by Jayne Davis
“Miss Deane,” he said as they approached, surprised that his voice sounded almost normal. Phoebe’s head turned quickly, eyes widening as she saw him. She smiled, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe.
“Uncle, may I introduce Mr Westbrook?” she said, her tone formal but her smile still lighting up her face. “Mr Westbrook, my uncle, Monsieur le Comte de Calvac.”
Alex bowed, forcing his mind to concentrate on what she was saying, and not on recalling that farewell on a Normandy beach.
“Westbrook, I had to come to thank—” The comte broke off as someone pushed past him, jostling his arm. “Shall we go to the refreshment room?”
Phoebe followed as Alex led the way, a curious combination of happiness and nerves knotting her insides. He looked well—the black eye had gone, and the lines of tiredness around his eyes were no longer in evidence. There had been a fleeting expression when she first saw him: admiration, she hoped, but she couldn’t be sure. His face now was guarded, his smile appearing rather forced.
There wasn’t space to sit down in the crowded room, and the babble of voices made conversation difficult. Alex steered them towards an alcove and, catching the eye of a passing waiter, procured three glasses of champagne. The two men stood with their backs to the crowd, giving them a little privacy.
Phoebe wanted to ask Alex if he was well, where he had been, but this was not the place.
“I must thank you, most sincerely, Mr Westbrook, for returning my family to England,” the comte said.
“It was a pleasure, monsieur,” Alex said, his tone formal. He smiled with his words, but it was a polite, society smile.
“It sounded most uncomfortable to me, from what Phoebe said.”
She saw some of the tension in Alex’s shoulders relax as he met the older man’s gaze.
“It had its moments,” he said.
That kiss? Phoebe felt heat rising to her cheeks.
“Nevertheless, I was pleased to be of service. And Miss Deane was of material help in my… in what I was trying to do.”
Alex’s eyes flicked briefly to her face—he must be wondering how much she’d told her uncle.
“I would ask you to call,” the comte went on. “But I gather there is some…” He hesitated for the right word.
“Antipathy?” Phoebe suggested.
Alex’s lips compressed, as if he were hiding a smile. Phoebe’s nervousness began to fade. This was still the Alex she’d come to know in France.
“Unfortunately, yes,” the comte said. “However, if there is any way I could be of service, Mr Westbrook, you have but to ask.”
Alex glanced at Phoebe. “I… er, I would like to ask Miss Deane how her journey went after she left France.”
“By all means.” The comte gestured towards her. There was a moment of silence.
“Privately, if you don’t mind, sir,” Alex clarified.
The two men locked gazes, then the comte nodded.
“Very well. Perhaps you would care to take my niece for a drive in the park, Westbrook? If you have a steady nerve, that is. She appears to require her escorts to let her take the ribbons.”
“Only in the park, though, uncle. Lord Harlford is so kind as to protect me from the dangers of driving in traffic, even with the gentle pair he borrowed for me this afternoon.”
She could see that neither man was fooled by her demure tone.
“What else have you driven?” Alex asked.
“Lord Carterton’s blacks,” she said. “His cousin, Captain Synton, let me drive them in the park a few times.”
Had she seen a frown when she mentioned the captain?
“But he’s had to be at the War Office so I haven’t seen those lovely animals for over a week,” she added.
“Would a drive tomorrow morning be acceptable, Miss Deane?” Alex asked. “It is not the fashionable time, so it should be quiet.”
And allow them to talk without interruptions. “Thank you, yes. Will ten o’clock suit?” That was before her aunt normally came downstairs.
Alex glanced at her uncle, and the comte inclined his head in agreement.
“Thank you, sir,” Alex said. “Until the morning, Miss Deane.” He gave a quick bow and an uncertain smile before joining the flow of people now returning to their boxes.
Phoebe let out a breath as she watched him go. She wasn’t sure what to think, but at least they would have some privacy to talk tomorrow.
