“It is an honorable position.”
“It is a career built on an argumentative disposition.”
“There are plenty of persons who require defense from the law.”
“Defense?” Lady Ann emitted a shocked laugh. “You would not prosecute? You would defend our nation’s criminals?”
“‘Criminal’ has become a most overused term, My Lady. What crime can a young child truly commit? One must consider the circumstances of a crime and determine whether the intentions justify the action enough to warrant leniency. There is poverty and strife within our own country, My Lady, and we, as the nobility, have a responsibility to not judge others according to our own experience of privilege. The law stands for justice, not revenge.”
“You’re a free thinker, Lord Boltmon.” Her voice did not convey approval at this notion. “I would go so far as to say you are a pacifist.”
“I do not consider myself a pacifist, simply a gentleman who values some principles more highly than warfare.”
“But we both enjoy reading.” She recalled this fact as if trying to reassure herself. She forced a smile. “That is more common ground than many husbands and wives share.”
It was clear to Owen that Lady Ann was intent on securing a husband and nothing more. She was so desperate to be wed and not labeled a spinster or old maid that she would willingly throw herself at a gentleman who stood against her very core beliefs.
Owen understood that Lady Ann desired a soldier; she wanted a hero, a gentleman who stood for British victory and clean streets no matter the human cost. Yet perhaps he would be able to find some redeeming quality of her own character that was attractive to him.
“What else can you tell me of yourself, Lady Ann? What are your interests? What are your personal ambitions?”
She clasped her hands together and smiled wistfully. “Simply to be a good wife, My Lord. I’ve all the skills of a wonderful mother.”
Owen no longer listened as the conversation continued. He found Lady Ann to be a contrarian and a dullard. When the music began and they danced, he felt as if he were spinning a porcelain doll across the floor rather than a being of flesh and blood. She looked around the assembly more often than she looked at him and every time she caught her mother’s eye, they would both smile as if party to some dastardly secret.
He was well aware of their plans. They had conspired to make a husband of him.
* * *
Roger and Owen stood outside the assembly rooms after Lady Ann and the Duchess had departed in their carriage. It finally gave Roger the opportunity to inquire as to Owen’s first impressions of the lady he had so willfully brought to his attention.
“At last, you can tell me what you made of Lady Ann.”
“She was well-spoken and learned.” Owen paused. “And conceited, entitled, and dull. She has one wish alone—to secure for herself a husband of status. She despises my choice of profession, my ethos of living, and my very nature, and I found her to be superficial and not much more than a mouthpiece for her mother’s beliefs and wants.”
“You’ll not be calling for her, then?”
“No, I shall send her flowers in the morning.”
Roger frowned. He tilted his hat to protect his face from the rain that was starting to fall and pulled his jacket tighter around him. “I don’t understand.”
Unlike Roger, Owen embraced the rainfall. He tilted his head back and allowed the water to run down his face and wet his clothes right through.
“If I am not to marry for love, then why not Lady Ann Walters? Why not any lady at all? If the heart does not come into it, then I shall content to marry anyone who so wishes it.”
“You have not considered what we discussed.” Roger shook his head. “You are a lovesick gentleman, and no good will come of it.”
“I considered it a great deal, my friend, but I cannot change a lifetime of love for one person and direct it toward another who is not worthy.”
“Tell me, Owen, what is so enchanting about my sister that you cannot find yourself another bride who you be content with?”
“Phoebe is her own self. She thinks for herself, she acts for herself. Yet she gives love generously. She treats her inferiors in the same fashion as her equals, and she aspires to more than a gentleman’s wife. She is interesting and kind. She would be more than a symbol of status; she would offer true companionship.”
“These are fantasies. Phoebe is barely more than a child. She has yet to learn who she herself is. She can engage a gentleman with the wonders of her great mind.”
“You are wrong, Roger. Phoebe has enchanted me all my life.”
He imagined her skin flushed from either playful teasing or scolding; she was equally beautiful in mischief or anger. How often had he stared at the beauty in her face and longed to pull her toward him so he could taste the sweetness of her lips?
There was a shift in the tone of Roger’s voice when next he spoke. “I am going to speak plainly to you, my friend, and I pray you do not misinterpret my words to show any loss of respect or friendship for you, but know this: I can no longer condone your yearning for my sister. It is a betrayal to your brother and risks staining Phoebe’s good name if anyone were to hear you speaking longingly of her thusly.”
“I am not speaking publicly, Roger. I am speaking to you, my oldest friend.”
“And Phoebe’s brother. It is my duty to protect her.”
