by Jayne Davis
That was surprisingly honest, and she liked him better for it. “Only due to circumstances, my lord. You didn’t know who had taken me, or why. Mr Westbrook suspected I might be taken to France, and planned accordingly.”
“Thank you for that.”
They walked on for a while in silence, but now it did not feel quite so awkward.
“May we remain friends?” he asked.
“Thank you, I would be honoured.” It was an honour for him to say such a thing. “May I ask you a favour?”
He looked wary, and she chuckled.
“Do not be alarmed, sir. It is only to escort me to the Black Bull. The woman there played an important part in rescuing me—I wish to thank her. But I don’t think it advisable to travel around the countryside with only a groom in the light of what happened two days ago.”
“It will be my pleasure, Miss Deane. Will tomorrow suit? Then I must return to Town.”
They strolled on in companionable silence.
Phoebe found her uncle waiting for her when she returned from the Black Bull the following afternoon.
“Phoebe, could you come in here, please?”
She followed him into the room and, at his gesture, took a seat by the fire. He sat without speaking, head slightly bowed, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Is something wrong, sir?” Phoebe asked, concerned.
“Nothing on the scale of recent events, no.” He drew in a breath. “Let us deal with the more pleasant item first. Harlford asked to speak to me yesterday while you were asleep. He asked permission to ask for your hand.”
Phoebe nodded.
“You don’t appear surprised. Has he already spoken to you?”
“Yes, sir. I declined.”
“I thought you might. He is a good man, Phoebe.”
“Yes, sir, but I do not love him.” Was he going to ask her to change her decision? No, there was no hint of disapproval in his face or voice.
The comte nodded. “When we discussed this earlier, you said there was someone else you preferred. This person is Westbrook, I assume.”
Phoebe felt heat rise in her face. “Yes, sir.” Did everyone know her business?
“Yet he has gone off with no plans to return, as I understand it.”
“Indeed, sir.” She looked down at her hands, thankful now for Bella’s earlier frankness. “He thinks his… his birth would be too much of a stigma. According to Lady Carterton, at least.”
“In addition to his way of life being wholly unsuited to taking a wife.”
She had been thinking about whether Alex returned her feelings, not considering any practical aspects of a possible future. It was only in the last few days that she’d thought there might be a real chance of some kind of life together.
Looking up, she met her uncle’s eye. “His way of life is little different from that of an officer in the army, or the navy.”
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze making her shift uncomfortably in her seat.
“Phoebe, you will be of age at the end of the year, and I suspect that if I were to forbid any union with Mr Westbrook, you would just wait until your next birthday.”
“I… He…” She raised her chin. “Yes, sir.”
To her surprise, he smiled. A small smile, but he appeared to be amused more than anything else. Then his face sobered again.
“You are old enough, Phoebe, and sensible enough, to consider carefully before you take any irrevocable step. I think that Westbrook has not yet said anything to you, but if he does, and you have given the matter proper thought, you will have my blessing.”
Whatever she had expected him to say, it wasn’t that. He didn’t wait for her response, but carried on.
“The other matter concerns Marstone’s offer to use his Scottish estate. I intend to accept this offer, and I have already written to tell him so. We will be leaving in a couple of days.”
“For Scotland, sir? So soon?” The comtesse would not be pleased at missing most of the season. Nor would Hélène.
“I had a talk with Hélène earlier, and your aunt. They inadvertently let slip their attempt to entrap Westbrook.” He pinched the bridge of his nose again. “I do not wish Hélène to marry anyone who has to be forced to the altar in such a way, and the fact that Lady Carterton thought it necessary to set up—”
He broke off, shaking his head. “Suffice it to say, I think it best to make a fresh start next season.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Lady Carterton has invited you to stay here at Oakley Place, and go with her when she returns to London.”
Spending the season with Bella would be more enjoyable than it had been so far, but the prospect of a continuing round of balls and other social activities was not enticing.
“On the other hand,” the comte continued, “I would enjoy your company in Scotland, as would Georges and Miss Bryant. I do not require your decision on this matter now, but please give it some thought and let me know tomorrow.”
“I will, thank you, sir.”
“Yes, well. Family, Phoebe, family.”
Phoebe slept late the following morning, but Bella was still at the breakfast table when she went downstairs.
“A letter for you,” Bella said as Phoebe sat down. “It is from my brother.”
Phoebe broke the seal and scanned the page, then read it again carefully.
“Lord Marstone has offered me, and the rest of the family, passage to Scotland by ship,” she said. “As a safer means of travel, given that he has not yet traced all the traitors within his department. If the rest of my family decline, he recommends that I still accept his offer. Joe will come with me, to keep to the proprieties.”
Bella’s eyebrows rose as Phoebe spoke. “Do you think your aunt and uncle will accept?”
Phoebe laughed. “No, certainly not. He says the Lily will take us—the vessel that brought us back from France. It only has two small cabins, and my aunt was sick all the way across the Channel.”
“You’d be perfectly safe on the road,” Bella said sceptically. “Unless you’re being watched here, but in that case you’d be in just as much danger getting to Dover as you would be setting out for Scotland.”
