“We’re aware of th-the dangers. We won’t take any unnecessary chances.” She sat up straighter, folding her hands neatly in her lap, then relaxing her hold a little as she pulled on the bandage beneath her gloves.
Of course, he noticed. “How is your hand?”
“Much better, thank you, sir. I’ve given your handkerchief to the laundress. I thank you for the loan.”
“Thank you. But I am more concerned about you. You washed the wound and changed the dressing?”
“Of course.” She’d seen what happened to people who left wounds to fester.
When he drove through the park gates, Phoebe felt sorry that her treat was coming to an end. She would never have assumed she would feel that at the outset of the drive.
“I expect you to take the greatest care of yourself,” he continued, “until I am able to assume that task myself.”
“Sir!” Phoebe exploded indignantly. “That is not what we are doing here. You know it isn’t, and it is cruel of you to lead me on in such a way.”
“Is it not?” Since traffic was considerably more varied and thicker here than in the park, he was forced to keep his eyes on the vehicles in front of him. From fashionable carriages to battered hackney carriages, with drivers of varied skill, he could not take their passage for granted. Phoebe was relieved. “Who can tell what will happen? What if we fall helplessly in love, and act on our impulses?”
Her delighted gurgle of laughter needed no words. She didn’t stammer when she laughed.
Chapter 4
Leo left the carriage at the mews and made his way to his house, where his grandmother was holding court. Today was one of her “at home” days, so he tried slipping upstairs in an effort to get to his room and change without her noticing him. If the wind was in the right direction, he could get out and to his club without her knowing he’d returned.
Sadly that was not to be, as she had left a note requesting he attend—although “request” was a polite euphemism in this case. But he could use the excuse of being in all his dirt, and so earn twenty minutes’ respite before he had to go down to the drawing room and confront her and her cronies.
Although breakfast had been uncomfortable, he was glad he had broached the subject of his betrothal with his grandmother at the first possible opportunity. She had lectured him severely, accusing him of impulsive behavior. “How do you know this woman is not a fortune hunter? She is fresh from the country, and her family is, by your admission, of slender means. Snaring a duke in her first season? Is she very beautiful?”
He thought of the plainly dressed, outspoken Phoebe and smiled. “She is not accounted a society beauty, but I think she is. She does not. Indeed, Grandmama, there was little I could do. I could not stand by and hear her wrongly accused. And although our mission was innocent, she could have been labeled a hussy or worse.”
“The torn ruffle excuse is the oldest in the book,” the dowager said. “I am surprised you allowed yourself to be trapped by it.”
“Her ruffle was truly torn. And it was so because through the country dance, all her partners did their best to ignore her. I will not stand by and allow such appalling behavior. She was distressed, although she tried to tell me she was not. She needed a place to recover.”
“Are you telling me that you initiated retiring to a garden pavilion?” his grandmother demanded wrathfully.
“I did,” he confessed, “and I would do it again.”
“I see.” She regarded him through narrowed eyes. “Then I will have to venture into society. Truly, Leomore, I thought I could trust you at your age!”
Leo should have expected a reception like this. His grandmother would never allow the grass to grow under her feet.
Once suitably attired, he went back downstairs.
The drawing room was comfortably full. At least, his grandmother would think so, though he was not sure he would define it that way. Heaving at the seams was more like it.
He was marked prey, and nothing could have expressed that clearer than the number of eager young women crammed on the various sofas and armchairs, most of whom had attended Miss Childers’s ball last night.
As usual his grandmother occupied the wing chair by the fire, the gilded one he privately named her throne. Without doubt she was holding court this afternoon, inserting herself into the middle of the situation he had initiated last night.
Flicking back the skirts of his crimson coat, Leo sat, accepted a dish of tea, and prepared to be charmed. He knew exactly what his grandmother was doing. She wanted to persuade him that his unfortunate alliance was misguided.
