by Regina Darcy
“You are very kind, my lord,” she replied with a small curtsey, avoiding his eyes as she accompanied his aunt out to the carriage.
Once they were both settled, he got in and sat across from them, and gave directions to the driver for where to take them. Then he sat back and watched her face as she took in the streets and buildings that they passed on their way to the park. At this hour, the Ring was bustling with horse and carriage traffic, and as they rode along, Phoebe said,
“I wonder what it would be like to ride here.”
She spoke almost to herself, but he heard her, and took it as a question he ought to respond to.
“It is enjoyable on horseback,” he told her, “though sometimes the air can be bracing.”
“Oh, I remember how you sometimes returned with ruddy cheeks from your rides in Hyde Park, Beckton,” his aunt interjected.
“I’m sure a gentle lady such as Miss Alexander would prefer to forego such an outcome, Aunt,” he replied with a chuckle.
“I must agree with you, Lord Beckton,” Phoebe said, chuckling with him. The sound warmed him from the inside out. “However, I must say it is most entertaining to ride along in the carriage and watch the rest of the world go by on a pleasant day like today.”
“If you do have a wish to go riding, however, I am very happy to accompany you,” he added, and she smiled her thanks for the offer. “What else have you done since your arrival?” he inquired.
“We have visited with a cousin, and a close family friend.”
“They’ll be here for long enough, Beckton, that you can take them out and about,” his aunt said. “And then there are the dinner parties we shall host, as well as a ball or two to attend at Almack’s. If I’m not mistaken my dear friend Lady Merton is also planning a soirée. We’ve been invited to Ascot, by the way. Did I tell you?” When Lord Beckton shook his head, his aunt went on. “There will be so much to do while they are here.”
“I will be happy to serve as your escort to whichever events you and your parents decide to attend, Miss Alexander,” Lord Beckton said, looking into her eyes briefly before turning his gaze once more to the passers-by. They made the round of the park, and once they were back at home, all retired to dress for dinner.
Lord Beckton had invited Lord Wiltshire to make up the party, and he arrived just before dinner was announced.
Lord Beckton noticed that his aunt had arranged it so that Phoebe sat directly across from her, to his right. He hid a smile...he knew his relative had high hopes for his marriage, and he thanked her silently for her matchmaking ways.
“I say, old chum, what would you say to an evening at the opera this Friday?” Lord Wiltshire posed the question as the third course was being served.
“What a lovely idea,” Mrs Alexander replied, clearly enthusiastic about the proposal. “Phoebe has never been to the opera.”
Lord Beckton could feel his fiancée recoil at her mother’s words, and hastened to fill the awkward space with a response. “That would be wonderful, Lord Wiltshire. You might need to share your box with some of our number.”
“Of course, I shall be delighted to do so,” Lord Wiltshire said gallantly.
“I think it would be best if we all sat together in one box, don’t you, Lord Beckton?” Aunt Iris interjected, looking pointedly at Lord Beckton, who felt colour creep up his cheeks.
“That might be best, Aunt,” he agreed, though what he wanted was to have Phoebe share his box with him alone.
“I shall happily share your box with you,” Lord Wiltshire said, smiling impishly.
Lord Beckton stole a glance at the woman sitting silently to his right, and noted that her colour was also elevated. He sighed. He knew that in order to be allowed any time alone with her, he would need to ask for her hand officially. He would wait, of course, until they had at least established a more comfortable situation between them. But, he realised as they returned to the drawing room, that he would find it increasingly difficult to do so. He turned his attention away from his musings as Phoebe sat at the pianoforte. At his aunt’s request, she played for them again, an extended set this time, and her efforts were as happily received this evening as last. Lord Beckton felt proud of her performance, and thought that perhaps, at one of the dinner parties he planned to host, he might ask if she would provide the evening’s entertainment. After a few games of whist, the guests were all ready to retire for the night. Lord Wiltshire stopped on his way out to murmur, “You seem to be more relaxed, old chap. Bravo! Pity about the boxes at the opera.”