“No watchers would expect me to be going by sea, though, or to be heading south.”
“They would watch the house,” Bella said, shaking her head. “No, I think there is a different motive entirely here.”
“Oh?” Phoebe had her own idea, but perhaps she was being too fanciful.
“Lieutenant Deane may not be your only escort,” Bella said. “And it is rather difficult to run away when you are at sea.”
“You think so?” she asked, hope rising in her.
“It’s a definite possibility,” Bella said. “Knowing my brother.”
“It would seem a bit like trapping Alex,” Phoebe said, thinking of Hélène’s recent behaviour.
“Not in the slightest,” Bella said, her tone brisk. “It will give you a chance to explain your side of things. Alex will come to his senses eventually; this will just expedite matters.”
Phoebe wasn’t sure she believed her, but she wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity of talking to Alex—assuming Bella’s supposition was correct.
* * *
Alex sat in Marstone’s library, wanting a brandy but knowing the coffee steaming gently in front of him would be far more useful. Next to him, Kellet summarised the results of a frantic twenty-four hours of enquiries. Across the desk, Marstone listened carefully, his fingers steepled and resting on his lips.
“…Chambers has checked, too, and both can account for all the critical documents we had not already brought here. There is only Fanshawe’s office to…”
Brevare was upstairs in bed, his minor wound having turned him feverish. The doctor said he would recover, but in the meantime an armed footman was guarding his door. When questioned, Brevare had readily confirmed that the dead man Alex had found at the inn was the one who’d met Phoebe at the
Black Bull, but that was the only useful information they had obtained. Brevare didn’t even know the dead man’s name, although Alex suspected that Marstone did.
By the time Marstone had finally given up, Alex was fairly sure that Brevare really didn’t know more. He was beginning to have some sympathy for Brevare—Hilvern had proven himself to be both ruthless and dangerous. Marstone—or his wife—would make sure the vicomtesse and Suzanne were taken care of, and probably wouldn’t deal too harshly with Brevare who had, when it came down to it, acted in a way that he thought would protect his family. His treatment of Phoebe wasn’t very different from the behaviour of most men of his class towards what he considered the lower orders.
“…bankers at Hoares and Coutts will need persuasion from someone higher than me to check for suspicious transactions…”
Alex had never seen the London side of Marstone’s operation in action. Within half an hour of their arrival the day before, the house was almost empty of staff as Kellet dispatched them to call on friends in the households of people on a list Marstone had written in the coach. Hilvern did not work in the Foreign Office, therefore he must have collaborators, willing or unwilling, who did. And once news of Hilvern’s death got about, some might flee with information to buy themselves sanctuary in France.
“…rely on gossip or hearsay if the people involved are merely clerks…”
Kellet finally wound down, and Alex asked the question he’d been wondering about for the last couple of days. “Didn’t you have any suspicion of Hilvern, sir? Phoebe met him at one of your dinners, I understand.”
“No, to my shame,” Marstone said. “I invited him for his political views—almost guaranteed to be the opposite to most of the men I call friends. But I’ve never considered him much more than a pompous windbag.”
“And therein lay his advantage.”
“Indeed. And we have yet to find out how far his activities spread. Now, I’ve another task for you, unless you would like a few days to recover?”
Some time off would be good.
“You could go back to Oakley Place,” Marstone continued, without waiting for a reply. “Much more relaxing than hanging around here.”
Phoebe would still be there. He wanted to see her again, but not if she’d accepted an offer of marriage from Lord Harlford. He did his best to banish that idea from his mind.
“No?” Marstone said. “Well, the other will let you get some rest as well. There’s a packet I need to be delivered in person to the governor of Gibraltar—the Lily’s ready for you at Dover. I’ve a few things for you to do tomorrow, but you can be on your way in the afternoon.”
Chapter 54
“Welcome back, Miss Deane,” Trasker said, appearing at Phoebe’s side as she stepped onto the deck of the Lily. His cheery grin faded as he greeted Joe.
“This way, miss.” Owen picked up her trunk and led the way down into the narrow corridor. “Nice to have you on board again. Can I get you some refreshment?”
“Tea, if you please,” Phoebe said. She’d eaten her fill only an hour before when they’d stopped at an inn.
Although she had been sitting for most of the day, the captain’s cabin was far more restful than the jolting coach, and Phoebe took her time drinking her tea. Joe joined her, holding a sealed packet and a roll of charts, and sat down across the table from her.
“A letter?” Phoebe asked.
“Sealed orders,” Joe said. “Not to be opened until I was on board.” He broke the seal, revealing another sealed packet and a note.
Leaning across the table, Phoebe saw that the second packet had ‘Only to be opened at sea’ written on it. “What does the letter say?”
“We are to await another passenger.” He looked up at Phoebe, frowning. “The passenger is not to know you are on board until we have cleared the harbour.”
Phoebe smiled, a strange mix of happiness and apprehension rising in her. She’d resolved to enjoy this voyage with Joe even if Alex did not come, but she was very pleased to find that Bella’s guess had been correct.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, Fee? There’s a locked box as well, not to be opened until my other sealed orders permit.”
