“What changed?”
She leaned forward with a happy smile playing on her lips, turning the locket between her fingers with tender affection. “He sent flowers to me the next day, then asked my mother for permission to court me. I only agreed as I had nothing else to fill my days and because I was missing Owen dreadfully.”
“And then?”
“I found him to be sweet and kind. He has the most incredible stories of his time in service but where such experiences would make some men hard, it has only made him gentler. He is wise and patient, too. He has traditional values.”
“And this complements your own?”
“Absolutely, Lady Phoebe. I have always strived for perfection in my social graces. I enjoy those traditional feminine pursuits of embroidery and charity. I long for motherhood. Lord Langborough appreciates those qualities in a lady, and as he does not have a son of his own, he wishes to have more children.”
“Does he have children already?”
“Two daughters, who are grown.”
“Oh my!”
“His late wife passed away seven years ago. Since then, he has been quite alone. The both of us were prisoners to our solitude until we met. Now when we are together, our conversation is endless and easy. He shows the utmost gratitude for all I do. I foresee ever such a fulfilling future with him. To be the perfect wife and mother to the children of a gentleman who will be thankful for it all is my version of a dream come true.”
“Is it love, Lady Ann?”
“I never thought it would be, but yes. In spite of the years between us, we have found a wealth of common ground. There is more that bonds us than divides us. All my life, I have felt as if I am not enough. Since courting Lord Langborough, I have become the world to one gentleman. And he is mine.”
She offered Phoebe the warmest smile. “Let go of all guilt, my dear friend, for we have traveled precisely the paths fate had written for us. I will be happier with Lord Langborough than I would have ever been with Lord Boltmon.”
“You truly believe this?” Phoebe’s heart became lighter and filled with hope and joy to know that Lady Ann had been rewarded for her kindness and grace with a love befitting a lady of her good nature.
Lady Ann nodded eagerly. “I am a traditional lady who sets her sights on fitting the template of the perfect wife and mother; Lord Langborough seeks someone to be his companion and to raise his children. You are a free spirit and an intellectual, and Lord Boltmon needs a lady who can communicate with him on his own level. Try as I might, I would never have been enough for him, and now I am with Lord Langborough who puts me first above all others, I realize Lord Boltmon would not have been enough for me.”
* * *
After supper, the rest of the group retreated to the parlor to play games, while Lady Ann and Phoebe opted to continue their conversation in private in the courtyard outside. Two years had left them with so much to catch up on, and they were both only too happy to share their stories with one another. Both had found so much happiness, and each found great joy in hearing of the other’s contentment.
In the privacy of the courtyard, Phoebe was able to confess all to Lady Ann. She trusted her well enough to tell her about the two years of their courtship, knowing that even if she had never spoken a word of it, that Lady Ann would have known all the same. She had known, after all, that Owen and Phoebe would be wed one day, even before they had accepted it in their own minds.
“I am so happy for you both,” Lady Ann repeated after Phoebe had finished telling her about Caddock Hill, and the grove, and shown off her engagement ring. “It is such a blessed thing to know that one’s actions had good repercussions. There is no doubt in my mind that the decisions we three have made have been the right ones for us all. Thank the Lord in His wisdom for guiding us all into love.”
“Everything is as perfect as it could be,” Phoebe agreed. “There is only one person who could stand between us now.”
“Who?”
“Lord Boltmon’s mother, the Duchess of Bentley. She has threatened to object to the banns and in order to placate her, he has agreed to attend a ball where she shall present to him other ladies she would rather he marry.”
“That can’t be true!” Lady Ann’s expression was one of true horror. “What kind of person would do such a thing? That sort of behavior is not befitting of a common street conman, let alone a Duchess. I am disgusted, Lady Phoebe; I am truly repulsed to hear of this ultimatum she has laid down.”
Phoebe bit her lip. “I know Owen will be true to me yet one can’t help but worry that the Duchess would not go to all this effort unless she had someone in mind who outshines me in every way.”
“The Duchess does not know what we three know,” Lady Ann replied sagely. “You, Owen and I know that this love goes far beyond a sudden proposal a fortnight ago; it runs deeper than she could ever possibly understand.”
“Do you think so?”
“Of course. She might think that Owen is acting on some noble gentlemanly impulse or desire to fulfill his father’s plans to unite your families, but she has no conception of the love you share. If one were marrying for status, then his head could be easily turned by someone with a grander title or more to her name. But to be turned from love? That is an impossible challenge, one that not even a Duchess can achieve.”
* * *
“Goodness me. Look at what you have done with this place.”
Phoebe jumped and quickly turned around from where she knelt before a large and decorative porcelain pot in which she was replanting her lilies which had outgrown their smaller enclosures.
