by Regina Darcy
He repeated the introduction that had been made earlier, when the guests had all been arriving, and Dorothea had introduced them to each other. She recalled how he had greeted her effusively, had kissed her hand in a most acceptably genteel fashion, and had talked with her for a few moments about his acquaintance with the Kendalls, and his enjoyment of the parties that they hosted.
She also recalled wondering at the time if he had his sights set on Dorothea, but had dismissed the question as he had not seemed inclined to leave her side until her parents had come to pull her away and into the drawing room.
“I remember,” she told him. “Phoebe Alexander, Mr Howe.” She smiled at him, liking the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, and thinking to herself that here was a young man she might wish to have further conversation with. He exuded an air of self-possession, and his charm was potent.
“May I escort you back to your game?” he inquired.
“I was just taking a break from it,” she replied. “I’ll have another turn about the room, perhaps. I feel somewhat cramped after sitting for so long.”
“I was about to head out to the garden,” he said. “I would be pleased to take a turn with you in the open air.”
Phoebe looked over at her mother, who was engrossed in the game, and at her father who was equally occupied, though his table was wreathed in smoke. No one was watching her, and she was only going to walk in the garden, where everyone could see her. She nodded her assent, and walked ahead of him out the open French doors to the beautiful garden. She stood in silence for a while, inhaling the scent of roses and jasmine, before beginning her stroll. Mr Howe kept pace with her for a time, before breaking the silence.
“If I may be so bold as to ask, how is it that a beautiful young lady such as yourself has not already been claimed by some dashing fellow?”
Phoebe chuckled at the question. Michael Howe was clearly well-versed in the art of conversation, unlike the man to whom she was betrothed. The thought of the Earl made her frown, but she smoothed her brow and answered noncommittally.
“What makes you think that I am unclaimed, sir?” She kept her tone light, even though she knew that she ought not to be entertaining any other man until the issue of her betrothal was resolved.
He seemed to think something was amiss in her response as well, because he stopped, in full view of the open door, and said, “It would be remiss of us both to be walking unchaperoned in the garden if you were already spoken for, would it not, Miss Alexander?”
Phoebe had the grace to blush. He was right, of course, but she felt angry and rebellious at the thought that someone whom she found interesting was off limits to her because of a pact made between her parents and the parents of a man she disliked. Still, she was guilty of compromising both of them by this ill-timed display of childishness.
“Please forgive me, Mr Howe,” she said, turning to him with a small bow of her head. “I have been careless with both our reputations. My parents have affianced me to a man I barely know, and while I must be a dutiful daughter, I cannot pretend to be happy at the knowledge that I had no say in the decision. Nevertheless, I ask your pardon for involving you, even inadvertently, in my little rebellion.”
As she turned to walk away, he said, “You are to be admired, Miss Alexander, for your honesty. I hope that your betrothed knows what a catch he has. And should you ever have need of my services, please do not hesitate to ask.”
Phoebe walked back towards the French doors where she saw her mother waiting, and she knew it was done intentionally. Not only did her mother wish let her know that she had been seen in what might be construed as a compromising position, but she also wanted to let others believe she was supervising her daughter’s behaviour without leaving the comfort of the drawing room. Judith Alexander was all about appearances.
“Is it your intention to bring disgrace on the family, not to mention bringing disrepute to that young man’s good name? How could you take yourself off to prance around out of doors with an unmarried man with whom you are not acquainted, knowing full well you are betrothed to another?”
Her mother’s accusations, delivered in a low but sharply disapproving tone, made Phoebe cringe and blush hotly. It did no good to admit that she deserved the reprimands...they still stung mercilessly.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” she mumbled miserably. “I was feeling stifled, so I went for a walk.”
“Do not fib, Phoebe,” Mrs Alexander replied sternly. “You did not leave ahead of the young gentleman. He escorted you out into the garden. I was watching you.”