“It would not be appropriate to share a box with her without her mother or my aunt there. At least we’ll all be together in the same space. And frankly, I’d rather sit with you than with her mother.”
Lord Wiltshire laughed. “She is rather a formidable lady, is she not?”
“You have little concept of how true that is,” Lord Beckton replied, and followed him up the stairs. They parted ways at Lord Wiltshire’s door.
SIX
Phoebe saw little of her host between the dinner party at which the evening at the opera was proposed, and the day of the event. That morning, she rose early, feeling especially anxious, and decided to steal away for a quiet walk in the small back garden. The sun had just begin to warm the morning air. Although she enjoyed visiting London, and found its entertainments exciting, she missed being able to roam the grounds freely as she did at home. She yearned for the scent of fresh air, and the silence of the countryside. Even on a quiet street such as this, the sounds of traffic were muted but not absent. She sat on the small wrought iron bench next to a tinkling fountain and mused over the week that had passed.
If she were to be honest, and as she was alone she certainly could be, her opinion of the Earl had undergone a complete change. While he was still not as talkative as his friend the Viscount was, he seemed to have thawed sufficiently to initiate conversation with her, and had even gone so far as to compliment her on her attire. She had certainly received more effusive compliments, but something told her that her fiancé was most sincere in his feeling, and that perhaps, after all, he might not be the cold, arrogant man she had assumed him to be.
And she freely admitted that she found his taciturn nature curiously attractive. She found herself stealing glances at him when no one was looking, and enjoying the way his lips curled up in a smile, or the way his laugh made her insides shiver. She found herself admiring the breadth of his shoulders, his imposing height, and the snug fit of his breeches on his strong legs.
She knew that such thoughts were scandalous, to say the least, but she had even caught herself wondering if he were the Lord of Ice with all the women with whom he came in contact. There seemed to be some kind of hidden emotion, riding just beneath the surface, and though she was not experienced in these matters, she sometimes felt as though he were trying to communicate with her merely by gazing into her eyes.
Sighing, she stood and walked around the little garden, admiring the rose bushes that climbed the garden gate, and inhaling their fragrance. It was such an oasis in this wilderness of mud and hard-packed roads and noise. She wished Dorothea were with her, and thought she might as well return indoors and send off a missive to her friend, apprising her of the changing situation.
As she turned from closing the door that led out to the little garden, she heard her name called, and her skin grew warm. It was Lord Beckton.
“Good morning, Miss Alexander,” he said with a brief bow, and the smile he sent her way startled and pleased her with its warmth. It reached his eyes, and she shivered in awareness. “You are up early. I trust you slept well?”
“Oh, very well, my lord,” she hastened to reassure him. “The fault is not in the accommodation, but merely in my thoughts. I woke early and could not get back to sleep, so I decided to take a turn about the garden.” She paused, and sent her own warm smile back to him. “It is such a pleasant spot.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said. “I hope that I will see you for
breakfast.”
The words were innocuous enough, but their import did not escape her. Was his lordship now actively courting her? If this were the case, she supposed she should expect a proposal soon. Not sure how she felt about the speed at which things seemed to be going, she avoided his eyes as she murmured her agreement, then rushed up to change her clothes. A clumsy oaf or an arrogant man she could happily ignore, but one who was charming and sweet was something else entirely. Dressing hurriedly, thankful for once that her hostess had provided a maid to help her, she waited until she heard her parents’ voices in the hall before leaving her room. The last thing she needed right now was more time alone with the man who was suddenly making her very nervous indeed.
Her mother had planned another round of visits, and her father was going to the club with Lord Beckton, so she did not see him again until they were leaving for the opera that evening. As he helped her into the carriage, he said,
“Every day, you grow more beautiful, Miss Alexander.”