“I wish her no harm. I have only love for her. An excess of love.”
“You know full well that she is betrothed. I have allowed you some time to adapt your behaviors, understanding that you have true love for Phoebe and knowing you have had to endure her romance with Evan while he has been home. However, this reverie must end. You are no longer children, either of you.”
“The fact we are no longer children does not make my affections for her vanish.”
“You must put her from your mind. If I hear you speak of this again, you risk more than just our friendship.”
Chapter 9
Evan’s first letter arrived to Phoebe on a Tuesday morning.
It read:
My Dearest Phoebe,
We have arrived at port in France where we shall stay three nights before we set course for India.
The seas have been kind to us. It is almost as if the waves know they are carrying me away from my beloved, and therefore do so with care so that we might meet again before too long.
Last night, I was witness to the most incredible masterpiece of astronomy. I waited until the others had descended below deck for the night and I stayed alone to look upwards at the stars. I wish you could have seen how they shone, Phoebe. Each one was like a jewel in the sky.
I thought of the locket I gave you and wished I had the means to give you a star instead. The next locket I bring you will have a star upon it so that when you look upon the engraving, you shall remember that when I am at sea, I am always looking upward and thinking of you.
I am somewhat cautious knowing the course ahead. This will be my first voyage to India, although I suppose it is closer than China, a place with which I have become quite familiar.
It is strange how quickly one feels he has no home. When I visited Bentley, I felt as a stranger there for I have been away so long. I would lie in my bed and feel disturbed by the stillness yet as soon as I was back on my ship, sleep came. The waves lull me each night into the most pleasant of dreams. More and more often I find myself dreaming of you, my love.
For the first time when I set sail this voyage, I did not feel I was leaving England behind. I’ve become accustomed to parting from all I know and almost forgetting I am an Englishman as soon as my ship touches the water. My father, mother, brother, and all I know become nothing but distant memories until the waves bring me home again.
There is a notable difference on this occasion. I feel as if some invisible cord binds us and I am unable to depart and leave all memory of England behind. Now my heart yearns for English shores,
knowing it is there that my lady awaits me.
I am incredibly glad for the moments we shared whilst I was in Bentley. There seemed such a leap in time from childhood to manhood that I hardly saw that you had also changed alongside me.
I carry with me the memory of your beauty and your grace, feeling the sweetest joy to know that when I return, you will be more beautiful and graceful still. You are like a song that gets sweeter with each note, a melody that resides within my heart.
I came to realize how deserving you are of the highest measure of love, for you are sweet, and curious, and full of life. I am almost embarrassed to confess the excitement with which I have been researching the fauna native to my destination. All of the riches and material goods with which I shall return do not compare in importance to me to finding that single flower to live in our garden.
It is an untold pleasure to be able write to you, to have someone to reach out to during these long periods away from society when one is most prone to periods of loneliness.
I hope that you are well and that your days are filled with happiness, my love. I beseech you that when you write to me in return, that you do not omit any activity, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem.
These letters shall be the foundation of our enduring courtship. May they be always telling and full of love. Bare your soul to me, my love, for I know I shall find no flaw in who you are. It is the deepest desire of my heart that you find me worthy of your love.
Your devoted husband-to-be,
Evan
Phoebe clasped the letter to her chest as she fell back on the bed in the misty haze of romance. Evan’s words were as charming on the page as they were spoken in the ballroom. Her betrothed was proving to be a master of tender words. The way he penned his affections caused Phoebe to drift on a cloud of contentment.
She believed he truly loved her. She quickly returned to her vanity table to write a letter in return. She dipped the nib of her pen in ink and placed the tip to the paper.
Words failed her when it came time to set them loose on the page. Phoebe was not a lady of sentimental prose. She’d only ever had one male companion apart from Roger, and she had always spoken frankly with him.
When Phoebe spoke with Owen, there was no poetry, formality, or deliberate construction. Semantics mattered little when one had so much to say.
With Evan, it was harder to know how to express herself. She did not know whether to being with the minutiae or reciprocal declarations of devotion and love.
She had never written a love letter before and wondered what her father would say if he knew she had received one. She imagined he would turn a blind eye, knowing that her correspondence with Evan meant only that she was compliant with his plans. She was certain it would even bring him joy, knowing that her marriage might be a union of love.
A novice to matters of the heart, Phoebe attempted to reply with as much poignancy and style as Evan.
My Dearest Evan,
How your letter has warmed my heart. You speak of how great a leap there was from childhood to adulthood, and I am in complete agreement. Yesterday I was a girl, and now I am a lady in love.
