Phoebe and the Pea: A Regency Holiday Tale

by Catherine Bilson

  Eugenia has changed her tune since this morning, Phoebe thought as she trailed her cousin up the stairs. Earlier, Eugenia had seemed displeased Phoebe had been crowned queen for the day, but now she was being very friendly. Phoebe had to wonder why.

  No sooner were they closeted within Eugenia’s rooms than Anais came bustling up. “I’ve laid out the sapphire gown for you as you requested, my lady, and I have wash water ready.”

  “Very good, Anais. Now, Phoebe will require your help as well; do you think you can manage both of us?”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  “Since Phoebe looks so well in green, I thought perhaps the jade gown with the jet beading might suit her this evening. Don’t you agree?”

  Anais looked quite startled for a moment, but she nodded quickly. “Mais oui, Miss Faraday shares your green eyes, my lady. The jade will become her very well.”

  “I thought so.” Eugenia hummed happily to herself, crossing to her dressing table and busying herself with plucking pins from her hair. “Maybe a little rouge for your cheeks and lips too,” she remarked.

  Anais traded quizzical looks with Phoebe before going through to the dressing room, presumably to collect the requested jade gown.

  Deciding to make herself useful, Phoebe crossed to Eugenia and picked up a hairbrush. “May I brush your hair, my lady?”

  “And when did you start calling me that? It’s Eugenia, Phoebe. We played together as girls, and I asked for you to come and live with me when Grandmama passed because I recalled our friendship fondly.” Eugenia’s eyes met hers in the dressing mirror, and Phoebe thought her cousin looked a little shamefaced. “You’ve been acting as Eleanor’s governess, but I swear, it was never my intention to press you into service.”

  “I’m delighted to spend time with Eleanor.” Phoebe drew the brush gently over Eugenia’s shining golden locks. “And the truth is, if you hadn’t taken me in, I probably would be working as a governess somewhere. Somewhere with a great deal less security in my position and a great deal more fear. Fear of the male servants or men of the house potentially seeking to take advantage of me. I’m grateful to you, Eugenia.”

  “You are too good, Phoebe. It is I who should be grateful to you!” Eugenia shook her head. “I have been lax in giving you your due courtesy as a member of my family, and I vow it shall not continue.”

  “You are my dear cousin,” Phoebe said, “and I am glad to be here with you and Eleanor and Lord Edmund.”

  “Should you not like your own home and family, though?” Eugenia’s green eyes, so like her own, caught her gaze in the mirror again.

  “Fate has not seen fit to send me a partner as well-suited to me as Lord Edmund is to you,” Phoebe deftly evaded the question, and then followed the evasion with a truth. “My parents loved each other dearly, and I should not care to marry just for the sake of not being alone. I’m quite content with my lot.”

  “Quite understandable,” Eugenia nodded in agreement. “Why, I turned down a marquis and two earls who sought my hand; because even though Edmund is only a baronet, I knew he was the only one for me. You would like to marry though, wouldn’t you? If you met a man for whom you cared?”

  “If I met such a man—who would take me with no dowry and only my distant familial connection with you to recommend me—I would indeed,” Phoebe said with a laugh, “but since I think such a man would be as rare as the mythical unicorn, I shan’t hold my breath waiting for him!”

  Eugenia laughed too, and Anais returned then bearing in her arms the most beautiful gown Phoebe had ever seen, so the subject was allowed to drop.

  “I hardly feel like myself,” Phoebe whispered to Eugenia as they descended the stairs together an hour later. The silk skirts of her gown—beaded with jet in Greek key patterns around the hem—swished heavily around her legs. Her hair was pinned up in an elaborate arrangement of curls, a strand of crystal beads woven into it shimmering whenever she turned her head.

  “You look beautiful,” Eugenia replied, threading her arm through Phoebe’s, “and I have no doubt Major Randwyck will think so too.”

  “Wait, what?” Phoebe stopped walking, but Eugenia’s arm through hers propelled her on into the grand parlor where the rest of the party awaited their arrival.

