Earl of Basingstoke

by Aileen Fish

  Yet she always smiled…an honest smile from within, at least when she looked at him.

  Stop, man! Lady Phoebe wasn’t the sort to allow puppies to lap at her heels, and he must prove he’s the sort of man she wants to marry. He grunted in disgust. “Prove myself.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Had he spoken out loud? He grimaced. “I—I hope to prove to myself that I remember my studies when I see the exhibits.”

  She shaded her eyes and looked up at him. “Do you enjoy history?”

  “I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about it, so I suppose not.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I do, or our afternoon would be quite dull.”

  “Dull, you say?” He rose to the challenge. “My company is never dull.”

  To prove his statement, he trotted across the street and bought a rose from a flower girl. Breaking the stem to a short length, he tucked it among the silk flowers on Lady Phoebe’s bonnet. The red clashed horribly with the peach blooms, defeating his entire purpose. Removing it, he said, “Alas, this bud is ashamed of how poorly it looks next to your beauty.”

  When he lifted his arm to toss it into the street, Lady Phoebe grasped his arm. “Don’t you dare throw it away.”

  He studied the bud in his hand. “That would be a sorry thing to do, wouldn’t it.”

  She held out her palm. He set the flower in it. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled. The smile spreading on her lips was angelic.

  It hit him like a horse kicking his gut. He sucked in air so he could speak. “The rose is pleased to have brought you joy.”

  “You know what a flower is thinking?”

  “Why do they exist but to bring joy to all who look upon them?” What was he doing? Next, he’d begin spouting poetry. Basingstoke was relieved his friends weren’t there to hear him. They’d ban him from the Wicked Earls’ Club long before he married, which was the only reason any of them left.

  “You’re right, you aren’t dull, but I never imagined you would be.”

  “Do you spend many hours each day contemplating my charm?”

  Her cheeks reddened. He’d struck a nerve. Did she think of him as often as he did her? “That many hours. I see. And am I equal to what you’ve imagined?”

  The emotion in her eyes nearly overwhelmed him. Happiness—or was it delight? How would one differ to the other? Some sort of affection was there, unless he was wishful thinking.

  He preferred to believe it was there.

  Looking ahead, he realized they’d reached the Egyptian Hall. He paused and waited for the duke and duchess to join them before entering.

  “Lady Phoebe,” Hartshorne said as he held the door open for the ladies, “your cheeks have a bit of color. Perhaps we were too long in the sun. I’ll have my carriage brought around for our trip home.”

  “Thank you,” she said, ducking her head as she removed her bonnet.

  Basingstoke said nothing, knowing their flirting had more to do with her blush than the sun. They got on so well together. That bode well for a happy future.

  Once his eyes adjusted to the interior light, he scanned the room. “Where do we begin? On the left, then make our way around?”

  “That makes as much sense as any plan.” Lady Phoebe began to walk in that direction.

  He forced himself to don a sober façade, not aloof but as far from lovesick fool as possible. With Hartshorne and the duchess walking with them, his temptation to flirt was tampered. Just a bit.

  The first display contained items collected from the Americas, an assortment of pottery and gold items. Marjorie—Her Grace—studied the pottery. “These vessels are interesting. Some are so primitive, and some are so detailed as to compare to Greek statues.”

  She was correct. The ones that could have been crafted by a child had exaggerated features, and red markings in the form of tattoos or garment embellishments.

  “That one has giraffe spots,” Hartshorne commented.

  “I doubt they’d seen giraffes so long ago, when they only had small boats to travel in.” Lady Phoebe looked to Basingstoke as if for confirmation.

  “Excellent point,” he responded.

  Their discussion continued as they circled the room, making casual remarks about the curious findings on display. He was enjoying the time almost disproportionately. Just being with Lady Phoebe made the time pass much too quickly.

  Then the spiteful gossips noticed them.

