by Jayne Davis
“Thank you. I will accept.”
“It may be better for you not to accompany them,” Lady Jesson added. “That might look too much like running away. I’ll put it about that it’s a long-standing invitation from Lady Carterton to your wife.”
Bella spoke again. “Will, I’ll need you and Alex there too.”
So much for his resolution to stay away from Phoebe.
“I’m busy, Bella,” Marstone objected.
“You can make time for this,” Bella said firmly, fixing her gaze on him. “You need only stay for a day. Alex will need to stay longer, but I’m sure you can spare him.”
“Oh, very well. Let Kellet know the details.”
“Monsieur?”
The comte rubbed the back of his neck. “I will go along with this. Whatever else, you are right that my family would be better off away from London.”
“Alex?”
Alex nodded. No doubt he’d find out soon enough what Bella had in mind. He listened as Bella and Lady Jesson settled the arrangements for the trip with the comte, then the three of them took their leave. Marstone moved over to his desk and sat, taking some papers from a drawer.
Ignoring these signs that the earl expected him to leave as well, Alex walked over to the desk.
Marstone looked up at him, then leaned back in his chair. “You think I had something to do with this?”
“I wondered, yes. You have some plans for Miss Deane, or why would you ask Admiral Fenton about her?”
The earl looked him in the eyes. “I give you my word that I have done nothing to prompt these rumours.”
Alex let out a breath—he was glad to be reassured on that head. He contemplated persisting with his question about Fenton, but Marstone was unlikely to give him a satisfactory answer.
“Do feel free to stay here until you go down to Sussex,” Marstone added. “I’d rather you didn’t start a brawl with someone you might overhear slighting Miss Deane.”
“Thank you. I will.”
* * *
Phoebe retreated to the library when Lady Jesson left. Sitting at the table in the window with a book was preferable to moping in her room, even if her eyes did seem to be moving across the pages without really seeing the words. She tried to keep her mind from turning over possible futures; Lady Jesson had said something could be done, and Phoebe believed her. But what would be the result of her uncle’s visit to Marstone House?
Determined not to waste her time, she eventually put aside the travel book she’d been attempting to read, and took out the books she had been discussing with her uncle. Going through them and making notes on significant points occupied her well enough, even if she was unlikely to remember any of the details later.
The comte returned around an hour after Lady Jesson had left. He nodded a greeting as he entered the library, but crossed the room to the tray of decanters and glasses and poured himself a drink.
Phoebe closed the book as he sat down by the fire, and moved to take the opposite chair.
The comte rubbed his forehead. “You are all invited to visit the Cartertons,” he said. “In Sussex, travelling down the day after tomorrow. I will remain in Town for the moment.”
Her uncle would know what the stories were now, and she’d expected him to say something about her marrying Alex. “It will be good to be in the country,” she said, feeling some reply was needed.
The comte drained his glass. “Indeed. Lady Carterton and Lady Jesson seem to think that if they can get the true story of events circulated, the damage can be limited provided that everyone in this household keeps to the same story.”
Phoebe wasn’t sure how accurate the ‘true’ story would be, but anything was better than the horrible things they were saying about her now.
“Phoebe?”
“Is Georges to come too?” Phoebe asked, brought back to the present. “And Miss Bryant?”
“Yes. He will enjoy it, I think,” the comte said.
“Lady Carterton has children of a similar age,” Phoebe said. “I will let them know,” she added, waiting for her uncle’s agreement before going upstairs.
Georges was excited at the prospect of being able to ride in the countryside and make new friends.
“There’s a boy and a girl nearest your age,” Phoebe added, her lips pursed as she anticipated Georges’ reply.
“Girls are no fun—” he started.
“Oh?” Phoebe said. “You won’t want my company then. I hope you enjoy your stay there, Georges.”
She walked towards the door, ignoring the whispering behind her, then Georges rushed over.
“I’m sorry Phoebe, I didn’t mean you.”
“I’m not a proper girl, then?”