  Major Randwyck stood close by the door. After Eugenia’s comment, Phoebe couldn’t help but look straight at him to see how he reacted and was both gratified and astonished by the way his mouth fell open, his gray-blue eyes widening as he gaped at her.

  Chapter Six

  Could this be the same woman who’d laughed as she skated around the pond with him earlier, her cheeks and nose pink with cold? The same woman who’d beat him at cards, her quick mind always one step ahead? She looked every inch the elegant Society lady.

  John wasted precious time staring agape at the vision before him and learned anew a lesson he should have recalled: he who hesitates is lost. Cobley almost leapt past him and seized Phoebe’s hand to kiss.

  “Queen Phoebe, you are radiant this evening,” Cobley gushed. Phoebe’s brow furrowed as she stared at the man in apparent confusion.

  No wonder, John thought. Cobley hadn’t shown any indication all day that he’d even noticed her existence, and here he was now fawning over her like a lovestruck dandy. Two more men approached, their eyes fixed on the creamy swells of flesh over the fashionably low-cut bodice of her silk gown. John saw red, his fists clenched at his sides as he watched the three young bucks with Phoebe, standing close to look down her bodice. Worse, Cobley pressed a glass of sherry into her hand, his eyes fixed to her bosom.

  “You should go and rescue her,” a light voice remarked beside him.

  He glanced down to see Lady Eugenia, sipping on her own glass of sherry, her amused green gaze fixed on his. “Miss Faraday is hardly a city under siege,” John said dryly. “I’m sure she is safe from harm in your drawing room, Lady Eugenia.”

  “From harm, certainly, but my cousin is an educated and intelligent woman; the conversation of those three will bore her to tears before we even go into dinner. If you are at all a gentleman, you will rescue her from such a fate.”

  John was pretty sure Eugenia was laughing at him, but he was also quite sure Phoebe’s eyes were already glazing over.

  “I am at your service, my lady,” he said gallantly to Eugenia and was sure he heard her laugh softly behind him as he determinedly set off across the room.

  Phoebe definitely brightened as she saw him coming, a smile curving her soft lips. He used a broad shoulder to nudge his way into the circle of admirers and offered a respectful bow. “Good even, Miss Faraday.”

  “Queen Phoebe, sir!” Cobley laughed, and John eyed him askance. Is the man already in his cups?

  “I beg Her Majesty’s pardon,” he said anyway and was rewarded with a full smile from Phoebe.

  “You are quite forgiven, King John.”

  He cast about for a topic to discuss with her, though her smile threatened to drive the wits right out of his head. “Is Miss Eleanor ready for her performance after dinner?” he asked at last.

  “I regret that I did not see her, but Lady Eugenia’s maid Anais has spent the afternoon with Ellie and assures me she is very excited to be allowed to entertain the company.”

  “The child is how old?” Cobley inquired.

  “Seven, sir.”

  “Seven, eh, and confident enough to perform before strangers?” Cobley chuckled. “Best rein in those tendencies now; else she’ll put off every suitor by appearing too pushy and forward when she comes of age!”

  John was quite sure he and Phoebe were both staring at Cobley in mutual dislike, and the man seemed to sense it despite his inebriation, flushing and mumbling something under his breath before retreating with unseemly haste. His two friends followed.

  Phoebe let out an audible sigh. “Pushy and forward indeed,” she muttered.

  John nodded. “I hope nobody will ever seek to rein in Eleanor’s natural high spirits,” he said,
“or tell her to appear less than she is merely to appease others.”

  “Should you ever have daughters, Major Randwyck,” Phoebe said, surprising him, “I hope they will understand how lucky they are to have a father such as you.”

  John floundered helplessly for a response to that remarkable sentiment, sure his ears were turning red. All he could envision when he tried to imagine daughters of his own was Phoebe surrounded by darling little girls with her wide green eyes.

  Thankfully, he was saved by the butler entering the room to announce that dinner was served. Nothing could be more natural than for him to offer his arm to Phoebe and invite her to accompany him in. She accepted with a shy glance sideways at him, and an unfamiliar feeling of tenderness coiled in the pit of his belly as he looked at her slender, delicate hand placed on his sleeve.