  “It’s not surprising she is with a man of his character,” said one man. “Just look at her friend. Lady Marjorie married the Duke of Hartshorne in spite of him disgracing that girl. You know, the one the brother stepped up and married. Now there was a good man.”

  Basingstoke bristled, glancing askance at Hartshorne to see if he’d heard. If he had, he was doing an excellent job of keeping his features schooled.

  A woman with that man added her point of view. “One would imagine Lady Phoebe’s parents would have forbidden her from associating with the couple. It’s a shame such a sweet girl should fall into the hands of that man, Basingstoke.”

  The duchess walked up to stand beside Lady Phoebe. She pointed to a gold figure. “Do you suppose the half-circle headdress he wears represents the sun or the moon?”

  “My initial thought,” said Hartshorne, “Was that it was feathers, but I see no feather demarcation, so it must be one or the other as you say.”

  The gossips weren’t finished. “What do you imagine Lady Phoebe thinks of the by-blow? She must know of the boy. How can she allow herself to be seen in public with Basingstoke?”

  “Such a shame to see the ruin of two such respectable families,” the man said.

  Basingstoke had heard enough. He tucked Lady Phoebe’s hand into his side and led his party to another display. His vision burned red and his body shook with the restraint it took not to react. Nothing he said to the rumormongers would stop them from spreading their vicious, incorrect tales. All he could do was try to shield Lady Phoebe from hearing them. As some point the gossips would find something new to focus upon, and he and Lady Phoebe could enjoy their lives together.

  “Let’s continue to the next exhibit. I think we’ve seen everything there is to see here.” Without waiting for a response, Basingstoke strode to the next room. There, realizing he’d practically dragged Lady Phoebe along, he slowed, and paused in front of a collection of Greek artifacts.

  But the gossip continued. “Do you suppose he’s compromised her already? How long do you think it will be before he moves on to his next victim?”

  Enough.

  Basingstoke marched to the offending couple, neither of whom he recognized. “You seem to have quite a fascination with my life, and that of my friends. Yet you are incorrect in many of the crimes we supposedly committed against society. I suggest you stop talking about us, or the Duke of Hartshorne will speak to the proprietor about having you removed from the premises.”

  That said, he returned to his friends.

  “Hear, hear,” Hartshorne said loudly enough for no one to miss.

  “Thank you,” added the duchess.

  Lady Phoebe’s gaze held a hint of something new, respect, or pride, perhaps? “Yes, thank you for coming to my rescue.”

  “I will always do my best to shield you from harm, physical or verbal.” Basingstoke reached for her hand and held it to his chest. “Your happiness is important to me.”

  Her answering smile was shy and she ducked her head. Lifting the rose to her nose, she inhaled.

  A slight portion of the weight he carried on his conscience lifted. He mightn’t be capable of keeping Lady Phoebe from overhearing those hurtful words, but he could make it clear how much he wanted to protect her from being wounded by them.

  That was all he could do.

  Chapter Five

  That wicked Lord B~ has been seen once again with Lady P.W. They are becoming quite the couple. Could there be a betrothal in the offing?

  Giggling, Phoebe closed her journal and
leaned back in her seat to look out the window. She was foolish to think Basingstoke would fall in love with her—at least, in a matter of mere days. Yet what else could she think? In the weeks since they’d been re-introduced at Almack’s, he’d called on her at home multiple times, taken her to the opera once, and last night they danced both the supper dance and the final dance set of the evening. He’d escorted her and her mother to their carriage and promised to call soon.

  He must be in love. There was no other explanation. No explanation she wished to hear, perhaps.

  When a footman announced Marjorie was waiting for her in the morning room, Phoebe hurried downstairs. Rushing across the red wool carpet, she grasped Marjorie’s hands. “I’m so happy!”

  Marjorie shook her head, chuckling. “If he’d done something like kissing you or proposing, you’d have called upon me first thing this morning. What has you so cheerful?”

  “Life. Love. Lord Basingstoke.” She sighed, drawing breath from all the way down in her toes. “They’re all the same thing.”