The ladies who attended were not deterred by his betrothal. Most women, learning he was betrothed, might send their congratulations, but they would not flirt the way these did, nor would they drop gentle disparagements.
While his conversation with Phoebe on the nature of clouds and their habits was utterly charming, his efforts to reproduce the whimsy was met by disbelief.
“Clouds do not think,” Lady Mary Devon pointed out. She was a lovely creature, an accredited beauty of the season, and quite determined to win the hand of a duke. Unfortunately, that put Leo squarely in the running. Her golden hair and cerulean-blue eyes were much admired.
In a few words she’d hammered his flight of fancy to the ground, forced it into submission. However, he wouldn’t give up without a fight. “Are you sure? Because they do know when rain is coming with a great degree of accuracy.”
On Lady Mary’s other side, the dark-haired Miss Caroline Spencer-Marshall trilled with careful laughter. “Indeed, sir, clouds have no thought. They merely carry the rain, don’t you know.”
“Indeed.” Lady Mary flicked open her fan. “More to the point, sir, do you think the weather well enough for a drive in the park tomorrow?”
And there was the hint. Leo refused to take it. “I have lately returned from a charming hour escorting my betrothed in the park.”
Lady Mary wafted her fan, the brilliants along the edge catching the light.
Miss Spencer-Marshall’s lip lifted in a sneer. “Ah yes, you were with Miss South.”
Leo’s ire rose, but he kept the easy smile in place. “Miss North, I think you’ll find. She is staying with her cousin, Miss Childers.”
“Your generosity and egalitarian attitude is remarkable,” Lady Mary said smoothly. “I commend you on it, sir. Not everyone would be so kind to a person barely on the fringes of society. I believe Miss North is employed as her cousin’s companion.”
He was beginning to understand what Phoebe was forced to face on a daily basis. With effort, he kept his temper. “Miss North is a relative of Miss Childers, paying a visit while the lady’s paid companion is indisposed.”
“We have an aunt who lives with us,” Miss Spencer-Marshall continued. A gleeful silence accompanied her words. “She is extremely useful. I don’t suppose she will ever leave us. Mama says she has a remarkable capacity for endurance.” She smiled, expecting amusement in reply. She got it, but Leo remained silent. He felt for the woman with the remarkable capacity for endurance. She had little choice, he guessed.
“Miss North has done me a great favor in accepting my offer. I consider myself the most fortunate of men.” Never more than now, when he had a glimpse of what he could have had. Until they had unveiled their true natures, he might have been taken in. They had been carefully well-behaved with him, mildly flirtatious, agreeing with everything he said. He should have known better. If he had cast his lure to any woman, it would not be to any woman here today, eager to disparage Phoebe and take advantage of her weaknesses.
Shortly after, they took their leave, all sending Leo sly, smiling glances. Oh Lord, he was so sick of that discreet flirting. When the last one had left, his grandmother let out a long sigh. “Ring for fresh tea, will you, Leomore? And do not leave. I want a word with you.”
Several,
if Leo knew his grandmother.
When she was settled with fresh tea and a cushion behind her back, which she declared was aching, Leo took his tea and sat in his favorite chair. The furniture in the drawing room might have the appearance of high fashion, but it was built for comfort, something Leo insisted on when his grandmother decided on refurbishment a few years ago. Now the upholstery was a rich green instead of the ridiculous ivory color that had to be laundered every time someone breathed on it, much less sat there. The furniture wasn’t gilded to within an inch of its life, either, except for the one his grandmother used, but had a pleasant mahogany sheen.
The dowager broke into his comfortable contemplation. “Leomore, what were you thinking? You will not marry that girl, it is unfair to both of you. She is from a modest background, and I have heard she is remarkably reticent. You must consider someone else. I am speaking of a lifelong partnership, not something unwisely conceived in the heat of the moment.”
“I intend to fulfill my obligation to Phoebe.”
A small smile curved his grandmother’s lips. “That does not sound very lover-like.”