Phoebe felt the depth of her humiliation sweeping over her, and though she could barely speak, she managed to say, in a strangled tone, “I have apologised for my behaviour, Mama. I don’t know what else I can say. I will retire now, if that meets with your approval.”
Not waiting for a reply, she scurried away, making her way hastily out of the drawing room and up the stairs to Dorothea’s bedchamber, to which she always had access when she came to visit. Closing the door carefully behind her, she went to sit on the edge of the high bed, and allowed the tears to fall. She had done a foolish thing, and brought down her mother’s understandable wrath on her head. And whatever happened as a consequence of her ill-timed rebellion, she had no one to blame but herself.
She soon discovered, to her dismay, that her punishment would be to inhabit the same house as her betrothed, at his request, along with her parents, of course.
The invitation to go down to London whenever they liked, for the remainder of the Season, arrived on the very next morning after the disastrous end to the card party. Therefore, after a fortnight of preparations, they headed to London. They had already been in the Earl’s grand townhouse in Mayfair for a week, though thankfully, he had been absent, away on family business, his aunt, Lady Iris Haddington, informed them.
He was expected back that evening, and Phoebe’s mother was once again fussing over what her daughter would wear.
“Mama, this is a perfectly acceptable dress for an informal dinner at home,” she protested, looking at the pale yellow silk dress lying on the bed. “And I have no wish to appear to be dressing myself up, like a suckling pig for market!”
“Mind how you address me, young lady!” Mrs Alexander’s voice was ripe with frustration and hurt. “I am doing everything I can to make you presentable to his lordship, and you reward me with a sharp tongue and coarse comparisons.”
“Perhaps if you and Papa had allowed me to choose whom I wish to marry, we would not be quarrelling so,” Phoebe huffed, pulling away from her mother’s hands. “I have told you I do not like him, but you both insist on continuing this charade!”
“It may be of no account to you, but your father’s reputation, and the good name of our household, hangs in the balance. How you choose to conduct yourself with Lord Beckton will decide what happens to them.” Mrs Alexander turned away and walked to the door. “I expect you to be ready to go down to dinner in an hour.”
She left the room, closing the door quietly, and the very deliberate way in which she did so made Phoebe want to scream in frustration. She hated the almost daily quarrels with her mother, and the silent disapproval of her father, and all over a man who had not bothered to be present for their arrival. If he did not have the manners one expected from someone of his station in life, why should she pretend to have any interest in him? She paused, admitting that she was being unfair. His aunt had explained the urgent family affair that had taken him away unexpectedly, and she fervently hoped that the situation could be resolved without his needing to leave the country for France. It was not a safe place for an aristocrat to be at this time, even one whom she felt no affection for.
When it was time for dinner, Phoebe descended with her parents to the dining room where she was seated next to her mother. The chair at the head of the table remained vacant. Her father sat across from his wife, and Lady Iris sat across from Phoebe. She wondered at the arrangement, but did not have long to wait, as s
he heard voices, and everyone turned to see who was arriving. Phoebe knew before he came into the room. She would recognise the voice anywhere, and she was momentarily startled by the discovery. Then she thought it must be because he irritated her so that he was therefore impossible to forget.
“Ah, Beckton, dear boy!” Lady Iris’s unrestrained greeting shocked her, and she watched as the young man went over to kiss his aunt soundly and with great affection on each cheek. “I am relieved to have you back with us.”
“No more than I am to be back home, Aunt,” he replied, before turning to shake her father’s hand. “Good evening, Mr Alexander.” Then, before taking his seat at the head of the table, he came round to kiss her mother’s hand, and waited until Phoebe remembered her manners and extended her own, which he took and kissed gallantly. “Good evening, ladies.”
Once in his seat, he waited until the footman had served the first course before saying, “Please accept my apologies for being absent when you arrived, Mr Alexander. As my aunt has no doubt explained, we have a second cousin who is currently trying to make his way out of France, and is experiencing some difficulties. I had to go to the city to deal with the matter.”
