by Aileen Fish
The woman at his side didn’t dally, but marched straight toward a tallish woman in deep red, her pace hurried as if she had the most interesting on dit to share. That much was true—he wanted to meet Lady Phoebe, which would give Lady Appledown something to talk about for weeks, whether she was pleased with him or not.
“My dear friend,” Lady Sefton began, “have you met Lord Basingstoke? His mother and I have been friends…well, longer than either of us will own to.”
The matron studied him, her expression unreadable. “I don’t believe I have. Good evening, sir.”
“What do you think of the number of attendees tonight?” He asked, aiming for neutral conversation until he could guess her opinion of him. “Is it always so crowded?”
Their small talk continued until the music ended. Basingstoke stole a covert glance to see if Lady Phoebe approached from the dance floor. She’d been on the far side of the room, so the wait for her to join them seemed unending.
“Lady Phoebe,” Lady Sefton said. “I am delighted to introduce you to Lord Basingstoke.”
She curtsied. “In truth, we’ve already met, but it was several years ago. I was with the Duke of Hartshorne and Lady Marjorie, as she was then. They’ve married now, as I’m sure you know.”
What a cad he was not to remember her. How was it possible not to have noticed her? It must have happened after one of the three-day card games at the club, when he wasn’t even certain of his own name. “I’m chagrined to realize I don’t recall our meeting. May I make it up to you? I’d be honored if you’d dance with me.”
***
Phoebe fought not to gape at the earl. Basingstoke was here, in front of her—in front of half of Polite Society—asking her to dance. Was this truly happening, or was she home in her bed, asleep? “I’d enjoy that, sir.”
She didn’t even check to see what her mother said, but quickly walked with him toward the musicians, who were preparing for the next set. Her heart pounded hard enough that he must hear, and her hands shook with excitement. Holding his arm was an awkward exercise between squeezing hard enough to still her hands or allowing his blood to reach his fingers.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you at an assembly this Season, my lord.”
“I haven’t been to any.”
“Well, we’re honored that you’ve chosen to break that habit.” Oh, that was horrid! She sounded like she was being sarcastic. She had to say something nice. Something to make him glad he asked her to dance. Something flirtatious. “I’ll be the envy of everyone.”
She looked away so she couldn’t see if he was regretting his choice of partner already.
He said nothing.
They lined up with the other dancers and awaited the music. Lord Basingstoke’s gaze was steady on her, as though he was reading her. What did he see? Did he judge her favorably? When the steps allowed them to approach each other, she asked, “Are you in Town long?”
“I spend most of my time here.”
She knew that fact from gossip. She also knew he frequented a private gentlemen’s club with other men of scandal, and that he often called on a certain “boarding” house for young women, neither of which she cared about. It made him all the more exciting.
Of course, the boarding house visits would have to cease upon their betrothal.
“Do you plan to be more social before everyone returns to the country?” She choked on her wording. “That is, may we expect to see you at other assemblies, now that you’ve seen we aren’t too horribly dull?”
He had to wait until the dance brought them together again, but he watched her the entire time, a sly grin softening the hard lines of his face. “Dull would be the last word I’d use to describe you.”
Her heart fluttered, and a wave of heat rose up her neck. “I’m not certain how to take that.”
“I mean the words as a complement, to be sure. You intrigue me.”
She lowered her gaze. Such a relief. He didn’t find her dull. It was a start.
Their set of dances left her warm and tired, from all the bouncing about combining with her excitement. Basingstoke must have noticed. “Shall we get some lemonade?”
We. He wanted her to go with him, not return to her mother and wait for him to fetch a glass. Such a trivial thing to become excited over, but she didn’t care.
“Yes, thank you.”
He offered his arm and she took it gladly, holding her head high as they crossed to the refreshment room. Oh, the stares and glares she received! This one moment was the highlight of the Season—so far, at least.
Her dear friend, Lady Clara Swinton, must have gasped, for her mouth formed a perfect O, and her eyes were almost as wide. Phoebe made a mental note to walk to the park with Clara in the morning and tell her every word the earl spoke.
“Here’s an empty chair,” he said. “Why don’t you sit, and I’ll get our drinks.”
She did, then tried to look nonchalant, as if being in the company of a scoundrel was nothing out of the ordinary for her.
When he approached a few minutes later, his gaze pinned her in place, but his expression was unreadable. He smiled, but she didn’t know him well enough to know if it reflected pleasure or was merely polite.
Reaching for the glass he offered, she thanked him and took a sip. Before she could swallow, her mother bustled through the doorway with Lady Sefton in her wake. Mama marched to the center of the room, clearly searching for Phoebe, whose face grew scalding hot in mortification. She choked on her lemonade.
Clearing her throat, she rose. “My mother must be looking for me.”
When he turned, Basingstoke couldn’t have missed her mother’s glare upon spotting them. He reached for Phoebe’s glass. “I imagine she’ll want you to return to the dancers. In my quest to know you better, I didn’t consider the other gentlemen who wish to partner with you.”
He must know other gentlemen were the last thing on her mother’s mind. Phoebe gave him an apologetic smile. “I should have thought to tell her where we were going.”
