When the Earl Met His Match

by Stacy Reid

A few days later, Phoebe sat in the drawing room on a plush sofa, her feet propped on a well-padded ottoman. At her request, Caroline had been joining her in this room after breaking her fast. Caroline had no precept to guide her, and Phoebe wanted to help her with all the knowledge she had gleaned as she’d prepare for her come-out. Did Caroline know how to dance, to hold court with the wittiest of them, how to remain unflappable when those who deem themselves superior turn up their noses and make cutting comments in accents of withering scorn? It was not an easy task they had set for themselves. This was their fifth day of meeting in the larger drawing room near the eastern gardens for lessons. Phoebe had taken the time to prepare Caroline on what to expect at her coming out next season and had also given a few lessons in the art of polite chitchat and even flirting.

  They had spent several hours laughing at how ludicrous the lords and ladies of society could be; however, Caroline had eagerly soaked up every piece of advice from Phoebe, even though she admitted she was not an authority on ton life. Caroline had revealed herself to be charming, lively, full of wit, and utterly distracting. Phoebe suggested to Hugh that it was best to hire a dancing tutor to teach his sister the complicated dances.

  Caroline’s face creased in a tight grimace of discomfort as she sat on the sofa in front of Phoebe. Resting a hand on her stomach, Phoebe considered the girl, who was only two years younger than herself, with some measure of amusement. “Is it that torturous to wear a pretty dress, Caroline?”

  “Yes,” she muttered, gritting her teeth, tugging at the ribbon around her waist and the laces at her sleeves.

  Phoebe laughed lightly. “For what my observation is worth, you are stunning.”

  And she had drawn forth a gasp from Phoebe when she had entered the drawing room a few minutes earlier. The light blue dress with the new lower waist complimented her figure, and her ash blonde hair was caught up in a loose chignon with artful tendrils caressing her cheeks. Sarah had buffed the nails on her hands, so they no longer appeared cracked, and the maidservant had instructed Caroline to wash her face in rose water for several mornings. Not that it had been needed, for her beauty was fresh and unique.

  Her gray eyes widened, and she patted her beautifully coiffed hair. “Truly?”

  Phoebe smiled. “Yes. And I promise you there are benefits of employing a lady’s maid who knows the latest styles to fashion your hair. There are those who pride themselves on being connoisseurs of great fashion and beauty. A measured word of approval from any of society’s matrons would see you received rather well in the ton.”

  Caroline wrinkled her nose, looking appropriately aghast. “So I am not to be judged on my own merits and intelligence, but if someone decides to like me or not. And if they give that nod, the throng will follow?”

  Phoebe took a delicate sip of the tangy brew of tea. “Yes. Knowing how to drive, how to ride, dance, how to walk, how to flirt artlessly is de rigueur for anyone of high society, and I am afraid you will have to learn.”

  Her eyes flashed with defiance. “Then I do not need the ton’s approval, only from the gentleman I am to marry.”

  That determined defiance, though excellent it might be, would not serve her well in the ton. Society did not celebrate a lady’s unique individuality, nor would they appreciate Caroline’s snubbing the need for their approval. It would be the surest way to alienate herself from those who believed themselves the arbiter of who was granted the nod of acceptance.

  “If you seek to marry within their ranks, to be accepted in their social circle, you do need their acceptance, dear Caroline. I regret to say that ladies showing their wit is frowned upon, and one can only wish to form an attachment with a gentleman who would appreciate your peculiar charm.”

  Caroline glanced away momentarily, biting on her lower lip. “And what if no matter what I do, even if I learn to dress in the first stare of fashion, walk as if I am on water, be witty and charming but not too bright to overshadow everyone else…what if they still think I am not good enough? Living here, I enjoy a considerable independence, which I am willing to curtail because of the dreams in my heart. But I cannot help but wonder what if it is still not enough for what I dearly hope?”

  “What do you most ardently wish for?”