“I am sure we all wish him well, my lord,” Mr Alexander said. “It cannot be an easy thing to be hiding in one’s own country because of an accident of birth.”
“Indeed,” Lord Beckton replied, looking grim.
Phoebe observed him as the meal progressed, watching how he ate, listening to him talk freely with her parents and his aunt, noting his attempts to engage her in the discussions about the unrest in France, and trying to involve her in the conversation. She grudgingly decided that he was the perfect host, despite the first impression he had made. He did not seem to think, for instance, that she was without an opinion because she was young or female, and she appreciated his efforts to make her feel like well regarded at the table. By the time dinner was over and the women had repaired to the drawing room, leaving the men to their drinks in the Earl’s study, Phoebe was prepared to give him a chance to show his mettle. Perhaps she had drawn an erroneous conclusion on too little evidence.
FIVE
Lord Beckton was determined to begin his transformation into a suave man-about-town as quickly as possible. However, he had to wait on Phoebe’s father’s pleasure, and the gentleman seemed determined to keep him in the library with conversation in which, on any other evening, he would gladly have engaged. Eventually, he managed to steer the conversation away from the mill workers’ unrest, and the problems in France, and on to the question of his family’s visit.
“Do you and Mrs Alexander have any plans for your visit, sir?” he asked the man who would be his father-in-law.
“My wife wishes to visit her good friend Lady Merton, and we of course wish to participate in one or two of the parties to be hosted at Almack’s. Other than those very general plans, we are open to suggestions, my lord.”
“My aunt and I have planned two dinner parties for the season, and would be happy if you and your wife and daughter were able to remain for both.”
Mr Alexander smiled. “I am sure my wife will be pleased at the invitation, my lord, and it will no doubt afford you further opportunities to acquaint yourself with Phoebe. A good plan, if I may say so.”
Lord Beckton cringed. He had not meant it to be so obvious what his intentions were, but now it was out, he wanted to press his advantage. “Perhaps we should re-join the ladies?”
He escorted the gentleman back into the drawing room, where his aunt was holding court, and the other two women were paying rapt attention to her. Well, at least his future mother-in-law was. Phoebe was staring politely in his aunt’s general direction, but he could see that she was not being particularly attentive. He chuckled, and she must have heard him because she chose to look up just at that moment and saw him standing in the doorway with a grin on his face. She coloured up quite prettily, and he smiled at her, and nodded faintly. She returned his smile, though it was more a small lifting of the corners of her mouth. Still, it was better than the disdain he had last seen on her face as she walked away from him at the Mariners’ Ball.
“Aunt Iris, I have just been telling Mr Alexander of our plans to host two dinner parties during the season,” he said, looking only at his aunt.
His aunt smiled. “Indeed. Perhaps you would be kind enough to help me plan them, Mrs Alexander?” she said, turning to Phoebe’s mother, who preened and glowed with pleasure.
“It would be my pleasure to help in any way I can, my lady,” she replied.
“Good, then that is settled. We shall begin our plans in the morning. I confess, though, that I am rather weary. But I would love to hear a tune from your daughter on the pianoforte before I retire.” She turned her gaze on Phoebe, adding, “If you are so inclined, my dear?”
Lord Beckton watched as more colour bloomed in her cheeks. “Certainly, my lady,” she said demurely, rising to sit at the instrument. “What would you like me to play for you?”
“Oh, I have no idea what to choose. Beckton, what do you think?” His aunt turned to him with a sparkle of mischief in her eyes, and he managed to keep his own colour even, by a sheer act of will. He knew what she was doing, and more importantly, why she was doing it, so he forgave her the transparency of the tactic.
“I think I would be pleased to hear Miss Alexander’s favourite piece,” he replied, and looked directly into Phoebe’s eyes.
The shock of contact with her green gaze was overwhelming, but he held it, refusing to look away before she did. He added a smile to the look, and when she returned a proper smile, he felt warm all over.