  Eugenia had the happy habit of not insisting everyone be placed at table according to her satisfaction, reserving only her own place at one end and Edmund’s at the other. Everyone else sat wherever they wished, so there was nothing to keep John from holding a chair for Phoebe and then taking the one beside her.

  “I normally take my meals with Ellie in her rooms,” Phoebe leaned close to confide, “so I pray you will forgive me if I fail to be a scintillating conversationalist. I am not in the habit of making polite adult conversation any more, I’m afraid.”

  “Miss Faraday, you have never been less than delightfully interesting in our every conversation to date,” John said with perfect truth, “including the conversations of which Eleanor was a part. Failing all else, you might tutor me in languages; my French and Spanish are well-practiced of late, but my German is sadly rusty.”

  She let out a soft peal of laughter and turned eyes brimming with mirth up to his. “If you wish it, sir! Though all of my languages are of the schoolroom quality. I fear I never have had the chance to travel and consult with native speakers.”

  “Should you like to?” he asked curiously.

  “Very much.” She looked briefly wistful before shaking her head. “Though I could not wish for a more comfortable situation than residing in this household, I admit the opportunity to travel would be wonderful. I did suggest once—now the war is over—it might perhaps be of educational benefit to Eleanor to travel to the Continent with her parents, if they were so inclined. But Lord Edmund looked so aghast at the idea I never mentioned it again.”

  “Edmund is a landsman, I’m afraid.” John chuckled reminiscently. “He would likely be open to touring England and Scotland, but if you suggest a sea crossing, he will find any excuse to avoid it. I distinctly recall him becoming decidedly nauseous even when sailing on the lake near our mutual uncle’s seat at Chawley.”

  “That explains a good deal,” Phoebe agreed. “Well, I have seen little of Great Britain save for Cambridge, here, and my uncle’s house at Hatfield where I lived with my great-aunt for a time. Perhaps I should suggest a tour of the Lake District as an alternative.”

  John nodded in agreement. By now everyone was seated, and the servants were bringing in the soup course. Conversation quieted as the diners applied themselves to their meal.

  “Should you care to travel again, Major?” Phoebe asked when he laid his spoon down. “For pleasure, I mean, now that the war is over?”

  “I should, indeed.” He debated with himself briefly before confiding in her. “I have been offered a post as an aide to our Ambassador at the Danish royal court.”

  Phoebe’s eyes flew very wide. “Oh, how exciting!” she gasped. “Shall you accept?”

  “I am seriously considering it.”

  “Of course, you have been out of England a long time. It would be quite understandable if you wished to settle down,” Phoebe said thoughtfully.

  “That’s not the reason for my hesitation,” John admitted. “My former commanding officer, who has recommended me for the post, advised me that it would be beneficial for me to be married before taking up the position.”

  “Oh.” Phoebe was in the process of taking a sip from her barely-touched wineglass, but she set it down again abruptly. “Of course, a diplomat’s wife is his right hand, is she not?”

  “She is.” He chose his next words carefully. “A lady with a knowledge of, and talent for, languages would be a superior choice.”

  “Oh,” Phoebe said again. “Well. Young ladies entering the Marriage Mart are very well educated, you’ll find. I’m sure Miss Cottesloe, for example, would have an excellent working knowledge of French and Italian at the very least.” She inclined her head toward the pretty child who’d been hanging around him for the last two days.

  John sighed. “Without disrespect to Miss Cottesloe,” he said, “she is neither more nor less than every other milk-and-water miss who has been presented to me as a potential bride since I expressed my intention of seeking one. A very pleasant young lady with the emphasis on young.”

  “Time will fix that soon enough,” Phoebe answered.

  He barked a short laugh. “Quite correct, as always, Miss Faraday, but throwing such an innocent into the intrigues of a royal court would be as kind as introducing a sheep to a wolf pack.”

  She giggled behind a gloved hand, eyes sparkling. “What a sorry image that evokes!”