Chapter 38
The next morning, Phoebe was ready for her drive in plenty of time, dressed once again in her emerald green pelisse. Tired after a largely sleepless night, and unable to settle to read anything, she paced in the library while she waited for Alex to arrive.
Her stomach still had the fluttery feeling from yesterday as she anticipated their drive in the spring sunshine. Smoothing her skirts for the tenth time, she admitted to herself that the weather was irrelevant—it wasn’t the prospect of drifts of daffodils in the park, or even the chance to drive again, that she was looking forward to. But there was also that niggling fear that perhaps Alex really did only want to learn about their journey home.
The clock on the mantelpiece began to chime ten, and she walked to the window, catching her breath as she saw Alex pull up outside, with the same black horses in the same phaeton that she had driven with Captain Synton. A groom in the seat beside him jumped down as the carriage came to a halt. Pulling on her gloves, she hastened down to the ground floor and slipped out into the square before Alex’s groom had time to knock.
“Miss Deane,” Alex said, as the groom handed her up and climbed onto the step behind. “You look well.”
His smile looked less forced this morning, more genuine, with those crinkles beside his eyes that showed when he laughed.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, her tone less formal than her words. She studied his face with quick sideways glances as he drove out of the square. In daylight, she could see only a few faint and fading scars marking the cuts his face had taken during that fight. “I’m glad you got back safely.”
He flicked a glance at her, then gave his attention back to the road. “Likewise.”
Abruptly, the silence became awkward and she turned her gaze to the streets around them, not wanting to talk while the groom was present. She had many things she wanted to find out, but his opinion of the weather wasn’t one of them.
Alex pulled up when they reached Piccadilly, and the groom got down from his perch behind them. Alex flicked him a coin. “Meet me at the end of Rotten Row in an hour or so.”
“Very good, sir.” The groom touched his hat and headed for the nearest inn, weaving his way between carts and hackney carriages.
“Appearances,” Alex explained, when Phoebe looked at him with brows raised. “In case someone was watching.”
“I cannot think who would be spying on me,” Phoebe said, with exaggerated puzzlement, happy to see him relax into a laugh.
Alex held the reins towards her. “Do you wish to drive them to the park? It’s less than a mile.”
Surprised, then pleased, she smiled.
“You would let me?” Not only let her, but encourage her, as she’d thought yesterday. But these horses were far from the plodding hacks Lord Harlford had hired, and the street was busy.
“They look quite… lively,” she added, suddenly doubting her ability to control them in this busy street. “You’ve only seen me driving that team in France, and they weren’t the most difficult of animals.”
“Some practice in the park first, then?”
She nodded, quelling her sense of relief. “That would be best. I don’t want to get… I mean, Lord Carterton wouldn’t like…”
Phoebe let the words trail off as she realised she had no idea what his relationship with Lord Carterton was. They must be friends, at least, otherwise he couldn’t have borrowed the man’s team and phaeton.
“As you wish.” He set the horses going, and they continued on their way.
“Would you really have
let me drive?” she asked again.
“If you thought you could handle them, yes.” He glanced at her, smiling, before turning back to the road. “I wondered if you’d like to drive four, but the only thing Nick has rigged for that is a heavy travelling coach.”
A warm glow started in her chest at his confidence in her ability—or at least, in her judgement of her own ability.
“Not too disappointed, I hope?”
“No, no, of course not. I… well, no-one else has even suggested I could try driving their horses in the street, let alone handle more than two.”
“I pass the test then?”
Amused at the idea, she realised that it was a test, in a way. That kind of trust in her judgement was something she now knew she wanted in a husband. The thought brought heat to her cheeks, and she took a deep breath. He’d invited her for a drive to discuss what happened with his message—she should focus on that.
“A definite pass,” she said. “Did you find… that is, did you get what you were looking for after you left us?”