Mama pushed through the crowd and stopped abruptly in front of them. “There you are, daughter! Come, it’s time we went home.”
“But Mama—”
“My feet are tired, and I fear a headache is coming on.” She didn’t acknowledge Basingstoke’s presence.
Lady Sefton joined their tense little party. “My lord and ladies, isn’t the music most pleasant this evening?”
Mama remained silent.
Basingstoke glared at Mama.
“Why yes,” Phoebe said. “The quartet has a new violinist, I believe.”
Exhaling in a huff, Mama nodded. “They’re very good.”
“Lord Basingstoke,” Lady Sefton continued, “you and Lady Phoebe were a delight to watch.”
People were watching at that very moment, leaning closer to overhear exactly what was being said. Phoebe prayed nothing would be worth repeating.
Basingstoke bowed his head. “She is such a graceful dancer, she makes even my uncoordinated steps look good.”
“You’re too modest, sir,” Phoebe said quickly.
Mama’s lips were pinched in a tight, thin line, a sure sign she was working hard to refrain from speaking.
Lady Sefton continued her rescue of the uncomfortable situation. “My lord, there’s someone who wishes to make your acquaintance. Ladies, will you allow me to steal this charming, handsome young man away?”
“Of course,” Phoebe said quickly. “We cannot presume to spoil the evening for all the other young ladies hoping for a chance to dance with the earl.”
Basingstoke merely lifted an eyebrow as he studied her intently. Then he took his bow. “Lady Phoebe, I look forward to the next time we meet.”
He wanted to see her again. Phoebe’s mouth went dry, and she sighed. He was a dream.
As he walked away, Mama harrumphed beside her. “‘The next time we meet.’ The nerve of the man. As if I’ll allow you to be seen with him again. Why, I fully intended to refu
se his offer of a dance with you, but you walked away before I could. You mustn’t do that again.”
“Mama, we danced and sought refreshment fully in the eyes of everyone. No scandal took place. No one will make note of our dance, beyond the fact he was here and dancing, of course. I wasn’t the first one he asked, so it meant nothing.”
Oh, please don’t let it mean nothing.
How would she ever decide which assembly invitations to accept in the weeks ahead to better her chances of seeing him again? She, Marjorie and Clara must discuss this first thing in the morning. Since she’d never be able to fall asleep, the hours in bed would give her plenty of time to make a list of places to go this Season.
This couldn’t be the only time she’d speak with him. Life couldn’t be so cruel. She vowed to do everything she could to make certain she saw him as often as possible.
Chapter Three
Last night at Almack’s, a particular earl was observed dancing with a certain Lady P.W. three times! A short time later, it was remarked upon that neither person could be found. Lady P.W. was later discovered beside her friend, the Duchess of H. Where had she been hiding, and who had she been hiding with?
The following morning, Phoebe’s joy knew no bounds when a posy of violets arrived with a note from Basingstoke saying that he would call that afternoon to walk with Phoebe.
Mama, eating breakfast across the table from Phoebe, was not pleased. “That man! Of all the gentlemen you’ve met, why him?”
“I don’t know, Mama. When I look upon him my stomach shivers. If he turns my way, and if he smiles, I feel as though I might swoon.”
“Hmph. Neither of those will make for a happy life. I’ll admit his income is better than many, and his family seat is one of the finer homes in all of England. But his reputation, his character… You know your father won’t allow the match.”
“Why? What has he done that most men haven’t? Prinny, himself—”
With narrowed eyelids, Mama glared. “Your father is not a favorite of the Prince Regent, so he wouldn’t approve of your marrying the Prince, either.”
“Won’t you try to know Basingstoke better before refusing his calls? Or let me know him. I might realize he’s not the man for me, after all.”
“I highly doubt that. I’ve seen how you look at him. You’re deeply infatuated with him already, and nothing beyond marriage will allow you to see the truth. He’s a charming man, and I use the term as in a snake charmer. He’ll only show you the qualities you desire. Then when you’re married and have provided him with an heir, he’ll return to his wild ways.”
“Men mature at some point, don’t they? Most give up their wild ways upon marrying.” At least, that’s what Phoebe hoped. None of her friends complained of their husbands’ behavior. None of them had been accused of any sort of scandal she was aware of, but surely, they’d had some bad habits they gave up.
Life was too unfair. All she ever wanted was to be loved by the Earl of Basingstoke. Now that she had her chance, her parents were going to thwart it.
Patting her lips with her white linen serviette, Phoebe pushed her plate aside and drank some tea. Try as she might, she couldn’t get her cold toast past the lump in her throat. “Mama, you can’t embarrass me by refusing his call. People will assume he refused me, not the other way around. Some will say I was saved by it, but many will deem it proof I’m not a desirable match. Can’t we find a way to let this end naturally? I can tell him there’s someone else.”
“How is that different from simply refusing his call today?” Mama argued while daintily slicing a sausage.
It wasn’t different, but Phoebe would never admit it. Instead, she excused herself and went to her room to write her friends and beg their assistance.
The notes she sent Marjorie and Clara were identical except for the salutation.