  “You might think differently when you read this.” Marjorie handed her the morning newspaper. “Mrs. Crookshank’s column.”

  “I’ve caught Mrs. Crookshank’s eye? What does she day?” Phoebe snatched the paper.

  “You won’t be so pleased when you read it. Neither will your parents.”

  Skimming down the column, Phoebe came to the paragraph in question. She read aloud. “Lady P.W. was seen entering a carriage several hours after leaving Lady D~’s ball. The fact the carriage was parked in front of Lord B~’s town house couldn’t mean what it appears to do. Could it?”

  Phoebe lowered the newspaper and met Marjorie’s gaze, imploring, “Tell me this isn’t true.”

  “You’re the one who would know that, not me.”

  “I mean, tell me this isn’t really in the paper. They’re accusing me of having a liaison with Basingstoke. This is a joke, isn’t it?”

  Leading her to the nearest chair, Marjorie said, “You just read it. Tell me you didn’t…”

  “Didn’t what?” Phoebe tensed with shock and anger. “How could you even consider the thought? I thought you were my friend.”

  “I am. I’m sorry. Who do you suppose it was seen at his home?”

  “Who says anyone was there? Mrs. Crookshank creates most of the gossip based on her own whims. The true problem is that others will believe it. Mama will never let me leave the house again.”

  “You have more to worry about than that. No man will have you as his wife, now. Not after someone claims to have seen you leaving the earl’s house alone in the middle of the night.”

  Tossing the newspaper onto the table beside her, Phoebe rose and began to pace, pinching her index finger with her other hand to allow herself to focus. “Basingstoke is the only man whose opinion concerns me, and he’ll know the truth of it.”

  “Your father will never allow you to marry the earl. I’m truly amazed your mother continues to let you be seen with him. That will come to an end now. She’ll likely take you back to the country.”

  Father never read those columns, but someone would show it to him at some point during the day. Then she’d have to face his displeasure.

  Phoebe didn’t have to wait more than a few minutes before Father slammed the front door behind him as he entered, bellowing, “Bring my daughter to me!”

  Meeting Marjorie’s gaze, Phoebe chewed her lower lip. “Will you wait for me?”

  Her friend shook her head. “Write me after he banishes you do the dark tower. I’m sure there’s a footman so besotted with you he’d brave going against your father’s wishes to deliver a letter to me.”

  Laughing, Phoebe sighed. “Well, then, I’d best get this over with.”

  She followed Marjorie into the entry hall, hugged her friend good-bye, then ascended the staircase to her father’s office. The sounds coming from within the room told her he was opening and closing drawers, an odd habit he did when he was angry. She’d never been brave enough to ask what he looked for, and he always stopped when she came in the room.

  “I’m here, Papa.” She stood in front of his desk to await his censure.

  He slammed one more drawer shut, then straightened. His coat was unbuttoned, and he shoved it out of his way when planting his hands on his hips. Then he folded his arms across his broad chest, instead, still studying Phoebe. Finally, he swiped his palm over his balding scalp.

  Shaking his head and lifting his arms in exasperation, he asked, “Am I to believe what I’m being told? You were taught better than that, so it can’t be true. Were you at that man’s house?”

  Phoebe held his gaze with her head high. “Of course not, Father.”

  “Yet there’s some reason people will believe you were?”

  “I’ve done nothing I’m ashamed of, nothing that could hint something like this were true.” She refused to beg him to believe her. Instead, she had to fight to keep her anger from her tight voice.

  Father motioned to the chair beside her. “Sit.” He sat in his own chair and arranged the items on the desk into military-straight lines and exact positions, a habit she’d also developed over the years.

  When everything suited his preferences, he again met Phoebe’s gaze. “Your mother told me you were receiving calls from Basingstoke and have been seen with him practically daily.”

  There was no “practically” about it, but she didn’t say so.

  “I didn’t approve, but your mother convinced me it was for the better to allow it. This morning’s newspaper has proven my original feelings were correct.”