  “I could not be so cruel, you see. Therefore, I’d be inclined to a wife with a little more knowledge of the world. One who has seen more than the very upper echelons of high society, who has an understanding of the way the common man lives—the common man of whose existence a debutante like Miss Cottesloe is probably barely aware even exists.”

  “Not only young ladies,” Phoebe agreed dryly, glancing across the table as Mr. Cobley roared with laughter at some feeble jest by his dinner partner. “There are plenty of gentlemen who do not notice the existence of those not clothed in silks and satins.”

  “You understand, then,” John said gratefully.

  “Oh, indeed.” She tapped a finger against her lips thoughtfully, drawing his attention once again to their softness. “Hm. Would you consider a young lady many would consider a bluestocking? I have another cousin, Miss Arabella Flyte…”

  John suppressed the urge to place his head on the pristine tablecloth and groan. He was making a dreadful mess of this. “Miss Faraday, I have already met a most admirable young lady. One who fits every criteria I could possibly want fulfilled in a wife and would make any diplomat a partner to be proud of. I appear to be making the most appalling mull of expressing my admiration for her, however.”

  He stared at her intently, willing her to take his meaning. After a moment, her lips parted on a soundless gasp, her eyes widening until he could see white all around the bright green of her irises.

  Chapter Seven

  Phoebe was saved from having to respond to the major’s stunning declaration—for declaration it clearly was—by the arrival of the next course. Convention dictated that she must turn to the person seated on her other side to engage in conversation. She was intensely aware of Randwyck beside her, though, his shoulder in his red dress coat not quite touching hers as he cut his meat.

  The man on her other side was a gentleman to whom she had been introduced but nothing more. He seemed to have little time for conversation between applying himself to his food and wine. The gentleman instead whiled his time listening to Edmund holding forth as he regaled his end of the table with an account of the Boxing Day fox hunt, which left Phoebe alone with her thoughts.

  Could Randwyck really be serious about considering her as a suitable wife? She had the facility for and knowledge of languages he said he required, and at six and twenty, she was no debutante and had indeed seen something of the world. However, she was quite untraveled and had no connections which could be advantageous to an ambitious man looking to make a career in the diplomatic service.

  Though Randwyck hadn’t actually said that was his intention, had he? He’d said only that he’d been offered the post.

  He had not mentioned love, of course, but then, why should he? They
scarcely knew each other, and marrying for love was considered a mawkishly sentimental idea in this age. Still, she both liked and respected him, and that was a far better beginning than so many couples who married only for advantage ever had.

  When the lamb was cleared away and a fish course set out, she turned back to Randwyck with so many questions burning her tongue that she hardly knew which to ask first. “What comes after Denmark?” she asked baldly and rather awkwardly, but he seemed to understand her.

  “That rather depends on how things go in Copenhagen, I dare say. If I make a mull of things, the Foreign Office will thank me politely for my service and not offer me another post.” He shrugged. “I have an estate of my own, which has been left in the hands of capable stewards these last years. It could comfortably support a family and is not entailed, incidentally. Should I father no sons, a daughter might inherit.”

  It would be impolite to ask about the income from his estate, so she bit back the urge. Surely Eugenia would be able to supply that information anyway, likely without being asked. “Would you like to advance in the diplomatic service?” she hesitantly asked instead.

  “Perhaps,” he replied. Phoebe thought she respected him all the more for his honesty and the way he paused to consider the matter. “I don’t honestly know the answer to your question because I don’t yet know whether I will enjoy the work!” His smile invited her to join him in his amusement, and he continued, “However, I do think I should enjoy an opportunity to travel more, and if His Majesty’s government sees fit to compensate me for it, then that’s all well and good.”

  “Understandable.” Phoebe nodded in agreement. “Essentially, then, your future plans are subject to change?”

  “Yes, but I assure you that my wife would always have a say in any decisions I made.” He gave her a very earnest look. “I should wish for her wise counsel on all matters, and from what I have learned of you thus far, I think you would not hesitate to tell me if I was making a serious error of judgment.”