  A faraway look entered her eyes. “I daresay you might think me ungrateful should I say it.”

  Phoebe’s heart clenched at the yearning on her face. “I surely would not,” she gently reassured.

  Caroline stood and hugged her arms across her heart. “I want a grand love with a gentleman who loves me beyond consequences and scandal. When I look into his eyes, I will see acceptance of…of everything that I am. I want children…a lot of them, and my family…they will not be ashamed of me.”

  “A noble aspiration I would never dare dream of scoffing at,” Phoebe said, smiling up at her.

  Caroline lowered her hands and fisted one on her hip. “And do you think such a dream attainable or do you think me foolish?”

  “I do not think you are foolish.” Merely whimsical as I once was. Except Phoebe’s thoughts turned to Hugh, and immediately her heart started to pound, a state of existence she’d never felt in all the time she wanted to marry George. She felt almost embarrassed to admit her feelings for George had been so easily altered and erased.

  Caroline hurried over and took the empty teacup and saucer from her. She placed them on the tea trolley then made her way to sit beside Phoebe.

  “So you believe such a love between a man and a woman to be possible?”

  “I daresay it exists, but I have limited experience in that regard. The man I thought once loved me proved himself to be inconstant and was quite easily swayed. I have no expectations or hope toward such sentiments.” Discomfort curled through her, and with some alarm, she sensed the falseness in her own words.

  Caroline’s eyes lowered to Phoebe’s belly.

  “I see,” she murmured sympathetically. “That is good, then…not good that I think he abandoned you,” she said hastily. “But that you have no expectations of grand love. My brother…he is a very reserved sort of person, and I daresay he would not know what romantic love was even if it bit him in the arse daily.”

  Phoebe, drawing a resolute breath, said, “I am aware of your brother’s thoughts on love. I daresay they are like mine.”

  Caroline arched a brow. “Are they?”

  “Yes,” Phoebe said firmly, ignoring the sound of disbelief from her friend. “Do you…do you know why your brother is so averse to the experience?”

  Caroline hesitated briefly. “Father…the old earl often cautioned my brothers about falling in love. It is a mantra of Father’s, really, but as I grew, I did not think such warnings were necessary. Hugh does not allow anyone close. Growing up, I was keen for a better relationship, but he kept me at a careful distance. For a long time, I thought it deliberate on his part because he thought I was inferior to him.”

  “I do not perceive that to be his character. The kindness and lack of prejudice he has shown me does not reveal a man puffed up with vanity and his own importance. I sense that you have misunderstood your brother!”

  Caroline smiled. “If you recall our first meeting, I told you he was dying. He had fallen ill with influenza, and the doctors told us the chances of Hugh surviving were very slim. It is a contagious illness, and he allowed a young boy and girl who had the disease to travel with him in his coach because it was raining quite heavily.”

  Another faraway look entered her eyes. “I truly believed he would die…and my heart could not bear the notion. I went to his bedside despite orders to never enter his rooms, and I confessed that I loved him dearly.”

  Phoebe shifted on the sofa to ease the growing discomfort in her lower limbs. “And what did he say?”

  “After staring at me for a very long moment, he smiled. And that reassured me greatly, for my brother is not the sort to readily of
fer a smile. It was after that encounter I resolved to learn his language.”

  Phoebe stared at her in astonishment. “But that was last year!”

  Caroline flushed guiltily. “I confess both William and I did not perceive that Hugh held us in deep affection. It is simply not his way to be…emotional, but he cares.”

  Phoebe rested her hands protectively across her stomach, hating the sudden way her heart ached. “And your warnings earlier, you do not believe him to care about me beyond the advantage I bring to this marriage with my connections?”

  Caroline grasped her hand eagerly. “Pray do not regard it to mean so! I truly mean that Hugh is extremely reserved, and I believe he is careful with his heart, though he does not know it. I’ve never seen him emotional or too concerned about anything, and I simply did not wish for you to have too many expectations that would only lead to a heartbreak. I…I saw how you looked at him earlier when you thought no one was looking.”