“I don’t know any more than you told me,” Phoebe said. “Anything else would just be supposition. Will Trasker know when the extra passenger is due? Do you think you need to warn him not to say anything about me?”
“I suppose so,” Joe said. He gulped the rest of his tea and left again.
Back in their cabin, Ellie had finished unpacking the few things they would need that night. There was no room to unpack more—she would have to live out of her trunk while they were on board.
“Come on deck and look around,” Phoebe said, picking up the boat cloak that Joe had lent her. Ellie put her coat on and followed her up the steps. The wind felt even stronger than it had on the quay, blowing spumes of foam from the tops of waves beyond the breakwater. Beneath a thin sheet of cloud, the setting sun gave a warm glow to the castle walls above the harbour. Phoebe walked to the rail and looked over, glancing back when she realised that Ellie had not joined her but was standing with her back to the mast, the corners of her mouth turned down.
“Looks a bit rough, don’t it, miss?”
“I’m sure they won’t set off if it’s dangerous,” Phoebe said encouragingly. “You grew up by the sea, didn’t you?”
“Yes, miss, but looking at it from the shore baint the same as looking at it from ’ere.”
“You’ve never been out on a boat?”
“No, miss.”
“Well, this will be a good experience for you, like visiting London!” Phoebe said bracingly, feeling a little guilty that she hadn’t asked Ellie if she minded accompanying her.
Ellie looked unconvinced, and soon went below to get out of the wind. Phoebe rather liked it, as long as Joe’s boat cloak kept her warm. The wind was from the north-east, bringing a distinct chill with it, although Joe had been pleased as it would speed their voyage along the Channel.
Half an hour later she was almost cold enough to go below, the little warmth from the sun gone as it neared the horizon. She crossed to the rail nearest the shore for a last look at the town. Carriages and carts had been moving on the quay all the time she had been on deck, loading and unloading crates and barrels; now her eyes fixed on a man carrying a small trunk along to one of the waiting boatmen. The light was too dim, and the man too far away, for Phoebe to see his features, but she recognised him even so, and felt suddenly breathless.
Remembering Joe’s instructions, she walked over to the companionway, standing to one side as crewmen swarmed up from below, some going to the halyards at the foot of the mast and some preparing to weigh the anchor. Trasker must have recognised him too, and would be wasting no time getting under way.
It was far too early to go to bed, so she took a book from her trunk and lay on the top bunk. She didn’t read, but wondered what exactly she would say to Alex when she saw him. Finally she told herself sternly not to worry about it. The words would come.
Alex breathed in the salt air, and the smell of seaweed and fish. It made a nice change to be boarding the Lily for a voyage without the prospect of danger. Perhaps Marstone was right, and it would be a chance to relax. At this time of year, the Mediterranean warmth would also be welcome.
How much more pleasant it would be, though, to have a companion. Watching the activity on the Lily as the boatman rowed them closer, the things he’d been contemplating in the coach came to mind again.
He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life running around Europe at Marstone’s behest. The novelty had worn off years ago, but it wasn’t until those few days with Phoebe in France that he’d realised how different such a life—or any life—could be with a trusted partner. One particular trusted partner.
Phoebe would be a companion and friend as well as a lover and a wife; after that kiss in the rain, he was in little doubt that she wanted him too. The kiss could hav
e been merely the reaction to another terrifying day, but he didn’t think so. Deciding that he should stay away from her for her own good went against one of the many things that he admired about her—her ability to make her own decisions.
The boat bumped into the Lily’s hull, and he hoisted his trunk up and scrambled aboard. Trasker greeted him briefly as he reached the deck, and led the way below.
“The lieutenant’s in here,” he said pushing open the door to the main cabin. Phoebe’s brother was examining a chart spread out on the table.
“Deane?” I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Deane glanced up, then stood up straight. “Westbrook?”
“The lieutenant’s been sent to check up on me,” Trasker said, his voice flat.
“Well, you’ve never taken the Lily as far as Gibraltar before,” Alex said.
Trasker grunted, slamming the door behind him as he left the cabin.
“Gibraltar?” Deane said. “We’re—” He closed his mouth with a snap.
“I’ve a packet to take to the governor,” Alex explained.
“Oh. Yes… well, Trasker’s about to get under way, so I’m needed on deck. Owen will get you some food.” He ran a hand through his hair and reached for his hat. “We can sort it out in the morning. It’s the same course for a while, whoever is right about our destination.”
Deane left, and by the time Alex had taken his coat off, Owen had arrived with a plate of his usual stew and a bottle of wine. Alex ate, wondering why Deane didn’t know their destination. Never mind—he’d find out soon enough. He poured another glass of wine and sat with it, swaying gently with the familiar motion of the ship.
Phoebe.
When he got back to England, he’d go to Oakley Place, or follow her to London, or Scotland if Calvac had taken up Marstone’s offer. They should at least discuss the possibilities.
If she hadn’t already accepted Harlford, that was. But if he was right about her feelings for him, she would not accept the marquess. His Phoebe would not be dazzled by title and wealth.