Basingstoke will call on me today! Mama wants to refuse him, but I must see him, I must! If it wouldn’t be so horribly inappropriate, I’d await him on the street, just so he couldn’t be turned away. I will find a way to see him. I’ll let you know what transpires at the soonest possible moment.
If, somehow, Mama succeeds in keeping me from seeing him, I beg you both will help me find a way.
Yrs. Phoebe
***
Basingstoke strode up the front steps at the home of the Earl and Countess of Appledown and realized for the first time in memory he was apprehensive about how he’d be received. The way the countess had behaved when he and Lady Phoebe sought refreshments at Almack’s, he doubted she’d be pleased to see him. He wouldn’t be surprised to be informed the family wasn’t at home.
Instead, the regal-looking butler in gold livery stepped aside to allow him in. “The ladies are in the front drawing room. This way, please.”
The large entry suited the butler’s uniform, with Italian marble-topped tables lining the walls and gilt-framed landscapes hanging between gold sconces. The overall effect was much too ostentatious for Basingstoke’s taste.
“Lord Basingstoke,” the butler announced as the earl passed through the open doors.
Lady Appledown stood slowly, her face a polite mask. “My lord, how good of you to call. Will you sit?”
Standing in front of the window, Lady Phoebe was lit from behind, the sunlight surrounding her in a halo of brightness. Her smile was even brighter. Moving out of the light, she gracefully perched on the edge of a chair. “Lord Basingstoke, I’m pleased to see you.”
He chose to ignore her mother’s obvious displeasure and took a seat.
“I received your flowers this morning, they’re very pretty,” Lady Phoebe said.
“Their beauty doesn’t compare to yours,” he replied.
Showing her disapproval, Lady Appledown sniffed loudly.
He again chose to ignore her. “You were by far the fairest of the young ladies at Almack’s. I noticed how many of the men were jealous of my dancing with you.”
His little beauty rolled her hazel eyes. “Really, my lord, you do exaggerate. The others had an equal opportunity to partner with me but they didn’t ask.”
The smile on those lovely lips was more coy than happy, a fact he found most intriguing. Despite her mother’s stern scowl, the young lady flirted with him. It was a complete reversal of the first glance they’d exchanged last night.
“There’s a warmish breeze this afternoon. With your mother’s permission, I’d enjoy walking with you.” He glanced at the countess and was met by that piercing glare.
Pursing her lips tightly, the countess gave a sharp nod.
Nearly jumping to her feet, Lady Phoebe said, “Let me fetch my bonnet.”
Once they reached the street, they strolled side-by-side. When Basingstoke paused to let her pass around a nanny with a group of children, Lady Phoebe’s delicate rosewater scent teased his senses. “Your mother doesn’t approve of me.”
She lowered her gaze as though something on the street fascinated her. “Is that uncommon? No disrespect, my lord, but that W pin you wear isn’t intended to impress the mothers of marriageable daughters.”
“You’re very direct. I enjoy that. It’s a refreshing change.”
“My mother doesn’t think so. She cringes when she hears me. I’m not the daughter she hoped for.” Lady Phoebe peered from behind the brim of her bonnet. “I can’t conform. Oh, I’ll keep my peace when needed, even if I must bite my tongue to do so, but…”
Now she ducked her head. “I believe this is one of those times I should remain silent. Forgive me, Lord Basingstoke.”
“Promise me you’ll never hold back when you speak to me.” He fought a sudden need to reach for her hand. The gossips would have enough to talk about without him taking liberties.
What was happening to him? He was totally besotted over a lady he’d met only the night before. If he could secure her affection as easily as his had claimed her, this whole marriage nonsense could be resolved quickly.
Basingstoke continued to watch her as th
ey strolled, memorizing the lines of her profile. A delicate chin, a pert little nose, topped by an unlined brow. “Do you enjoy the opera?”
“Of course.”
“Is that your true opinion, or what all young ladies are expected to say?”
She laughed, again taunting him with that coy smile. “We had this discussion only moments ago. I’ll always be honest with you.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. Will you accompany me to the opera tomorrow evening?”
“I’d like that, thank you.”
They continued on for several blocks before turning back, neither speaking. It was as though nothing more needed to be said. The quiet between them wasn’t strained, but rather filled with contentment and a peculiar sort of peace.
Basingstoke rather liked this new feeling of being so comfortable in the company of a woman. How soon could he ask her father’s permission to marry, without seeming desperate?
Desperation be damned, he—like Lady Phoebe—refused to conform to the constraints of Polite Society. He would propose as soon as he saw fit to do so.
Chapter Four
Could Lord B~ have finally recognized his own heart?
Their evening at the opera went so well, Basingstoke invited Lady Phoebe to the Egyptian Hall the next afternoon to see the new items added to the exhibit from the Americas. The Duke of Hartshorne and his wife chaperoned them, and their relaxed supervision gave them the freedom to speak alone, albeit in a crowd of strangers.
With the weather being so nice, they walked several blocks to the museum. He continually studied her from the corner of his eye, taking in her small, rosy mouth and the curve of her neck. Her pale skin glowed with healthy beauty.
And if he wasn’t careful, he’d fall at her feet and beg for one more glimpse of her sweet smile.