It is hard to find the words to express such tender emotions and such gratitude toward the one who inspires them. The prospect of our union once frightened me, when I considered how long we have been parted. But since our recent reunion, all doubts have been assuaged. How could I do anything but fall for you?
I cannot speak of stars or voyages, Evan. Instead, I can speak of security and home comforts, which I have come to appreciate in place of adventures, as unexciting and unenviable they may seem.
Today I went to my secret place in the garden. Did you know that my father’s estate is full of secret places? I have always felt very deeply the restrictions of my position as the daughter of an Earl. I devote exceptional quantities of time to study and proper conduct. I often long for the peace of my own mind in some quiet place.
When we are married, and time alone is no longer a scandal, I shall show you where these secret places dwell. My favorite of all is at the pond behind the estate. There I draw the birds or sing to myself. Sometimes, I simply sit and consider life and all its complexities.
If I had been born a gentleman, perhaps I would have become a philosopher. I spend great deals of time considering the purpose of one’s life and how to live a life that is virtuous. I have visited church more often of late, trying to find some guidance from above.
Where one finds no comfort, she can only rely upon her own instincts. I should like to teach reading to the less fortunate so that the female children of the poorer citizens of our borough might find work as governesses and thereby elevate their statuses in society.
You may have noticed my exceptional closeness with my own governess, Miss Bennet. The role of governess is vastly undervalued, especially when one has been raised without a mother.
Your letter has been a joyous gift. I smiled as I read your words. You write so beautifully and skillfully that I felt as if I were with you, looking up at those jeweled skies. For a moment, the life of this ordinary lady became something resplendent. I was under the stars with you, Evan.
So while I fill my letters with the trivia of my dull days as an Earl’s daughter, I pray you’ll fill yours with further incredible descriptions of your extraordinary life. As I bare my soul to you, please do so in return, Evan. Never before have I felt so inclined to romance; never before have I felt so certain of love.
Phoebe paused, her pen hovering above the page. The last line she had written had not been truthful. She had been certain of love before, with the very brother of the recipient of the letter she now wrote.
She drew in a deep breath, ignoring and quelling the tears that rose in her eyes, for her time with Owen—as a friend or anything more—had passed. He had made it very clear to her that if she would not consider him as a husband, then they should not communicate at all.
In this matter, she had no recourse. She would never marry Owen, for she would never betray Evan nor her father—even if she were forced to betray her own heart.
Yet, when she thought of Owen, her blood ran hot. Thoughts of him made her mouth dry and body tingle with desire. His smile danced in her memory, haunting her every waking thought in the most delicious way.
Enough of this foolishness, Phoebe. She scolded herself for letting her thoughts linger on Owen. She had determined to love Evan and there was nothing for her not to love. He was a romantic and a gentlemen, and his talk of stars and voyages was enough to turn her thoughts away from her first love.
Whenever she felt she was leaving behind true love, she reminded herself of Miss Bennet’s advice that there was no such thing. And if Owen had loved her, would he not have valued her friendship for the sake of its value alone? It seemed to her that he wished to own her rather than enjoy her company, or why else would he not continue to take advantage of a companionship that had served them both so well for so long?
She shook herself to discard the thoughts from her mind and returned her attention to her writing.
She penned her final lines:
I sleep every night with the locket you gave me, and already I look at it and think of you.
I long for the life we shall share. Until then, I draw immense joy from the bond that already ties us. Your letters are sweet comfort to me.
I await your next letter with the greatest anticipation.
Lovingly yours,
Phoebe Elkins
* * *
It was a hazy, strange sort of dream in which Phoebe both knew she was dreaming and yet felt completely absorbed in how real it all felt.
In her dream, she was dancing with Evan, but not as they had danced at the ball. In this dance, Evan had his arms clasped around her waist and was pulling her close.
She could feel his mouth against her throat as he moved his lips down to kiss her skin. All the while he was spinning her, around and around in front of all those who were watching.
>
As he began to kiss her, the spectators and the ballroom faded away. It was only the two of them spinning in the darkness. She blinked and her clothes had fallen away apart from her boned chemise and drawers which were suddenly wet through.
Evan was wet through, too. She could smell the salt on him as if he had just stepped off a ship. He was wearing his naval costume and looked so handsome, so tall.
They were still dancing. In her dream, Phoebe was aware that her chemise had become see through and that Evan could see the plump outline of her breasts as clearly as if she were nude.
However, she didn’t stop dancing. In this dream, she understood that she was on display and his to see.
An Immoral Dilemma For The Scandalous Lady (Steamy Historical Romance) Page 7