She stepped out of the glass house and sat on the damp grass outside. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Owen sat at her side, not caring if the damp and mud would spoil his clothes.
They were hidden from view by the height of the hedges around the glass house. Like the grove of Wycliff House, it was another hidden place where they could nurture a friendship that had never been more valuable.
“I am not as desirable other ladies,” she told him. “I have my own mind, and I do not care enough for airs and graces. I expend a great deal of energy in ensuring I fulfill the role that has been created for me, but there are few who have acknowledged that this is not who I am. Your brother was one of them.” She turned to him. “With Evan’s death, there is one less person in the world to love me as I am.”
“Evan had great empathy for others,” Owen agreed. “When I was deliberating over whether I should take my place in the army, he was one of the voices encouraging me to stay. He told me my greatest strength lay in my mind. I never forgot that. To be credited for strength of any nature felt so much more powerful when he said it.”
“And he made me this glass house.” Phoebe gestured behind her. Once again, she felt the hand of grief tighten around her heart. Every time it came, it squeezed tears from her eyes. “He did it to encourage my pursuit of intellect.” She recalled other conversations she’d had with Evan and laughed. “In part, it was a compromise so he could make a mother of me.”
“He would have made an exemplary father.”
“Yes, I believe he would. He was so open with the affections he offered those around him. He would have been a loving father. Our children would have been well-learned and open-minded.”
She spread out her legs ahead of her and straightened her skirts over them. “I used to imagine myself with a pair of fine, healthy children standing before me as the door was thrown open to welcome Evan home from a voyage. I imagined a dinnertime filled with his stories, and sitting in the library as he presented the gifts and trinkets he had brought home for the children. Never before had I visualized my own family that way, but with him, it was a pleasant dream.”
Owen turned to her with eyes filled with compassion. “I am so sorry for all you have lost. You know I will always see that you are well provided for; Evan would have wanted that.”
“I have been overwhelmed with the love that has been offered me from all I know since Evan’s passing.” She smiled. “My father and yours, Roger, yourself, Miss Bennet…everyone has offered me their love and their provisions. I feel there will always be someone to steer me right and see that I am well.”
“You are well-loved and admired too, Phoebe. I am glad that there are those ensuring your care.” He stood and offered a hand to help her stand also. “Best I leave before anyone realizes we are both here. Let me know when you shall return. I shall ensure you have the tools and seeds you need to make a start on this tribute garden.”
“Thank you, Owen. You are a good friend.”
He bowed to her and took her hand to place a single, tender kiss on the back of her fingers. “I will always be here for you.”
She looked up at him and felt her heart rise and sink at the same time. Something as simple as a kiss on the hand from Owen was enough to make so much of her pain vanish. But it would return so quickly, coupled with guilt that she had felt lust when she should be grieving.
* * *
Roger and Phoebe arrived together at Owen’s temporary accommodations in the city, where he was living while he studied. He had invited them to come for dinner with he, the Lady Ann and her brother Lord Denmoore.
After all introductions were made, they were led into the dining room.
The space was nowhere near as large as either of their houses, but it was pleasant enough to host a meal for five The dining room was a room just large enough to house a small dining table and a sideboard filled with porcelain plates. The wooden floors were covered with an ornate colorful rug and the fireplace mantle added further decoration to the room.
“This place seems smaller than I recall,” Roger said, pulling out a seat for Phoebe and then taking his own place beside her.
“The sideboard is new. It certainly makes the room seem smaller but Lady Ann insisted the room required something of a more homely touch.”
“The place was quite bare,” Lady Ann said. “Last time I was invited to one of his dinner parties, I found myself staring at the bare walls.” She nodded toward an oil painting above the fireplace of a park scene. “That is also new.”
Phoebe raised an eyebrow in surprise and found herself smiling at the change in Owen. “You have been hosting dinner parties?”
“I must apologize you have not been invited prior to today. You are my brother’s fiancée, after all.”
The room fell instantly and gravely silent. Owen cleared his throat and frowned. “Forgive me. For a moment I almost forgot.”
Lady Ann leaned across the table where she was sitting opposite Phoebe and squeezed her hands. “I am so sorry for your loss. I have prayed for you day and night since I heard. I can’t imagine your sorrow.”
Phoebe made attempt at controlling the trembling of her jaw as tears threatened to overcome her again. She drew in a deep breath to calm herself. “I thank you, Lady Ann. It has been a difficult time, but I am blessed to have the support of such kind company.”
“I insisted upon the invitation,” Lady Ann said. “To think of you excluded from all social events when you have already suffered such loss was something I could not live with. I am glad you could join us tonight.”
Lady Ann was so kind. Phoebe was astonished by how gracious and sweet she seemed. She was happy for Owen. He deserved to be loved by a genuine and good woman.