It was the Duke who had entered the glass house. Phoebe had never been alone with him before and was shocked to find him there now.
“Forgive me if I startled you, my dear,” he apologized. “I did not know you were here.”
She stood and wiped the dirt from her hands on the pinafore she had taken to wearing over her skirts when she was gardening. She offered the Duke a humble curtsey and smiled.
“It is good to see you, My Lord Duke.”
He hooked his thumbs in the waistline of his riding trousers, puffed out his chest, and looked around the glass house in admiration of how it had flourished.
Phoebe enjoyed watching him. In two years, she had transformed the glass house into a wondrous botanical haven all her own. The little enclosure was now bursting with color all year around. She had educated herself on the blooming seasons of all kinds of flora and ensured that she planted bulbs that would bloom in turn so that there would always be flowers in Evan’s memorial garden.
It was June, so the summer flowers were in bloom. Her begonias were bright bursts of color amongst their leafy green stalks, pink and pale yellow. The crocosmias were vibrant crimson, standing out at the back of the glass house. The lilac bearded irises appeared soft and bell-like with their ruffled blooms, like the skirts of dancing ladies. The delphiniums, a tranquil blue, bloomed as rows of tiny flowers on straight stalks that would sway whenever the door to the glass house was opened.
The fragrance of all the flowers mixed with the damp earth created a single scent of summer. However, there was one fragrance that was more powerful and lovely than them all.
“Can you smell the lilies?” Phoebe asked with a nostalgic smile on her face. She gestured toward the pink-and-white flowers with their long silky petals and bright yellow stamens. “These were the first bulbs I ever planted here. This is the second summer they’ve bloomed.”
“The last time I stepped foot in this glass house was six months after we lost Evan,” the Duke told her. “It was barren then, only weeds and saplings. I couldn’t find the heart to return again. Being here brought too many painful memories of my eldest son.”
Phoebe smiled sorrowfully as she tended to the deep mauve dahlias, trimming away the excess leaves and weeding out any unwanted growth from the soil. No matter if the door of the glass house were constantly closed, a slug or insect or two would always find their way
in. She picked them off one by one and placed them in a pot to release in the grounds later.
“I think about him often,” she said, “especially when I’m here.”
“It is the most beautiful memorial I believe I have ever seen.”
“This place was ours,” Phoebe said, “to let it die would have been to let his memory die.” She turned to the Duke with interest. “What is it that has brought you back here, My Lord? Were you wanting to feel close to him?”
“It is more that I have come to realize that the time for grieving has passed and we are entering a new era, one of celebration. I have mourned for my eldest son, and now I must be joyful on behalf of my youngest. You and he are to be wed in one month’s time. How can I be sorrowful in knowing this?”
“It is a bittersweet occasion,” Phoebe answered him. “There can be no way I would ever stand at an altar and not think of Lord Huxley. He will be in my mind, in Lord Boltmon’s mind, and in the minds of the entire congregation.”
She smiled warmly at the Duke. “I am forever grateful to Lord Boltmon for his proposal. I know I will always be safe with him.”
“Of course you will be, my dear. But tell me something.” He stood beside Phoebe and caught her eye meaningfully. “Do you think you will ever love him as you loved Evan?”
Phoebe hesitated. There was a new lump in her throat and that familiar guilt that always plagued her when asked to compare the emotions she had and still felt for Owen and Evan.
“Honestly, My Lord?”
“Please.”
“Honestly, I love him already.” She placed down the tool she had been using and paused to speak sincerely with the Duke. “I feel the most awful sense that I have betrayed Lord Huxley in feeling this way, but Lord Boltmon has always been a dear friend, and we have had the opportunity to grow closer still. I wonder if I would feel the same guilt if I had fallen in love with another gentleman after losing Lord Huxley, or if I feel this awful knowing I love his brother.”
The Duke did not appear shocked or scandalized as she had imagined he would be. Instead, he smiled warmly.
“May I be honest now with you?”
“Of course.”
“I have long suspected that Owen’s love for you ran deeper even than Evan’s but that he was always too loyal to his brother to confess his feelings to anyone.”
Phoebe felt her cheeks flushing red. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears. She felt as if she had been caught in a lie. Or caught in the truth. It seemed the Duke was more perceptive than she had credited him.
“You do?”
“When he ended his courtship with Lady Ann, I imagined it would not be long before he offered to take his place. I’m surprised it took two years.”
“And were you not repulsed by this? Did you not believe Owen had betrayed Evan in loving me and then pursuing me after his death?”
“My Lady, I love you as my own daughter.”
“And you are dear to me, My Lord Duke.”