  Alarm darted through her. “And how did I look?”

  “Do you not know it?” Caroline asked softly, her eyes wide and luminous.

  Phoebe wanted to know exactly how she appeared so she might nip that in the bud, and was about to demand it, when prudence intervened. Wolf bounded into the drawing room and jumped onto the sofa beside Phoebe. She laughed when he licked her chin.

  “Ill-mannered beast!” Caroline cried, trying to shoo him away.

  “Please, no, let him be,” Phoebe said. “I’ve missed him dreadfully these days.”

  Caroline hesitated, but clearly sensing that Phoebe wished to be alone, she made excuses and hurried from the room.

  Phoebe was about to stand when the housekeeper bustled inside.

  “There is a letter for you, milady,” she stated with a kind smile.

  “A letter!”

  “Yes,” she said, handing it to her.

  Phoebe recognized the seal immediately. It was from Richard. Her chest lifted rapidly, and such emotions swirled inside her, the most profound being happiness. She was barely aware when the housekeeper departed the room. With a small groan, she heaved herself from the sofa and padded over to the small writing desk by the window. Grasping the letter opener, she quickly pried open the sealed wax. To her surprise, there was an additional letter enclosed within this one.

  Dear Phoebe,

  I wish I had been able to travel to you immediately upon receiving your address from our father. Evie is with child and has been terribly ill, so we have taken to the countryside and away from the pollution of town. I am very relieved that you are safe. You have been missing for weeks, and I have been searching just as long. I wish you had not run away; I wish you had come to me. I understand the fright and uncertainty you must have felt to motivate you to run from England and the help you know I would have rendered. I have diligently researched the Winthrop family and the little that could be ascertained about your husband. While he seems to be a man of great wealth, there is little to ascertain about his true character and motive.

  Trust that I have enough wealth and power to extricate you from the situation you are in. You need not remain married to this man. I will see that all traces of it are buried, and there will be no scandal.

  Phoebe gasped, “Oh, Richard, that is not what I want!”

  And she knew her brother as the powerful Lord Westfall could make many things happen. Taking a deep breath, she continued reading.

  Enclosed is a letter from young George Hampstead.

  The room swirled around Phoebe for a few seconds.

  I was determined to find the bounder who took advantage of you and then abandoned you to the wolves and put a bullet in his black heart. What I found instead was a young man in love with you and quite willing to do the honourable thing. I perceive that you must hold considerable affections for him or this circumstance would not have arisen. I will make the necessary arrangements to see this marriage to Winthrop set aside and you marry Hampstead.

  For a breathless moment, Phoebe felt as if she could not drag any air into her lungs.

  “Marry George?”

  How dare her brother try to decide for her without asking what she wanted! She quickly opened the letter from George.

  Dear Phoebe,

  I have been an unmitigated ass and I fear I have made the biggest mistake of my life and I will sorely regret not fighting for you more. I have called off my engagement to Miss Dawkins because in good conscience I could not marry another when you occupy my heart.

  “Oh, George,” she cried. “You fool!” To have hurt another lady so callously. Phoebe could not imagine the scandal and mortification his actions must have brought to Miss Dawkins and her family.

  I have not been able to stop thinking about you. I love you and I know it with my whole heart. After I broke off the attachment with Miss Dawkins, I tried to find you, but it was as if you disappeared from the face of the Earth. Then Lord Westfall showed up on my doorstep to question me. He said that you will be returning to Town soon. I beg you to forgive me and to grant me the opportunity to right the wrong I did to you. Please marry me, Phoebe. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.

  Love, George.

  A choked sound slipped from her, and she crumpled the letters in her hands. Richard had either threatened George or he had really realized he made a mistake. Either way, she did not care, and she would most certainly respond and let Richard know. To George, she had nothing to say. He was in the past.