He curled his lip. “You and I know that love is not what I require in my life’s companion. We have had too much of that in recent years, and it has led to disaster.”
The duchess sighed. “She will not settle to her rank. Leomore, I want you happy, but do not allow yourself to become carried away with dreams. If it is possible for you to withdraw from this arrangement, I pray you do so. How do you think this woman will cope with becoming a duchess if you force her to it?”
“She is intelligent and lovely. She will manage.” That was only the truth, though he wisely kept his unaccountable desire to see her naked to himself. He really had to get his hunger for her under control. Truly, their union was destined to be fleeting. He had rescued her from an unfortunate predicament. And his grandmother knew it. But she had used this situation to force him to think about his future.
“Can you see her at court? Or in charge of the estates, poring over household accounts? Interviewing housekeepers and butlers? Controlling a staff of fifty servants? Sitting for her wedding portrait?”
The disconcerting thing was that he could. “Yes. All of that.”
The dowager studied him for a full minute. Leo met her gaze steadily, waiting for her to respond. He never underestimated her. She had controlled the household during his parents’ wild years, and preserved the estate for him, rearing him single-handedly. Despite her increasing frailty, she still did. “Well, I have to say I have been severely disabused in the characters of many of the young women on the list I gave you. I request that you remove Lady Mary and Miss Spencer-Marshall from it. Their behavior in rushing here and then disparaging the woman you have chosen was vulgar and insensitive. I expect better of the next Duchess of Leomore.”
“Indeed. I agree with your judgment.” Although he agreed with his grandmother, the thought of Phoebe losing her impulsive quirkiness saddened him. However, he would rid her of that stammer before the season finished. He almost smiled when he recalled her shock after he’d confessed the hesitation in his own speech as a child.
“We will weather this. You must be happy in your rank, because you cannot avoid it. So must she. I will send your Phoebe and Miss Childers an invitation to dinner.”
Leo’s mind drifted to the one woman who had not lost her dignity today. The challenge she presented fascinated him, and her luscious form, displayed to such advantage today, drew the baser part of him.
He could not think of it, though he foresaw a torrid season ahead, while he quelled his more basic instincts. Lord, he’d made a tightrope that he had to concentrate to remain on. If he fell, he was lost.
After excusing himself, he went upstairs to freshen up. He would pay the long delayed visit to his club.
Before he left, he sat at his desk and picked up his pen. After chewing on the end for a moment or two and staring out the window onto the vista of his tranquil garden, he scribbled a few words of thanks to Phoebe for accompanying him today. She deserved that, at the very least.
* * * *
Three hours later Leo returned to his room to find a note awaiting him. The curtains were closed and the fire lit, making his room a cozy haven. Although he was due to attend two balls this evening, he was sorely tempted to remain. After allowing his valet to help him out of his coat, he drew back his desk chair and opened the note.
He had expected it might be from a friend, since it smelled of nothing but paper. A lady would have drenched the cream-laid parchment with some flowery scent. Of them all, he found lily of the valley the most cloying. His last mistress, famously known as La Coccinelle, had insisted on drenching herself with the stuff, and he could not break her of the habit. So he had broken her of another habit; him.
He nodded when the valet held up a velvet coat with gold braid and buttons. He’d chosen the dark blue because then he would not have to change the ivory waistcoat he already wore. His ennui was spreading to his wardrobe.
Lord, he was tired.
The note was sealed with an undecorated wafer. Breaking it, he found the same handwriting from the outside of the envelope. Children were taught the slanted, copperplate hand in the nursery, but there were always differences. This writer enjoyed adding flourishes to her y’s and g’s.
For it was a her. Skipping forward to the signature, he saw she’d signed it Phoebe North with pretty flourishes under her name.
He settled to read.
“Dear Your Grace,”—that made him chuckle.
“I assure you, you have no reason to thank me for anything. Rather, I should thank you. Now society knows my name, and I am sure to become the center of attention. Such a delightful prospect.”