“Very well, my lord,” she said, and began to play. Lord Beckton knew the tune well, and closed his eyes to savour it. It happened to be a favourite of his as well…a Mozart sonata. She played with passion and consummate skill, and Lord Beckton found himself caught in the web of beauty she spun with her nimble fingers. When she stopped, he opened his eyes to find her looking at him, and he smiled and applauded her enthusiastically.
“Bravo, Miss Alexander! Well done indeed!” He had no problem speaking the words of praise, and when she lowered her eyes shyly, something swelled inside him. “Perhaps you will grace us with your playing at the parties? I am sure it will be well received, don’t you agree, Aunt Iris?”
“Most definitely,” his aunt replied with an approving nod. “It would be a pleasure to listen to you every evening, I’m sure, but we will not impose upon you.”
“I’m sure it would not be an imposition, would it, Phoebe?” her mother stated, turning a stern eye on her daughter.
Something passed between them that Lord Beckton did not understand, but he sensed that Phoebe was reluctant to comply. He wanted to spare her any undue discomfort, but could not for the moment think of a way to do so. The moment passed, and then his aunt declared herself ready to retire. That was the signal that everyone should retreat to their respective bedchambers, and Lord Beckton said, as they were leaving, “I look forward to seeing you all at breakfast.”
After a series of murmured goodnights, he was alone, and he took himself to his study for a last drink. Taking the glass with him to his bedchamber, he sat in the armchair by the window and looked out into the starlit night. Phoebe Alexander’s smile rose before his inner eye, and Lord Beckton thought back to their brief eye contact, which had made his body heat up. She was beautiful, and self-possessed, even in the face of whatever was going on between her and her mother. He wondered what it was, and judging by the look on her mother’s face, he imagined it must be something of sufficient gravity to make a normally feisty Phoebe retreat. He knew he would enjoy sparring with her, once they were married. He liked a woman with spirit.
Next morning, he was the first down to breakfast, and he waited anxiously for his guests to appear. When Phoebe walked in, he made sure to address her first, walking over to her to say, “Good morning, Miss Alexander. I trust you slept well.”
She looked into his
eyes briefly before replying.
“I did, thank you, my lord. Between a soft bed and a weary mind, I fell asleep quickly.”
“Then I hope that your stay will provide ease of mind for even better sleep,” he replied.
She rewarded him with a smile, and then went to help herself to her preferred breakfast items. The meal passed pleasantly enough, and Lord Beckton found a moment, as they were leaving the dining room, to invite the family to take a carriage ride with him around the Ring in Hyde Park later in the afternoon.
“I’m afraid Mrs Alexander and I have already made plans for the afternoon, my lord,” Phoebe’s father said. “However, I’m sure Phoebe would be happy to ride with you and your aunt, if that is your pleasure.”
Lord Beckton turned first to his aunt. “Aunt Iris, will you be able to accompany us this afternoon?” When his aunt consented, he turned to Phoebe and let her see his desire in his eyes as he spoke. “It would give me great pleasure to drive you in the park, Miss Alexander.”
Phoebe bowed and smiled prettily, though she hid her eyes from him. “Thank you my lord. What time shall I be ready?”
Lord Beckton turned to his aunt. “Aunt Iris? Shall we go at five o’clock?”
“That sounds like an excellent plan,” the older woman replied.
With the plan in place, Lord Beckton retreated to his study to catch up on his correspondence, and left the others to their own devices, after offering them the use of his library. As the hour for the drive approached, the Earl grew more anxious, but he steadied himself as he changed, and reminded himself that his goal was to show Phoebe that he could be as suave and smooth as any other man of her acquaintance, and was worthy of her regard. He went down and waited for the ladies while the footman called for the carriage. It arrived as they did, and Lord Beckton was once again struck by Phoebe’s delicate beauty.
“You look lovely, Miss Alexander,” he told her, clearly shocking her with his directness.