  Phoebe’s heart pounding, she turned around and froze. Hugh framed the doorway, his eyes harsh and penetrating, yet his face politely indifferent. She thrust her hands behind her back, and he arched a brow and came further through the door.

  “Who is George?” Hugh signed, his expression mild and vaguely interested.

  How long had he been standing there? “I…” It felt silly that she had pushed the letters behind her, and she did not understand why she had done so. “My brother…Richard…he wrote to me.”

  Hugh said nothing, and his unwavering regard pushed her to further speech.

  “He…he believes our marriage is…is a mistake…and…” She stopped talking when he canted his head to the side.

  His fingers spoke. “I see. And with his power and influence, he will bury our union, which is still unconsummated, and allow for a marriage with this George.”

  She had never doubted that her husband was a shrewd man. Phoebe pressed a hand to her chest, as if that would still the furious pounding of her heart. She was not sure what she expected from her husband in this moment, but it was not the insouciance displayed. Her brother did have the money to make the world turn in the direction he wished, but so did Hugh.

  “Yes.”

  Hugh’s gaze lowered to her swollen mound. “Is George the person who is responsible for your pregnancy?”

  She lifted her chin, quite aware Hugh had never asked her questions about her circumstances. “Yes.”

  “And do you wish to leave and marry him?”

  Phoebe staggered and reached out to grasp the arm of the sofa for support. “I am married to you,” she breathed. “I…I cannot just leave, Hugh.”

  “That does not answer my question.”

  To Phoebe’s mind, it did. But then she recalled his mother had been married when she had left to live with her lover. Her lips parted, and she stared at him with a sense of shock. “No, I do not want to marry him,” she said empathically. “And this entire conversation is ludicrous because I am married to you.”

  He arched a quizzical brow. “Do you not still love this man? Many people have acted with rank foolishness in the name of love. I see no evidence you would be an exception.”

  How easy he spoke of the notion of her loving another man. Phoebe was flummoxed by the ache traveling through her heart down to her very bones. “I love no one,” she said with icy civility.

 
They stared at each other for long moments, and she desperately wondered what thoughts went on in his head. Her husband dipped into a short bow, turned around, and walked away. Why had he sought her out in the first place? Folding the letters, she tucked them into the drawer of the writing desk then walked over to the sofa and sat down, feeling bewildered.

  What had just happened?

  Wolf, who had been lazing on the carpet, bounded up on the sofa. After cuddling with Wolf for several minutes, Phoebe rang for Sarah, who assisted her to the music room down the hallway. Once there, she sat before one of the most beautiful pianofortes she had ever seen and lightly tested the keys, which were revealed to be well tuned. Taking a deep breath, she played, hoping to hide away from the brewing feelings in her heart and what it might mean if her husband proved incapable of returning them.

  Her fingers leaped as if they had a life of their own, and music spilled into the air.

  Thoughts of Hugh, from their early letters to the first moment she met him to their many kisses, swirled in her mind and heart. A mix of confusion, doubt, and such terrible yearning for more collided inside and drove her to play with impassioned intensity.

  Chapter Twelve

  The scent of lemon wax and pinecones was redolent on the air, and in the distance, someone played on the pianoforte. The old earl, who had been hobbling down the hall, paused, acute longing settling on his face. Whoever played was incredibly skilled, and Hugh suspected it was his wife, for the grand pianoforte had been silent for years.

  Once he’d asked his father why he ordered it to be cleaned and tuned so faithfully when none of his children played. And it was then he’d learned his mother loved music and it was for her the earl had bought the instrument. His father shuffled toward the music room and eased the door open. Hugh silently padded closer, so he was positioned some distance away behind his father and could also see into the room. His wife sat on the well-padded bench, her spine straight, her hair a riot of waves over her shoulders and back, her bare toes curled into the carpet. And she played without using music sheets.