The Devious Seduction 0f A Wayward Duke (Steamy Historical Romance)

by Olivia Bennet

  “The follies of youth, Owen.”

  “The follies of Phoebe.”

  The two walked together down the long hall toward the drawing room. Owen noticed the way in which even Phoebe’s walk had changed. There was an intoxicating sway in her hips that had never been there before.

  He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment and shame. He felt terrible having such disrespectful thoughts toward such a fine young lady and close friend.

  “I remember another who lived outside the social customs as a boy,” Phoebe challenged him. She cast a teasing glance his way then returned her gaze frontward. The smallest look to say so much. “I never did thank you for the book you left me on my twelfth birthday.”

  “Phoebe, a secret gift to my brother’s betrothed would have been atrociously out of place. The birds themselves must have left it there for their most frequent spectator.” He paused. “Although I might reason that perhaps it would be something a sixteen-year-old who knew no better might have believed to be harmless and kind.”

  “Sometimes a gesture of friendship is just that and nothing more.”

  “Yes, sometimes.”

  Sometimes it is a token of a forbidden and unspoken desire. Sometimes a gesture of friendship speaks of far, far more.

  “What brings you to Wycliff House, Owen?”

  Phoebe and Owen arrived at the drawing room. The room spoke of formality and restriction, only more so when Lord Wycliff entered from the opposite doorway just as the pair were entering.

  “You two are wandering around the house alone, I see?”

  Phoebe laughed lightly. “Don’t be alarmed, father. Our paths simply crossed in the hall. I thought it best to bring Lord Boltmon straight to the drawing room.”

  “Forgive me, Lord Wycliff,” Owen said. “I was asked to wait in the foyer, but I thought I recalled my way to the drawing room. It seems memory didn’t serve me as well as I thought it might.”

  Lord Wycliff nodded and sat down in a chair with a regal flick of the tails of his tailcoat. “You’re here to discuss my recommendation for a military position for you.”

  “I am twenty years of age, My Lord. I am running out of time to be commissioned and I will need to be vouched for by a superior officer.”

  Lord Wycliff chuckled. “I haven’t been a military gentleman for many, many years, Lord Boltmon.”

  “Your reputation still precedes you. Your word would go a long way in securing me a reputable position.”

  Phoebe’s eyes widened. While Owen and her father were comfortably seated, she stayed standing.

  She turned to Owen with a look of resounding horror on her face.

  “Lord Boltmon, you’re joining the military?”

  The pain he heard in her voice only confirmed to Owen what he already knew—Phoebe cared for him as he cared for her.

  “It is either that or studying law, My Lady.”

  “What’s wrong with law?”

  He laughed. “It offers limited professions. For a gentleman of my standing, I would be expected to become a judge.” He offered her a teasing smile that he managed to conceal from her father’s eye. “And I don’t believe the wig would serve my vanity well.”

  His joke drew a chuckle from Lord Wycliff. “The military makes you a gentleman. You won’t regret your choice.”

  Phoebe frowned. She pulled her shoulders back and drew in a huge breath. When she next spoke, her emotions flowed as freely as Owen recalled them from childhood.

  “Ridiculous. You are not a soldier, Lord Boltmon. You’re a scholar. Am I to believe there is no career but soldier or judge? What of chemistry, biology, physics, philosophy…” she gestured above her, “or birds? What of your study of the migration patterns of European flocks?”

  “A pleasant pastime, but not a career, My Lady.”

  Her eyes welled with hot angry tears, so unbecoming of a lady of her status—of any lady. Owen glanced across at Lord Wycliff. Surely he must sense, as Owen did, that her upset spoke of an attachment far beyond that she should feel for a childhood friend. Clearing his throat, Owen looked away.

  Lord Wycliff grew embarrassed and scolded her. “Phoebe! You’re being hysterical, and it is far from your place to pass judgment on who is or isn’t a soldier.” He turned to Owen. “Speaking from experience, Lord Boltmon, you have the makings of a fine Second Lieutenant and you will have my full recommendation to my peers in the military. Let your father arrange the suitable payments and your position will be secured.”