“I say this with fatherly love. I would far rather you were pursued by a gentleman who loved you even if it went against the rules of normal conduct than you married out of duty and lived a life unloved.”
He heaved a heavy sigh, turned over an empty pot, and lowered himself to sit upon it. Phoebe made her own seat at his side and sat with him.
“It is no secret that the Duchess and I endure a strained marriage.”
Phoebe felt both honored and nervous to be sharing such an intimate conversation with the Duke. She waited for him to continue.
“I waste away hours of my life imagining how different things would have been had I married another lady. I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy, let alone my son. He loves you, and if you have love for him, then I praise the Lord for that.”
She became tearful. The guilt within her at times was almost overwhelming. So many around her trusted her purity and good intentions, yet she knew she had allowed an affair of the heart—if not the body—to continue alongside her promise to Evan all her life. And now he was gone, she had fully embraced that affair and was now building a life upon it.
Sometimes she felt her relationship was tainted with betrayal. Then she would reason with herself how painful it had been to betray her own heart in ever pretending she had loved anyone but Owen.
“There are so many things I would say to Evan if he were here today,” Phoebe said. “Even though I have given my heart to Owen now, I will always remember Evan for his kindness and tenderness. His letters to me could have been written by any of the greatest lovers in history. I cared for him greatly.”
“My Dear, how could anyone accuse you of having forgotten or betrayed Evan when you have created such a beautiful space in his memory?”
Phoebe looked around the glass house and felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease. She had never really questioned in her own mind why she devoted so much time to the glass house. She had always believed it was from guilt alone but in truth, it was more than that.
She might never have loved Evan the way she loved Owen, but she had loved him. He’d been a lifelong friend and practically a brother to her. She missed him, and he deserved to be remembered.
Something else was also plaguing her.
“My Lord?”
“Yes, My Lady?”
“Owen has confided in me about Her Grace’s arrangements for a ball.” She looked down at her flowers, picking at the leaves. “I’m hurt at the lengths she would go to come between us.”
“The Duchess is an obstinate and difficult lady. I am ashamed to say I have been browbeaten by her many times. It is often easier to let her have her way, trusting in the good nature of those she tries to manipulate, than to argue with her.”
She nodded. “But a difficult compromise for us all.”
“You must think me a spineless gentleman to tolerate her.”
“Not at all, Your Grace.”
“The truth is, in spite of all her faults and the pains she causes me, I am loyal to her. She has done her duties as a wife. She has run my household and raised my children.”
“Of course.” Phoebe held her tongue against saying anything uncomplimentary about the Duchess. Lord Bentley was baring his soul to her and she would never criticize her dear Duke.
“We have seen the worst of her since Evan passed. I would never say it to Owen, of course, but she favored Evan greatly. Her Grace has great respect for strong gentlemen. She saw Evan as strong.”
“He was strong.”
“Yes, he was. He was a natural-born leader, fearless, intuitive. My wife saw all of these traits as admirable. His loss has cut her deeply. I do not believe Her Grace has true love for many, but she loved Evan.”
“And Lord Boltmon?”
“She does not understand him. She thinks men should be men—fighters, sailors, a firm hand. She does not comprehend that we live in a world that now needs more from its young men. It requires scientists, inventors, and thinkers in order to propel us forward.”
He smiled. “I believe Owen to be one of these gentlemen that will bring us a step closer to a more just and equitable future. Not only because he devotes himself in his career to moral progression in the law, but because he has chosen to love a lady who is not like the others.”
Chapter 23
The Duchess had gone to a great deal of effort to make the ball an extravagant affair and it seemed not a single eligible lady had been left uninvited.
Even widows were in attendance. Owen recognized Lady Hewitt, whose husband had died a year previous of an unknown ailment, leaving her a widow at the age of one-and-twenty. There was also Lady Whitmoore, a lady who was forty-two years of age if a day, whose husband, the Earl of Whitmoore, had passed some five years ago in a carriage accident.
It seemed to Owen that the Duchess had given some indication as to the purpose of the ball, as the ladies were dressed even more exquisitely than usual. The array of hats was something to behold and the air was filled with the blended scents of
a hundred different perfumes.
In contrast, Owen had made less than his usual effort in his appearance. He wanted to make it evident to his mother and all others in attendance that he was not on show.
When he arrived, the Duchess swooped in to greet him, taking him by the arm and walking him around the edges of the hall to point out guests of significance.
“There is dear Lady Clementina Collins. She sings like a lark and her father, the Duke of Rathborough, has one of the largest estates in England.”
An Immoral Dilemma For The Scandalous Lady (Steamy Historical Romance) Page 20