bed by now, my lord.”
He followed and sat at the table. “There was little point. I will not sleep anyway.”
A mulberry pie sat untouched on the counter. “How did this survive your raid?”
“I suppose I lacked the appetite.” He traced a circle in the grain of the wood. “I wrote that note the day you arrived. I was still drunk from the night before.”
“A drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts.” Betrayed by her own growling stomach, she cut two pieces of the pie and sat across from him. She pushed one plate and fork over.
After a bite of pie, he closed his eyes. His lips mesmerized her, and her own tingled with the idea of touching him. He stared at his plate and used the fork to track a pattern in the berry juice. “That may be true, but allow me to have changed my mind, Phoebe.”
“I suppose I should be thankful you wrote to Miles and not Ford or my mother. They would have dragged me away by the hair and happily so. I would be in London attending balls by now. Then I would have to start again by leaving for Everton’s and listen to my mother’s disappointment all over again.” The pie rolled in her gut.
“Most women enjoy balls. Do you not find them distracting?”
Better to stop talking and eat the pie. These late-night meetings in the kitchen were dangerous and foolish. Still, his eyes danced in the candlelight and his tone soothed away years of disappointment. “I do not like to be paraded around like a trophy to be snatched up by the winner of the race.”
He laughed and finished his pie. “You would be a wonderful wife and mother, Phoebe. Do you not wish to have a family of your own?”
Everything inside her chest and stomach clenched. All her wants and desires jumbled up in opposing forces. “Of course, I wanted a family. It is only that I did not want it as much as I wanted my grandmother’s last years to be good ones. And I do not care for the process devised by the ton.”
“It is rather mercenary. Do you not care for the pie?”
She pushed the plate across to him. “It is delicious, but I have lost my appetite.”
He wolfed down her pie too, put his fork on the plate, and locked his gaze with hers. “It would seem you have lost your appetite for many things.”
“I beg your pardon, my lord?” The truth stung more keenly than he might have intended.
“Markus. You may be angry with me, but that is no reason to spew titles at me.” It was a gentle scolding. “You barely eat and you do not wish to dance and enjoy your youth.”
“I am hardly young anymore. My years to find a husband have likely passed anyway. I would only be going to satisfy my mother.” It did no good to command herself to stop talking. Somehow the intimacy of the kitchen late at night dragged information from her soul and placed in on the table for him to sneer at.
Only he didn’t sneer. Markus smiled in a sad way, unique to him. “I think Jared Blunt would beg to differ with you. He is smitten. It would take little encouragement from you to secure a marriage proposal.”
“And you think I should do that?”
Markus traced the pattern in the wood, pushed his plate to the center of the table, and tugged at the ties at the throat of his blouse before looking at her again. “It does not matter what I think. Mr. Blunt is a good man. If you like him, he would make a fine husband.”
“For a girl like me.”
“What?”
Markus was no different than the rest. Marrying her off to the first man who shows interest and getting rid of her in the process. “That is the end of the thought, is it not? Mr. Blunt would make a fine husband for a girl like me.”
Something flashed in his eyes before they narrowed. “What kind of girl is that?”
Standing, she stayed her emotions. Once she had pushed her chair back under the table, she met his gaze. “The kind of girl who has been disowned, without dowry or family to recommend her. The kind of girl who is past her prime and should be happy to have any man show her attention. It would be foolish of me not to simper at Mr. Blunt. He will likely be the last man to show interest.”
Every word she spoke tore more of her soul out. There was nothing wrong with Jared Blunt and yet the idea of him sickened her. There was very little wrong with Gavin, but she withheld affection until he ran from her. Running for the door, she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
At the threshold, Markus wrapped his fingers around her arm and held her there. “You have value, Phoebe. I do not know why you cannot see it, but you do yourself a disservice by believing you must settle.”
A Lady's Honor Page 7