“Very discreet,” he said, a quick grin showing approval. He didn’t talk as he negotiated the turn into the park, then glanced at her. “I don’t think anyone can overhear us here.”
As Alex described the last few weeks, Phoebe listened carefully, aware of the parts he glossed over as he explained what they’d done, the decisions they had made. She’d been expecting just a few words, and was flattered that he gave her so much detail.
“You were right about Brevare being blackmailed,” he finished, with a smile in her direction that warmed her inside. He briefly outlined what Brevare’s sister had told him, and that the two women were now safely hidden away in Devonshire.
“Should you be telling me all this?” she asked, concerned that Lord Marstone would not like it.
“Probably not, but you’re involved. And you let Marstone persuade you into more danger, taking the decoy note.”
“I volunteered,” she corrected him, mindful of the faint disapproval in his tone. “It didn’t feel nearly as frightening as that tavern in Granville.”
“Why did you do it?”
She remembered that he had seemed almost angry as they were saying goodbye on the beach—with her or with himself, she wasn’t sure. Fear for her safety, perhaps? Now, he sounded more resigned, but this time the potential danger was past, and she had not come to harm.
“Our plans didn’t quite work,” she said.
“Yes, Marstone told me what happened,” Alex said. “I understand the idea behind allowing yourself to be robbed, but Marstone could have found some other way of delivering that decoy message. You needn’t have put yourself in danger again, and he need not have accepted.”
“The risk was mine to take,” Phoebe said, her voice sharp. “I knew the possible consequences. Owen and two of Lord Marstone’s men were nearby, if it had become anything more than a simple robbery.”
Damn—he’d offended her, and he hadn’t meant to. He pulled the horses to a halt, and turned to face her. “I’m sorry, Phoebe. I didn’t mean to call your judgement into question. You clearly did think it through first.”
“I didn’t come to any harm,” she reminded him, her face lightening.
He kept his gaze on her face for a moment, then set the horses into motion again. “None of that explains why you volunteered to do it,” he said.
“I felt that I could be useful.”
“Not a desire shared by many young ladies,” he mused. “That was not a criticism,” he added, with a sideways glance. “Not of you, at least. But I’m still sorry you had to be involved in this whole business.” Except that he would never have met her if her aunt had been a sensible woman—he couldn’t be sorry about that.
“I’m not,” she stated.
“Really?” After all she’d been through?
“Everything was all right in the end, and if we hadn’t got into trouble I’d probably still be the poor relation.”
“How so?” Something good really had come out of it?
“It turns out that my uncle gave me an allowance when I first came to live with them, and my aunt had been spending it on herself and Hélène. If it hadn’t been for her trying to prevent me going into society with Hélène, my uncle would never have found out.”
“Bella said you’re enjoying your season.”
“Yes, thanks to her, for the most part. She introduced me to her mantua-maker, and that made a great difference.”
He turned his head, glancing down at her pelisse then back at her face. She was beautiful, but her clothes were only the finishing touches. “Certainly an improvement on the orange dress,” he said. He wasn’t sure she’d want compliments from him—not on her appearance, at least.
Not trusting himself to say more, he looked around. The park was reasonably empty. “Time for you to drive.” He handed her the reins, and watched as she drove along the carriageway. He tried to concentrate on the way she was handling the reins and not on the way her hair curled around her face or how well her pelisse fitted the curves of her body. Or how he’d missed talking to her, working with her.
Phoebe felt the thrill of the horses’ power at her command as she varied their pace and steered them around bends in the track. Alex sat watching her hands, but said nothing; she didn’t want to move her gaze from the road to see what he was thinking. Captain Synton and Lord Harlford had both provided a commentary while she was driving, telling her to pull or not to pull on the reins, or to steer in a different way. She found her awareness of Alex’s closeness as unnerving as his silence, and eventually pulled up.
“Am I doing it correctly?”
“Yes—you’ve gained confidence since you drove in France, I think.”
“You were very quiet.” She looked at him, wondering if he’d meant what he said.