  “There is a war waging, Owen!”

  “Phoebe!”

  She stamped her foot down, almost tripping on the material of her long dress. She looked far less a lady now, more like the child she’d been only a year or two ago.

  “Napoleon is on the rampage and our men are fodder. You have too much to offer to die in a field.”

  Lord Wycliff’s voice became low and dangerous, a tone deeper than the scolding he gave his daughter a moment ago. Now there was true anger and disappointment in his voice.

  “Perhaps you ought to save such concerns for your husband-to-be who is at sea as we speak.”

  “What harm will come to him transporting tea back and forth across the oceans? Will he face rifle fire on his travels?”

  “If the love I had for your mother didn’t steady my hand, Phoebe…”

  “My ‘husband-to-be’ has been away from me for over four years. He is practically a stranger to me. Should I be shamed for showing some affection and concern for a friend who has been present all these years?”

  Lord Wycliff stood and extended his hand to Owen. “Forgive me, Lord Boltmon, but I must ask you to leave. My daughter and I are in need of some discussion. Rest assured, I shall write a recommendation for you and it will arrive at your father’s house presently.”

  The men shook hands and Owen cast a look back over his shoulder as he left. Phoebe had crossed her arms over her chest and turned her tear-stained face away. He dreaded to think what cruel and derogatory things her father might say to her once he had left and only wished there was a world in which he could stay and comfort her.

  Chapter 4

  “I brought you a gift from China.”

  “That’s very kind.”

  Evan handed Phoebe a pretty little gift wrapped in pink while Miss Bennet watched from a nearby seat in the corner of the drawing room.

  It had been six months since Phoebe had lost control of herself during Owen’s visit, and now she was here with his older brother, trying to control herself once more.

  All said, Evan was a kind, gentleman, if a little arrogant. But how could Phoebe judge him for that? He was a well-traveled and highly-educated gentleman who had every right to brag. He was, after all, one of the most eligible bachelors of their time and Phoebe knew how he tried to be kind.

  She gently tore away the tissue paper from the gift. Inside was wrapped the most beautiful ornate box decorated with images of Chinese farmers bringing in tea from the fields.

  “It’s lacquered in the traditional Chinese fashion, handmade by a renowned artisan. There isn’t another like it in the world. It’s a sewing box.”

  Phoebe made a great effort to ensure gratitude showed on her face although she had little interest in sewing or embroidery. After all, it was the most beautiful box.

  “It’s lovely. Thank you.”

  “Your father tells me you are an accomplished seamstress.”

  “My father believes I am.” Phoebe closed her eyes a moment. When she opened them, she focused her gaze on Evan. He was handsome, if not as beautiful to her, as his brother. He had strong features, a square jaw and straight nose. His eyes were steady and determined. He still conducted himself in the most gentlemanly manner possible; he never made a single faux-pas. Even now, his spine was as straight as a lamppost and his clothes were pristine. He spoke as if his lines were rehearsed for the stage. There was no spontaneity in him—until he was on the sea.

  “I’m eighteen soon,” Phoebe said aloud. She smo
othed out her skirts to avoid his gaze, although eventually, she determined to catch his eye. “In no time at all, in fact.”

  Evan nodded. “I’m counting the days, my love.”

  My love. I am a stranger to you, Evan.

  “May I ask, Lord Huxley, once we are wed, what opportunity will I have to accompany you overseas?”

  He appeared taken aback. He furrowed his brow as if attempting to determine whether she was speaking in jest. When he judged that she was speaking in all seriousness, he lowered his voice kindly and spoke to her in a gentle manner.

  “You would wish to travel with me?”

  “You speak of such wondrous things.” She stared out the window as if gazing across to distant lands, although all that could be seen beyond the glass was the misty grounds rolling in fog on this rainy day. “I imagine there are countless species of birds there I would never otherwise see.”