Phoebe blushed. Her mother had heard the compliment, and as soon as he stepped away, she whispered, “It seems your father and I made a good decision, Phoebe. The Earl is clearly enamoured by you.”
Phoebe did not reply. There was nothing she could say to her mother’s preening comment, especially as it appeared that she might be right. She clasped her hands in her lap and looked out at the passing carriages. To her temporary relief the Earl and the Viscount were travelling in a separate carriage. She wanted to examine her tumultuous feelings in peace.
Once at the Covent Garden opera house, she followed her mother and Lady Iris to the Earl’s box, and settled herself in the seat that she soon discovered was right next to his own. She turned and found him watching her, and though they did not speak, she was aware of the sudden heightening of tension in the air between them. He looked splendid in evening dress, and again she could not help but admire his broad shoulders as they filled out his coat.
She found it difficult to concentrate on the drama unfolding on the stage, which she knew was Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro, and hoped no one would ask what she thought of any one part in particular. She applauded when everyone else did, but she was distracted by the warmth emanating from the man sitting next to her. She suspected that the seating had been deliberately arranged, though she couldn’t say who was responsible. Still, she sat in a kind of animated stillness, waiting...for what she did not know, until she felt a large hand steal over and clasp hers briefly, squeezing it gently. She looked at him again, and he smiled, and released her.
Phoebe was in desperate need of something to cool her fevered skin by the time the intermission came, and she was glad when he stood and left the box with the gentlemen to seek refreshments. The glass of fruit juice she was handed was most welcome, and she finished it quickly, glad that he stayed with her until the last moment, before they re-joined their companions in the box.
The second half of the opera began, and she wished that he would hold her hand again. The box was dark enough that no one would notice if he held it for the duration of the performance. The very thought made her cheeks warm, and she almost gasped aloud when her wish was granted and his hand repossessed her own.
Phoebe could not explain to anyone if she were asked how she felt, as the Earl of Beckton held her hand. He did nothing else, aside from stroke the back of it once or twice with his thumb. The caress seemed somehow much more sensual and naughty than it was, and Phoebe struggled to breathe after a time. She frequently had to release the breaths she could not stop herself from holding, at once wanting the torture to end, and yet never wanting him to let go of her hand. When the final aria was being sung, he squeezed it gently again and released her, so that by the time the house was on its feet applauding the singers, she was once more in possession of her senses and had managed to cool her heated cheeks.
“That was simply marvellous!” Her mother was gushing all the way home from the opera house. Phoebe remained silent. “I wonder if we could go again to see another opera?”
“I expect we can find out from his lordship,” her father said.
“Would you enjoy another visit to the opera, Phoebe?” her mother asked, forcing her daughter to sit up and pay attention.
“It would be most agreeable, Mama,” she said, managing not to blush, because she knew what it was she had enjoyed about the evening, and it had nothing to do with the performances on stage.
“Will you ask his lordship, Percy?” she asked her husband, who nodded his assent but remained silent.
In the house, Mrs Alexander went into rhapsodies about the beauty of the performance and thanked the earl profusely for the invitation. Phoebe observed the amusement that Lord Beckton managed to extinguish from his eyes before he looked at her mother and accepted her thanks. He was gracious, but she knew he found her mother as tiring as she often did these days. They had taken the Viscount back to his own lodgings, but her mother made sure to ask the Earl to convey her thanks to him as well. Having been assured that he would do as she requested, she took herself off to bed, and Phoebe followed her, hesitating only a moment, to say, as she passed by the Earl at the bottom of the stairs,
“Thank you for a delightful evening, your lordship, I very much enjoyed it.”
He smiled at her. “As did I, Miss Alexander. It is my fervent hope that it may be repeated soon.”