“No. I mean, yes… Oh!”
“Why don’t you go and choose some of your books to take with you?” Alice suggested, and Georges went over to the bookcase.
“Is this because of that gossip?” Alice asked, keeping her voice low.
Phoebe sighed. She didn’t mind Alice knowing, but it was discouraging to find how far, and how fast, the rumours had spread.
“Lady Carterton has an idea of how to limit the damage,” she explained. “I don’t know the details yet.”
“It will be a pleasant change of scenery,” Alice said. “I’ve not been to Sussex before.” She cast a sympathetic glance at Phoebe. “It’s a shame it has to be in such circumstances.”
Two days later, Phoebe leaned forward to peer out of the window as the coach turned between a pair of tall pillars. They passed through some woodland, then the house came into view. The pale stone of the square Palladian building was framed in green by the open lawn to its front and the woodland rising gently behind.
Bella and Lord Carterton came out onto the steps to meet their guests. After formal greetings had been exchanged they were shown to their rooms, the housekeeper informing them that the other guests were sitting in the south parlour. Phoebe went downstairs as soon as she’d tidied her hair.
The parlour was a pleasant room, decorated in pale yellows and greens. The windows framed a lovely prospect over the lawns and drive at the front of the house, currently basking in the afternoon sunshine. Phoebe was pleased to see Lady Jesson sitting by the window, next to a woman Phoebe did not recognise. She walked over and made her curtsey.
“Lady Lydenham, this is Miss Phoebe Deane,” Lady Jesson said. “Phoebe, this is the Countess of Lydenham.”
Lady Lydenham looked about the same age as Lady Jesson, Phoebe thought, although she was slender where Lady Jesson tended to plumpness.
“So this is Amelia’s daughter,” Lady Lydenham said, looking Phoebe up and down and then smiling.
“You knew my mother, my lady?” Was this another ally?
“Yes, we were all out at the same time. Your aunt as well.”
A grimace passed over her face as she spoke, so brief that Phoebe wondered if she had imagined it.
“I corresponded with Amelia for many years,” Lady Lydenham went on. “So I’ve read much about your childhood. And now Lavinia is giving you a season with Hélène. I didn’t think she’d be so generous.”
Phoebe opened her mouth to contradict this, but thought better of it.
“You can speak freely, Phoebe,” Lady Jesson said. “Lady Lydenham is a good friend of mine, and was a good friend to your mother. Whatever we say here is said in confidence.”
Lady Lydenham nodded encouragingly.
“My uncle was happy to take me in when my parents died, my lady.” They could read into that what they pleased. Phoebe was fairly sure that Lady Jesson, at least, knew her aunt was not presenting her willingly.
“Now, Phoebe,” Lady Jesson said. “I’d like you to tell Lady Lydenham what happened in France. Tell her what you told me.”
Phoebe hesitated. She knew even less about Lady Lydenham than she did of Lady Jesson.
“It will go no further,” Lady Lydenham promised. “Maria is assisting Lady Carterton with some kind of plan, I beli
eve, although she has not told me what it is.”
Hoping she was doing the right thing, Phoebe related the story she had told Lady Jesson two days before.
Lady Lydenham’s eyebrows rose as she listened. “Maria told me Lavinia had behaved appallingly,” she said, when Phoebe finished. “I didn’t think she had that amount of spite in her!”
She reached over and patted Phoebe’s hand. “And now these horrible stories—don’t worry my dear, all will be well in the end.”
Phoebe didn’t quite believe that, but it felt good to have these allies. Perhaps there would be time later for her to ask them about her mother’s season in London. Her mother hadn’t spoken of it—mainly because it wasn’t important to her, Phoebe guessed, and because Phoebe hadn’t been interested in such things then.
What was their plan, though? She was about to ask Lady Jesson when Bella came into the room, followed by her husband.