“Lord Boltmon!” Roger addressed Owen with a large smile. “Am I to believe you have prepared the dishes we shall eat tonight? Where then is your pinafore?”
There was a round of laughter at the table.
“Thank you, Lord Saxby, but no. I am pleased to say a cook has prepared our food for us tonight.”
“I am still overcoming the shock that you, Lord Boltmon, have taken to hosting parties! You were so adamantly against such occasions when we were young.”
Owen chuckled and looked across to Lady Ann fondly. “I am beginning to see the value in the social aspects of our position. How else would I have made the acquaintance of Lady Ann?”
Lord Denmoore laughed and tilted his glass of wine toward Owen in warning. “I am the chaperone tonight, Lord Boltmon. Take care you do not speak too fondly of my sister lest I should think you are attempting to court her in front of us all.”
“William!” Lady Ann scolded her brother but laughed. “This is a supper among friends.”
Phoebe felt a strange sadness envelop her. She had long since accepted the fact that she was always destined to marry Evan and that she should never court Owen. So why is it so painful to see him show affection toward Lady Ann?
She felt her eyes prickle with tears and had to quickly draw in several short, sharp breaths to stop herself from crying.
Roger turned to her with concern. “Phoebe, are you all right?”
She nodded quickly. “Forgive me. It is simply a bittersweet evening. I feel guilty to experience any sense of joy at all when Lord Huxley is not here to share in it with us, yet it is the greatest of reliefs to know that there shall be laughter again.”
“You have no reason to feel guilty, My Lady,” Lord Denmoore assured her. “Nobody can expect you to spend the rest of your life indoors wearing black. It has been three months since Lord Huxley passed. You have the right to enjoy the company of friends.”
It was true that ever pleasure made her feel guilty in the time since Evan had died, but her shame ran deeper than that. She recognized the envy in her when her stomach tensed at the sight of Owen and Lady Ann together. She was betraying her late fiancé. She was plagued by her love for Owen.
She had always loved the
m both, but it seemed now more distasteful to her than ever before. She could hardly fathom that she was capable of such disgusting disloyalty.
“Lady Ann,” she said quickly, “I am so pleased you have been there for Lord Boltmon. I have heard nothing but wonderful things about you, and you have been nothing but kind toward me.”
“I know your fathers have been close friends always. The four of you grew up together, did you not?”
“We did.” Phoebe let her mind wander back to her childhood and a smile came to her face. “We had the most wonderful years as children. We had endless grounds to explore and games to play.”
She wiped her eyes and smiled at her memories. “Lord Huxley, Lord Boltmon and my brother here would always play at soldiers or duelists.”
“Do not pretend you did not play at soldiers alongside us!” Roger laughed. “You used to call yourself ‘Sir Phoebe,’ if I recall correctly. You broke my wooden sword by thrusting it too forcefully at a tree you claimed to be a foreign invader.”
“My brother would always try to save you and you would always fight him off,” Owen said.
Phoebe laughed, her tears drying up at recalling years that were so full of happiness and joy. “He always wished me to play the damsel in distress or fair maiden, and I would always try to tell him I, too, was a soldier.”
“Once he brought you a bouquet of flowers he had gathered from the garden and you used them to fashion a potion, claiming you were an alchemist.”
She covered her face in her hand in humiliation. “I was quite an odd child.”
“Children are strange,” Lady Ann agreed. “Why, once I buried a marble, believing a marble tree would grow.”
“Lord Boltmon here once took down our paper ships with stones, claiming he was playing the part of the French.”
Everyone at the table laughed.
“Childhood was such an innocent time,” Phoebe said. “I sometimes wish there were a way to relive those years. Times were good then.”
Chapter 16
“That was a wonderful dinner, Lord Boltmon,” Roger said. “Should we retire now to the drawing room for some parlor games?”
“That sounds like the perfect end to an enjoyable evening.” He turned to Lady Ann and Phoebe. “Ladies?”
“I’d love to,” Phoebe said.
Lady Ann raised a hand. “We’ll be through in just a moment.” She smiled at Phoebe. “I don’t know about you, but I’m quite full from that sumptuous meal. Perhaps a moment to digest.”
Phoebe nodded. “I’ll sit with you.” She turned to Owen and Roger. “We’ll be through shortly.”
The gentlemen left to play games, leaving Phoebe and Lady Ann alone at the dining table. Strangely, Phoebe didn’t feel uncomfortable alone in the presence of Lady Ann. Even though she was with her precious Owen, Phoebe knew Lady Ann was a good person and she’d always been treated respectfully by her.
“What a wonderful evening,” Phoebe said. “Although I feel guilty enjoying it. Every time I smile, I think of Lord Huxley and my heart sinks.”
“It is no betrayal to find joy in life again,” Lady Ann advised. “Speaking of which, I purposefully held us back so we might talk.”