“I’d hate for you to look at me the way you looked at your marquess yesterday,” he said with a grin.
“You saw me yesterday?”
“I was in the square when you got back. What did he do wrong?”
“He treated me as if I were still in the schoolroom.” That might be a little unfair, but that was how he’d made her feel at the end of their drive.
“Do you want to practise, or to really have a lesson?”
Phoebe wanted to ask him what he would be doing next—would Marstone send him back to France? Would she see him again after this? She almost asked outright, but it wasn’t her business, not really. And she was half afraid of getting an answer she didn’t want to hear.
“A lesson, please,” she said.
“What do you want to learn?”
“I’d like to be more confident driving them faster, but I’d also like to be good enough to drive in the streets. I suppose that means practising through narrow gaps?”
He nodded. “Let’s try fast first, while the park is still fairly empty. How about if I take them for a while, explain what I am doing, and then you try?”
“That’s a good idea.”
She listened carefully as he drove as fast as was safe to the quieter side of the park, then took several corners at speed. He handed over the reins, and she did her best to emulate him. After half an hour she was taking sharp corners safely, and passing closer to obstacles than she would have dared the day before.
“Thank you—for showing me and for borrowing the phaeton,” she said as she handed the reins back to him. She was uncomfortably aware that her pleasure in the exercise was due to his presence beside her rather than what she had learned.
“Had enough?” he asked. “Do you want to drive them back?”
“I’d like to try driving in the street. Could you… would you mind driving round the park for a while so I can rest my arms first?”
Alex was impressed at the progress she’d made in such a short time—teaching her had been both frustrating and a pleasure. She was a quick learner, and he’d spent most of the hour wishing they were back on that coach in France, with the cold giving him an exc
use to sit closer.
They were nearing the gate where he’d arranged to pick up Lord Carterton’s groom when there was a shout from behind. Phoebe twisted around to look, and raised a hand to wave. Alex pulled the phaeton over, and two men on horses came cantering up.
“Joe!” Phoebe said, a happy smile lighting her face. “Joe, this is Mr Westbrook, who helped us get out of France. Alex, this is my brother, and his friend, Lieutenant Marlow.”
Sidling his mount close to the phaeton, Joe held out his hand. “My thanks, Westbrook. Did I see Phoebe taking the ribbons?”
“You did,” Alex said.
“You took that corner pretty fast,” Joe said to Phoebe, pointing back up the park to the last corner Phoebe had driven. “Brave man, Westbrook!” he added with a grin.
“Don’t be horrid!” Phoebe said, with a laugh. “He didn’t even close his eyes!”
Alex smiled, shaking his head at the idea that he’d need to.
“Can’t linger,” Joe went on. “We’ve an appointment at the Admiralty. Westbrook, could I stand you dinner by way of thanks? Tonight or tomorrow?”
“You’re supposed to be going to the Stantons’ ball with us tonight,” Phoebe said, before Alex could speak. “And arriving in time for the supper dance!”
“Tomorrow will be fine, thank you,” Alex said, amused at Joe’s resigned smile. The banter between brother and sister was good to see—Phoebe would have a champion in her brother, he thought, should her uncle fail her.
Joe gave Alex his direction before the two men cantered off with a final wave goodbye.
“Do you still want to drive?” Alex asked, when they had collected the groom.
She nodded, biting her lip. “Yes, please, but not if it’s too much bother to—”
“Don’t worry about that.” It was the least he could do.
“Talk me through it?” she requested, so he kept a lookout for possible hazards, quietly pointing out things she might not have spotted. She successfully negotiated hackney carriages and goods waggons in the stretch of Piccadilly before they reached the junction with Berkeley Street, so he suggested she keep going to give her more practice. They turned into Hay Market, then back along Pall Mall, and it wasn’t until they had nearly reached Piccadilly again that a barking dog frightened the horses and he had to put a hand on the reins.