Two weeks after their evening at the opera, Lady Iris and her nephew hosted a lavish dinner party, to which they invited twenty of their closest family and friends. Although he had not as yet proposed, Phoebe knew, because she had overheard the servants gossiping, that the party was to be a kind of informal introduction of her to his guests as his intended bride. Her mother had insisted that she dress with extra special care, as though she knew of such a plan. Even her father, who normally stayed out of discussions about her apparel, suggested that she might wish to enhance her appearance for the evening.
She had decided on a satin and lace emerald green dress that picked up the highlights in her eyes. The bodice was low cut, almost daringly so, but managed to retain some maidenly modesty. The skirts were full and she had her hair piled up in becoming ringlets around her head, with a few left to slip enticingly down her slender neck and across her cheek. She had used a little discreet colour on her cheeks and lips with her mother’s approval, and when she surveyed herself, she was astonished at how different she looked. She felt older, and somehow more ready to face the world than she had before.
Until, that is, she stepped off the last tread of the stairs and found herself standing next to the man she had been quite prepared to despise for the rest of her life. He took her breath away. His curly black hair was as riotously attractive as ever, the wayward lock already falling over his eye. His coat and cravat drew her attention to his face and wide shoulders, and his breeches encased his legs tightly, drawing her gaze down his thighs to his Hessian boots. She pulled her gaze away, but found herself forced to look at him again when he said, “Good evening, Miss Alexander. As ever, you are a glorious sight to behold! I am honoured to be the man to escort you this evening.”
He extended his arm, and she rested her palm lightly on his elbow, and walked with him into the large open room where guests were milling about waiting to be summoned to dinner.
“I cannot say enough about how ravishing I find you, Miss Alexander,” he said in a voice only she could hear. “I did not think the happiness I felt in the simple touch of your hand could easily be topped, and yet here I am quite overwhelmed by your beauty.”
Phoebe regarded him in mild astonishment. “My lord, you wax poetry this evening. It is an unaccustomed thing in you. Whatever has possessed you to make you change so completely from…?”
She stopped, not wanting to spoil the newfound camaraderie between them by mentioning his nickname. He would not leave it so, however, and asked her to finish her thought.
“Because,” he said, “I find I enjoy listening to your voice, and admire your independence.�
��
“You are aware of your reputation amongst the ton, are you not, my lord?”
“Ah...the Lord of Ice.” He smiled. “I am indeed, and a less flattering description of me I cannot imagine. Perhaps we can discuss it together soon? I must mingle with my other guests, and I see your mother approaching, which is likely a sign that I should not be monopolising your time.”
He slipped away on a chuckle as her mother arrived, looking her over and observing her flushed cheeks.
“Are you all right, my dear?” she asked. “Did the Earl upset you again?”
Phoebe appreciated her mother’s concern. She loved her parents—even though they often infuriated her—because she knew that beneath it all, they loved her and wanted what was best for her. And she knew that her mother would defend her fiercely, nor would she allow anyone to hurt her only child.
“No indeed, Mama,” she said. “Quite the contrary. He has been most solicitous and complimentary.”
“I expect there will be a proposal soon,” her mother whispered in her ear. “I’m glad that you have managed to find a common ground with his lordship. Marriage is always easier when two people are not at loggerheads.”
Despite the great number of people, dinner passed by pleasantly. Later, once the guests assembled in the drawing room, which had been extended by the removal of a screen that Phoebe had never noticed before, and the French doors out to the balcony were opened, Lady Iris thanked her guests for coming and invited them to get ready to be entertained. She introduced Phoebe as the daughter of close friends of the family and then sat down while Phoebe played old favourites and requests. It was a good half an hour before she was allowed a break, and the applause made her blush. She knew she played well, but to hear the way the guests spoke gave her an even greater sense of how well worth the effort all her practising had been.
A trio had been hired, and they were set up in the dining room, from which the table and chairs had been removed. Those wishing to dance were invited to step into the space, and Phoebe found herself in Lord Beckton’s arms for the waltz, a most decadent dance, recently introduced at Almack’s.