“Ah, I see you have been introduced to our other guest, Phoebe,” Bella said, sitting down. “Andrews,” she addressed the butler, hovering in the doorway. “We will wait until the comtesse and her daughter come down before we have tea.”
“Madame de Calvac has requested tea in her room, my lady.”
Phoebe, relieved that she wouldn’t have to be in her aunt’s company again for a while, saw that the others were not pleased. Was her aunt’s presence necessary for the plan?
“You could tell her that the Earl of Marstone will be present,” Lady Jesson suggested.
Lord Marstone? She hadn’t expected him to be here. A fluttery feeling arose in her stomach. Did that mean Alex was here as well?
“No offence, Carterton,” Lady Jesson went on, turning to Bella’s husband, “but a mere baron cannot compete with an earl!”
Lord Carterton laughed. “None taken.”
Bella turned to the butler. “Andrews, please ask Madame if she requires any food with her tea, and say what a pity it is that she is not feeling well enough to greet the earl, as he will not be staying long. Then serve tea here in half an hour, I think.”
“Very good, my lady,” Andrews bowed and departed, as if this kind of request were nothing out of the ordinary.
Chapter 45
Alex and Marstone handed their mounts over to a groom and, not standing on ceremony, made their way into the house through the back entrance. Andrews showed them up to their rooms.
The small trunk that Alex had sent on ahead had been unpacked for him, his coats brushed and hung to let the creases fall out. A jug of hot water arrived while he was still pulling his boots off, and he had a quick wash and changed into a clean set of clothing. When he had combed and retied his hair, he went to knock at the earl’s door.
“All set?” Marstone asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Deceiving the comtesse and Hélène didn’t worry him, but he’d be lying to Phoebe, too. “My part in this still seems pointless, and Bella’s plan may not work. If the Calvac woman isn’t stupid enough to believe you, and isn’t ambitious enough…”
“You know her better than I do.”
“Count yourself lucky, sir.”
“Oh, I do! But does she really have the sense to see through it?”
“Probably not,” Alex admitted. “Miss Deane will, though. She might give it away.”
“Do you think so?”
Alex shrugged. He was certain that Phoebe would work out the truth, but whether or not she would tell her aunt, he didn’t know. He just hoped that it would not distress her in any way.
“Bella should have told her the plan,” he said, as Marstone stuck a diamond pin into his neckcloth and allowed his valet to help him into his coat.
“It was Bella’s idea,” the earl said. “I left her to it.”
The parlour was cheerful, a blazing fire warming the room. Bella’s guests were gathered near the tea table. Alex glanced around as they approached, feeling a little breathless at the sight of Phoebe, beautiful in a moss-green gown. Lady Jesson and another woman sat nearby with the comtesse and her daughter.
“Ah, Will, there you are,” Bella said. “May I introduce the Comtesse de Calvac and her daughter, Lady Hélène? Madame de Calvac, my brother, the Earl of Marstone.”
“Delighted to make your acquaintance, my lady.” The earl bowed. The comtesse simpered, then Alex saw her expression sour as she noticed him standing behind the earl. Phoebe’s lovely smile spread across her face, but there was also a trace of bemusement.
“I believe you have met each other before,” Marstone said to the comtesse. “But may I formally introduce you to my eldest son?” He gestured towards Alex.
Alex gave the smallest bow he thought he could get away with. “My lady.”
The comtesse’s face was frozen, whether in shock or in horror he couldn’t tell. Beside her, Hélène stood with her mouth open, and Bella turned away, biting her lips. Alex felt a flash of irritation—it was all very well for Bella to laugh—she wasn’t the one carrying out this deception.
“Oh,” the comtesse said at last, faintly. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance properly, Lord…”
Alex guessed she was floundering for Marstone’s secondary title.
“Just call me Westbrook, my lady,” Alex said. If the comtesse knew anything at all about Marstone, she’d realise that Westbrook was not one of Marstone’s secondary titles and he wasn’t Marstone’s heir.
Clearly, she didn’t know. She simpered again, no doubt flattered by the invitation to use only his supposed title.