He could hear her voice, dryly reading the words to him, but with that slight hesitation he found extraordinarily sexy.
“I will no doubt receive everyone’s approval and be the toast of the season, whatever becomes of our betrothal.”
His smile broadened.
“Your vehicle, while initially alarming, provided a great deal of amusement. I can honestly say that I have never had an experience like it. The nearest was the old gig my mother is fond of castigating as a cart, which she sneers at but drives anyway.”
That was interesting. She had not mentioned her family before. Comparing his phaeton to an old gig made him smile. Who else would write to him in such terms? He could think of no one. Smiling, he read on.
“Truly, I should have waved more often. I did think of it, but I was too busy holding on for dear life. I can truly say the drive is one I will never forget. Unfortunately, we don’t have much call for it in the country, or the roads, otherwise I would order one straightaway. I daresay I will be riding in my old gig or another very like it for the rest of my days, but you have given me the dream I needed to fire my fancy. As I drive, I will imagine it as the equipage you generously allowed me to share for an hour. The fine upholstery, the way you handled the ribbons, and the beasts whose power drove us on to greater heights were unsurpassed delights.
“Thank you for the ride, sir. I would wish that you take no other woman up in your chariot, but I fear I will be disappointed, so I will learn to bear my chagrin. I am fortunate to have held your attention for so long.”
Dropping the paper to his desk, Leo burst into laughter. The undertones, the clever double meanings of the letter, hit home. Miss North wasn’t so innocent after all. She had said nothing anyone could object to, but the meaning remained. They had spoken about Pope’s epic “The Rape of the Lock,” wherein a young woman was ostensibly ruined by a man cutting a strand of her hair, but that act had hidden the unsavory underworld and the secret lives beneath.
Oh yes, Miss North knew about secret lives.
Picking up his pen, he waved off his valet when he returned, and started to write.
Chapter 5
“Goodness, two pages!” Angela flicked her fingers at the letter Phoebe had dropped next to her breakfast plate. “Judging by your smile, I assume that is not from your family.”
“You’re quite right. It is from Leo—the duke.”
“I’ve never thought of him as droll before. May I see?”
When she reached out, Phoebe snatched the letter away from her reach. “It is mine.” With a sigh, she picked up the other letter. “This is not so welcome, I fear. My f-family is arriving in town soon. Mama wrote to m-me and said because of my news they are bringing their visit f-forward. She is hiring a house on Harley Street.”
“She is not,” Angela said indignantly. “They will stay here. All but your brothers, of course. They must lodge elsewhere. Proprieties, you know. I will write and tell them so.”
“Are you sure?” Phoebe asked anxiously. “That will p-put them at the center of s-society. And Mama is determined to snag a d-duke for Lucinda. ‘For if you can do it,’” she quoted, referring to the scrawled letter, “‘your sister c-can do it easily.’” She couldn’t suppress her groan. “Let them go to Harley Street, and I will j-join them. That way my betrothal may slip into the background. If I am not seen in society…” She ignored the pang of sorrow that hit her when she said it. After all, her dream had to come to an end sometime soon.
Angela held up a delicate hand in an unmistakable gesture of command. “Stop. You are staying here because I wish to have your company for a while longer. So your family must come, too. I will not have them take you away from me. Or remove you from your duke.”
Phoebe loved her family, but she saw them clearly. Where she was quiet, her mother was positively raucous. Where she dressed soberly, Lucinda had never seen a ruffle she didn’t like. “My f-father hates Whigs and will not hold back when c-condemning them and their Frenchified behavior.” She could hear the arguments that made her shudder already.
Angela leaned her chin on her hand, a lock of gleaming blond hair sliding forward to touch her shoulder. She looked nothing so much as a mischievous fairy. “Why should it end? Don’t think like that, Phoebe. You are as good as anyone else in society, and better than most. True, your portion is not large, but your birth is respectable and your manners exquisite.”
The Girl with the Pearl Pin Page 6