  “I’m sorry to bring a hint of scandal on your name, Father, but the possibility of gossip exists no matter whom I’m seen with.”

  Father’s piercing look held her. “Don’t take me for a fool, Daughter. Few men have as bad a reputation as Basingstoke.”

  “He hasn’t done anything any number of men have also done before they marry.”

  “Phoebe, you cannot expect to justify his past actions by comparing them to others. And you cannot be included in his future. End this now. Send him a note stating you wish for him not to call again. If not, I’ll have your mother take you back home, and I’ll find a suitable husband for you. An impoverished vicar or widower with children should agree to marry you, if I make a large enough settlement on you.”

  I can’t do that. He can’t do that!

  She couldn’t get the words out of her mouth. “Please…”

  “If you’ve taken a foolish notion to marry the man, I’m sorry.” Her father’s terse expression softened. “Your mother should never have allowed you know him well enough to form an attachment.”

  Her heart had attached itself to him long before this Season. By the time Mama had discovered Phoebe’s inclinations, it was too late.

  “I will leave the wording of your note to you, but I insist it be sent within the hour. We cannot wait a moment longer to stop this gossip and repair your reputation. Go, now, and get it done.”

  Several moments passed before Phoebe could stand and go to her room. She was being punished for something she hadn’t done, and it would affect the rest of her life.

  There must be a way to resolve this so she could still marry Basingstoke. She’d keep searching for an answer until she found it.

  Chapter Six

  It has come to my attention that the Earl of B~ hasn’t been seen escorting Lady P.W.—

  Phoebe scratched out the line in her journal, dipped her pen in the inkwell, and began again.

  For weeks now, Lady P.W. and her wicked beau Lord B~ have been seen everywhere together. Balls, the theatre, the museum…anywhere a couple could be discovered.

  Rereading her entry, she sighed and pushed away the book without blotting the ink. She could no longer pretend she and Basingstoke were together. As her parents had demanded, she’d written the earl, but it wasn’t the polite note ending their new relationship. No, she’d scandalized her family once again, or would have if her letter was
discovered.

  Dear Lord Basingstoke, she’d begun.

  It is of the utmost importance I meet with you this afternoon. I shall be waiting at the three benches by the Serpentine at three o’clock.

  Yrs., Lady Phoebe

  She’d bribed the poor, sweet footman who was always eager to do her bidding, and he delivered the note post haste. She had no way of knowing if the earl received it right away, but she’d wait for him at the appropriate time. She had to hold strong to her belief she and Basingstoke were meant for each other, and that they’d find a way to survive this setback.

  Twenty minutes before three o’clock, Phoebe found her mother reading in the morning room. “I’m going to call on Marjorie,” she lied.

  Mama turned a page without looking up. “Be home in time to dress for Vauxhall this evening. And give my best wishes to her mother.”

  “I will Mama.” Donning her bonnet, Phoebe hurried to leave before anyone could think of something to stop her.

  A single woman walking alone in Hyde Park was unusual, but she tried to look hurried, as though she was catching up with her party. It was early for the fashionable crowd—she’d planned it that way to avoid drawing attention to themselves—so the paths were nearly empty.

  As she rounded the bend in the serpent-shaped river, she saw a man standing at the shore near the benches, hands clasped behind his back. While he could be any tall, dark-haired man, her heart recognized him even from behind.

  Basingstoke turned when she approached, and the sun shone off his teeth when he smiled.

  Her stomach fluttered.

  “Good day, Lady Phoebe.”

  “It’s a very good day, sir.” She hesitated in front of him, wanting something she couldn’t name, then took a seat on one of the benches.

  He followed her, but remained standing, kind enough to take the sun in his own eyes, not hers. “I was surprised to receive your note. Is something amiss?”

  “No. Well, yes.” The foolishness, the utter brazenness of her act struck her, keeping her from finding her words. “Did you read the newspaper this morning?”