“Oh, Westbrook, it was so good of you to help us all in France. Dear Hélène and I are so…”
Alex stopped listening. Beyond her, Phoebe’s brow creased in a frown, then her eyes widened and one hand went to her mouth.
“…heroic efforts. Such a pity you have not attended any balls this season…”
Phoebe’s eyes met his, and he thought he detected amusement there, not distress.
“…chance for you to dance with Hélène. You would make such a…”
Phoebe’s gaze shifted back to the comtesse, her lips pressed firmly together. Relief spread through him as he realised she was trying not to laugh.
“…think so, Westbrook?”
The silence in the room brought him back to the present. He wasn’t going to agree to a statement he hadn’t listened to, so he murmured something and inclined his head. Bella took mercy on him and started pouring tea, summoning the comtesse to the table to take her cup.
Phoebe went to sit beside Lady Lydenham, who must have seen something in her face, for she smiled but left Phoebe to her thoughts.
Alex was not Marstone’s heir, so he must be an illegitimate son. But what was Bella hoping to achieve, apart from making her aunt look foolish in front of the other guests? She’d even persuaded the earl to lie—not directly, but he must have expected the comtesse to jump to the wrong conclusion. Few members of the ton recognised their bastards, let alone introduced them into society.
Was that why Alex had not attended the ball she’d mentioned—because he wouldn’t be received? Lightness filled her at the idea that Alex might be avoiding her for her own good, however poor a reason that seemed to her.
“Is it well known that Mr Westbrook is Lord Marstone’s son?” she asked Lady Lydenham.
“No—only among Bella’s friends,” Lady Lydenham said. “How are you enjoying your season?”
Lady Lydenham was easy to talk to, and they exchanged opinions of functions and people until Bella broke up the party, announcing that they kept country hours and it was time to change for dinner.
Phoebe hurried up the stairs after her. “Bella?”
“Come into my room,” Bella offered. “I can see you have questions.”
They sat together in chairs near the window, looking out over the darkening front lawn.
“You must be Alex’s aunt,” Phoebe said.
“Yes, although I’m not much older than he is. I was only four when it happened, but Will—Marstone, that is—told m
e the story later. Alex’s mother was a girl in a nearby village. I’m sure it happens all the time, unfortunately, but my brother didn’t abandon her. He gave the girl enough of a dowry to make a respectable marriage later, and found a couple who wanted a baby. Alex considers the Westbrooks his real parents, I think, although Will did see him now and then while he was growing up. Our father thought he was wasting his efforts and refused to give him any money—it used up most of Will’s allowance for some time to sort it all out.”
Phoebe absorbed this information, part of her wondering why Alex had never mentioned the relationship. Did he think she’d hold it against him?
Bella looked as if she were suppressing a smile. “Phoebe, did you see your aunt’s face?”
“Not properly, but I can guess.” Now was not the time to be thinking about Alex, not with Bella’s too-perceptive eyes on her. “Was it very bad?”
“Oh, yes!” Bella’s eyes crinkled up and her smile widened.
“She has spent so long insulting him, calling him that man, and now she’s… she’s…” Phoebe chuckled. “And she was correct before, really.”
“When he said ‘Just call me Westbrook’,” Bella said. “She was so flattered—”
“And she has no idea!”
Phoebe stood while Ellie fastened her evening gown—this one in peacock blue fabric over a pale cream underskirt—then sat thinking while the maid brushed her hair. Alex’s expression had been concerned while her aunt had been babbling, until he saw that she couldn’t completely hide her amusement. Her doubts about his feelings had been too precipitate.
“Lady Carterton was lookin’ for you, miss,” Ellie said, breaking into Phoebe’s thoughts. “Hold still, now, miss,” she added, twisting a bandeau around Phoebe’s hair.
“Did she say what she wanted?”
“Not exactly, miss. She said that if she didn’t see you before dinner, remember that not everything is what it seems.”
“That’s all?”