“Of course. Whatever is on your mind?”
Lady Ann suddenly looked tearful. She fidgeted until she stilled her hands by clasping her fingers atop her lap.
“Lord Boltmon is still very much in love with you.”
Phoebe felt the color drain from her face and was taken aback by Lady Ann’s directness. She drew in a sharp breath and took a moment to gather her thoughts.
“What gives you reason to believe there is anything but a platonic relationship between the Lord Boltmon and myself?”
“You don’t need to hide anything from me, Lady Phoebe.” She offered a comforting, albeit sorrowful, smile. “I don’t resent you for it but I do wish you’d be truthful. Lord Boltmon has confessed to me that he has loved you for the longest time but with your engagement to his brother, he was making every effort to move on from that infatuation. He knew it was misplaced.”
“Lady Ann…I’m not sure what Lord Boltmon has been saying but you must know nothing intimate has ever happened between us. He is like a brother to me.”
“Only because there has been no other choice.” Lady Ann toyed with her teacup from the tea set that was delivered after the final course of supper. “I am quite aware that I am not Lord Boltmon’s first choice of bride.”
“You’re wrong, My Lady. He loves you.” She lifted her hand and gestured around the room meaningfully. “He has hosted a dinner party here tonight. He has changed to make you happy. That is love.”
“He works tirelessly to please me,” Lady Ann agreed. “But is that love? I imagined love to be effortless, no chore at all. I believe that kind of love exists between yourself and Lord Boltmon. For he and I, it is a perpetual compromise.”
“I am no threat to you, Lady Ann. I would never dream of coming between you and Lord Boltmon.”
Lady Ann nodded slowly. “I know that would never be your intention but the seed is already sown. The love Lord Boltmon has for you precedes any affections he might hold for me by decades. I cannot compete with such depths of devotion.”
Leaning across the table in a heartfelt gesture of solidarity, Phoebe took Lady Ann’s hands in hers and squeezed them tightly. “I am so sincerely sorry if any bond between Lord Boltmon and myself has caused you pain. I’ve known you for a short time only, but it has been time enough to perceive that you are a kind lady of compassion and virtue. I wish not to deprive you of the smallest fraction of Lord Boltmon’s affections.”
Rather than comfort Lady Ann, Phoebe’s words drew more tears from her. Lady Ann retrieved a handkerchief from her person and dabbed at her tear-filled eyes.
“This is precisely why he loves you. You are so sincere. So noble.”
“I am loyal to his brother. Lord Huxley was my fiancé. Even in death, that promise means something to me.”
“May I speak openly with you, Lady Phoebe? I know we are not the closest of friends, and barely acquaintances, yet I wish to speak freely with someone who might understand a lady like myself who has a beating heart within her.”
“I’m listening. You can tell me anything and it will go no further.”
Lady Ann sniffled and again dabbed at her eyes. They were now pink and it was evident she’d been crying.
“I have waited so long for love,” Lady Ann said. “I’m no longer a lady of sixteen who might win the hand of any bachelor. I’m a lady who is advancing in years. Soon I will be two-and-twenty years of age.”
“Two-and-twenty. And what of it? You are no less intelligent, kind nor witty for a few more years behind you.”
“You are kind. I wish others would see it so. Unfortunately, with age, one loses her appeal. I have thought of Lord Boltmon as my last chance to be married, and when I found he was a kind and intelligent gentleman, I considered myself incredibly fortunate to have found him before my time had passed.”
“Yet?”
“Yet, I feel that if I have waited this long for love, perhaps I ought to wait a little longer or never marry at all.” She bit down on her lip. “Would it not be a worse fate to marry a gentleman who longs for another than to never marry at all?”
Phoebe touched her arm kindly. “I think you worry for nothing, Lady Ann. Lord Boltmon belongs to you and I have no wish to steal him from you.”
“He is already stolen, My Lady. He was long before we began courting and I know, deep down within me, that this will always be. He cannot change his heart. We’ve both tried, but it cannot be.”
“What are you saying, Lady Ann?”
“I have to break away from him now before it becomes even more painful to do so.”
“You cannot! Lady Ann, you love this gentleman!”
“Be that as it may, it is a one-way devotion. He loves you and I will give him the chance to pursue you.”
“And what if I do not wish
to be pursued?”
“You love him too. Of course you will give in.”
“My heart belongs to Lord Huxley. I will not exchange him for his brother as if he were a piece of furniture that could be replaced with something just as pleasing.”
“Lord Boltmon was the one who was replaced, Lady Phoebe. It is not my place to say this, I know, but I do not believe your marriage to Lord Huxley would have been a marriage for love.”
An Immoral Dilemma For The Scandalous Lady (Steamy Historical Romance) Page 14