  “My darling, your love for birds will pale in comparison to your love for our children. You shall have your own little flock to watch over when we are married.”

  “There will be plenty of time for children.”

  “My Lady, you will already be eighteen by then.”

  “And only then, in marriage, will I have the authority to travel and see the world. A lady has very limited permissions in our time, Lord Huxley.”

  “I hear what you are saying and I will endeavor to fulfill your every wish, my love. I am in Bentley for a fortnight. Before I leave, we shall visit the botanic gardens together.”

  He had misunderstood her entirely, so she continued speaking without pause.

  “I imagine I would make a wonderful sailor. Perhaps I could lend a new perspective on our imports. As a lady, I’d be able to offer certain insights about what appeals to the female population.”

  “I imagine you’d end up dreadfully sick. The motion of the ships can make one ill.”

  “At the very least I could draw and write.”

  “You’d be the lady of the house, my love. You’d have endless balls and parties to attend, societies to join, children to raise. You only feel restless because you are young and unmarried.”

  She looked down sadly at the box in her lap. It seemed to her a symbol of her oppression. A pretty box for her sewing things; drudgery wrapped up neatly in a bow to disguise it for the disappointment it was.

  Duty forced her response and she smiled, wrapping the paper around the box once more and placing it on the seat at her side. “Perhaps you are right.”

  “I hope it is only the fear of boredom that disturbs you and not your chosen husband?”

  Evan was astute if nothing else. How could he have failed to see her longing glances toward his brother over the years? Phoebe was renowned for her inability to hide her emotions even though she was learning the skill at last out of necessity.

  Miss Bennet was looking down at her lap, giving the young couple their privacy. Phoebe took the opportunity to lay her hand atop Evan’s.

  “You’re a kind, wonderful gentleman.”

  “That doesn’t entirely answer my question.”

  “I consider myself lucky. I do believe we’ll be happy.”

  Happy was a word that could be interpreted in so many ways. True contentment came to so few, this Phoebe knew. But she would live in comfort and be married to a gentleman who wouldn’t raise his hand to her. She would have the opportunity to read and draw in the sanctity of a beautiful home. She would be able to listen to the tales of her seafaring husband. There were certainly worse fates for young ladies of her time.

  Her words brought a broad smile to Evan’s face. “That makes me so glad to hear, My Lady. I have only love for you. You have always held my truest affections. You shall have everything your heart desires, a trinket from every corner of the world. I will bring you paints from across the seas of the highest quality, canvasses to work upon unlike any that can be found in England. I’ll bring you every feather I find upon my way if birds hold your interest so.”

  He grasped her hands and met her eyes with conviction. “I will do my best to be a good husband to you, My Lady. We are amongst the lucky few who have love for each other prior to a marriage. All my memories of you are fond ones.”

  “As are mine of you, Lord Huxley.”

  “I’m not one for sentimental prose, for the most part, My Lady, but you should know that you are always with me when I’m away. I yearn for you. I think of you often. I miss you when we are apart.”

  “You do?”

  His eyes softened. “Of course. You were there throughout my childhood and now I am a grown gentleman, you will forever be a symbol of home. You are the light I follow back to shores, my love.”

  Phoebe’s heart could not stay in its cage for she knew that Evan was speaking sincerely. She could see his affection for her in his eyes, and she considered how she had never spared a thought for how Evan might feel when he was at sea. She had never considered that loneliness might have been his only companion on those dark oceans. Perhaps she was truly in his mind as he wandered foreign streets to find the perfect gift to show her how he cared.

  “You speak so beautifully, and I am touched.”

  “This next voyage will be a long one.”

  She felt her spirits sinking. It seemed that her softening toward his sweet nothings were in vain; Evan had professed his deep affections only to speak of his forthcoming abandonment in the next breath. He was like the ships he sailed on, always drifting away.

  “It seems whenever we are given occasion to grow closer, we are torn apart.”

  “Love can flourish despite distance. There is something bittersweet but wonderful in knowing a beautiful lady is waiting for you back home.”

  And what of the lady who waits for you in an empty manor?

  “It gives me comfort to know my brother will be here to watch over you in my absence.”

  “Lord Boltmon is joining the military.”

  Evan smiled. “Have you not heard? He has chosen to study law. He will be spending three months in London before returning to continue his study in Bentley.”

  “When we last spoke, he was adamant that he would become a Second Lieutenant. He asked for my father’s recommendation on his behalf.”

  “I suppose he came to realize he is not a soldier after all. Forgive me for speaking freely for I have nothing but love for my brother, but the good Lord blessed him with an excess of intelligence but very little in the way of courage or strength. His contribution to the world will be in the work he does from the safety of his home.”

  Phoebe bristled. She felt offense on behalf of her dear friend Owen. He had courage enough to forge a friendship with her in a time when any unauthorized affection was considered an atrocity.

  “I believe if he were on the battlefield, he would find the courage within if only to defend his country. Lord Boltmon is a deeply loyal gentleman.”

  “You care for him.” There was something of sadness and self-realization in Evan’s voice. “It’s a deep regret of mine that I have not been here to see you grow into a lady as he has. I hope you know that I have loved you all the same.”

  She met his eyes. “And I have loved you, Lord Huxley.”

  * * *

  Phoebe sat in quiet contemplation by the library window. The room was distant enough that she was unable to hear any of the other household residents, neither the bustle of the staff nor the conversation of Roger and her father in his office.

  The window was too heavy for her to move, or else she might have been able to hear the birdsong outside. Two sparrows were dancing in and out of the branches of the giant oak in the dappled light that fell through the leaves. The sunshine fell over her face in the wing chair in which she sat by the window.

  In the silence, she heard Miss Bennet arrive before she saw her.

  “Lady Phoebe? You’ve hardly been about all afternoon.” The governess stepped into the room and sat in a chair opposite Phoebe. Her kind eyes set their gaze upon Phoebe and she settled into
a listening pose. “Talk to me, child.”

  In the presence of a trusted confidante, Phoebe was secure enough to cry. She bowed her head and her tears fell onto the emerald tulle of her skirt.

  “I’m at a loss, Miss Bennet.”

  “You’re in love with one brother but betrothed to another.”

  Phoebe raised her head in a flash and her eyes widened as all the color drained from her already-pale face. “Miss Bennet!”

  “Forgive me, My Lady. That was far from my place to say.” She appeared worried and her eyebrows drew together in fear. “I didn’t mean to cause offense.”

  The breath that Phoebe seemed to have been holding for so long finally escaped her lungs, and as it did, her shoulders fell; her body crumpled.

  She raised her tear stained eyes to the woman who had raised her in place of a mother and nodded. “You know me so well, Miss Bennet, and you are not wrong.”

  Her words were permission for Miss Bennet to continue the conversation. The young governess moved to take a seat on the windowsill so that she might be closer to her ward. She rested one hand upon Phoebe’s back and the other upon her knee, bowing her head so that she might look up into Phoebe’s crying eyes.

  “Lord Boltmon is a fine young gentleman, but Lord Huxley will make you a wonderful husband. I was there this morning. Didn’t you see the love in his eyes for you? I worry you do not see his pain when his gestures are not received with equal tenderness in return.”

  “I try, Miss Bennet—good Lord, do I try! I sit meekly, and listen to his stories, and laugh, and tell him that I love him. And I do love him, Miss Bennet, but I love him as I love Roger. As a girl loves a gentleman who has always been present and couldn’t fail to be in her heart for that reason. Yet we have so little in common. He doesn’t understand the person I am, which makes me fear that with him, I can no longer be myself. I feel destined for motherhood and drudgery.”

  Miss Bennet’s eyes were warm with compassion, but also deep with experience. “When I was a lady in good standing, I dreamed of being a socialite. I adored the beauty of all the fashions and the wonder of a ball. The music, the atmosphere, the laughter.