Unbefitting a Lady

by Bronwyn Scott

  Phaedra slumped in her chair, getting her racing pulse under control. Admittedly, she had little practice with this sort of man, with any man. He’d had it aright when he’d guessed her kissing had been limited to party games and holiday traditions. He’d been right, too, when he’d suggested she wanted to know about his kind of kissing. Just because she hadn’t been kissed, didn’t mean she didn’t want to be. There just hadn’t been the right opportunity, or maybe there just hadn’t been the right man. She was twenty, after all, and girls younger than she were married with families.

  Phaedra fiddled idly with the paperweight on her desk. Bram Basingstoke thought he could be the right man. Was he crazy? She was a duke’s daughter. It raised the question of whether or not he knew better. He acted like no servant she’d ever met. There was a bit of irony to the idea that a lady took a groom out riding with her as protection, as a chaperone, but who protected her from the groom when he came in the form of Bram Basingstoke? In no way did he meet Aunt Wilhelmina’s terms of an ideal chaperone. He was far too handsome, and far too exciting with his brash brand of conversation.

  Phaedra gave a heavy sigh. If the truth be told, she was disappointed he hadn’t kissed her in spite of her scold. It might have been nice to know once and for all what the mystique was all about. She was tired of being twenty and having never been kissed, at least not really kissed by a real man. Perhaps there was still hope. Bram had left without claiming his forfeit. Until then, she had Warbourne to think about. Phaedra grabbed a lunge line from a hook on the wall. It was time to see what her colt could do.

  * * *

  Phaedra looked up at the clock on her wall and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Quarter past six already! The afternoon had sped by in an enjoyable flurry of activity. Warbourne had not disappointed. She’d worked with him until late afternoon and then buried herself in her office writing copious notes about the day’s training. It was all very promising and she was tempted to send to the house for supper instead of going back. But that was the coward’s way. It would accomplish nothing. If she didn’t show up for supper, Giles would seek her out down here. If he meant to have a talk, nothing would stop him.

  Phaedra rose and stretched, her stomach rumbled. She’d worked through lunch and tea. Supper sounded nice but she’d have to hurry if she was to be on time and dressed to meet Aunt Wilhelmina’s exacting standards. Even though no guests were present, Aunt Wilhelmina expected the family to dress for dinner. One never knew who might arrive at the last minute and while they could have bad form in showing up unexpectedly, the Montagues could not. A duke and his family must always be prepared to look the part.

  Phaedra arrived in the drawing room promptly at seven o’clock dressed in a cream dinner gown of Spitalfields silk woven with blue and red flowers, her hair put up in a twist with a few tendrils left down to frame her face. Her maid, Henny, had been prepared, a gown laid out and a pitcher of warm water already waiting in anticipation.

  Lumsden summoned them for dinner with a properness not to be outdone by any London household. Phaedra thought it was all a bit silly since everyone was gone but Lumsden had been with the family for years and, like Aunt Wilhelmina, he had his own ideas about the importance of standing on ceremony even if it was just the three of them.

  That importance extended to where they dined. The long, stately dining table dominated the centre of the room; eight-armed candelabra of heavy silver graced the table length atop a snowy white cloth. Lights from the candles played across the delicate Staffordshire china and crystal wine glasses. Every night, the room was turned out to perfection, much like its three guests, and every night, the room remained mainly empty with only a few to enjoy its beauty.

  It had been different in the fall. Kate had been home and Cousin Ross had come to visit with his sister, Araminta. Phaedra had enjoyed their company.

  Ross had made dinners lively, discussing local news with Giles and Kate. Even Aunt Wilhelmina had been charmed by him right up until he’d been discovered having a little romance with the maid, Lisette. Aunt Wilhelmina hadn’t minded the romance—‘it was what men of his station did’—but she had minded greatly that he hadn’t wanted to end it. Now Ross was gone and Araminta had married and gone to live in Cambridgeshire.

  ‘Perhaps we could invite Alicia to dine with us again some evening,’ Phaedra suggested, taking in the empty expanse of table. Alicia must hate dining alone.

  Aunt Wilhelmina, her iron-grey hair pulled back into a tight bun, shot her a quelling look as if she’d spoken blasphemy. ‘That woman has not yet earned a regular place at the table with the Montagues, no matter what name she calls herself.’

  That woman, Alicia Montague, had been relegated to the Dower House with her little son and stuck in limbo since autumn waiting to prove to them all she was truly Jamie’s widow, waiting for acceptance. Phaedra felt sorry for her. Alicia had been up to the house a few times. Phaedra knew her father liked seeing the little toddler when he was well enough. But for the most part, the family liked to pretend she didn’t exist whenever they could. Alicia Montague was awkward to say the least, a reminder that not all was settled.

  Phaedra opened her mouth to respond but Giles cut in. ‘Phae, let’s not bring any unpleasantness to the table. The kitchen has prepared roast pheasant tonight. We should enjoy it. Why don’t you tell us about the colt? Did you take him out today?’

  ‘Giles, he’s splendid. You should come down and watch him tomorrow.’ Phaedra managed to keep up a steady stream of chatter about Warbourne and the stables for most of dinner. She began to hope Giles would forget the talk he wanted to have. But by the time the raspberry crème was set in front of them for the last course, Giles brought the conversation to his subject.

  He fixed her with a friendly, brotherly smile. She was not fooled. ‘Phae, I mentioned at breakfast that I wanted to talk with you about this spring.’ He nodded in Aunt Wilhelmina’s direction. ‘We would like to give you a Season. It’s long overdue and you deserve it. Tucked up here in Derbyshire, you’ve had very little chance to meet anyone your own age or station.’

  Phaedra put down her spoon. She hated when he did that. It was a nasty strategy, making the command seem like a gift. He wanted to give her a Season. ‘That’s very generous of you both.’ Phaedra returned Giles’s smile with one of her own, picking her words carefully. Aunt Wilhelmina was a grand proponent of the Season. She and Kate had gone around about it when it had been Kate’s turn to come out.

  ‘I think it would be a burden and an expense.’ Aunt Wilhelmina might like the Season but she liked to save a pound whenever she could. Phaedra hoped the money argument would appeal to her. ‘We’re just getting the money back in line, Giles, after father’s bad investments. I don’t want to undo your hard work by straining the coffers over something as unnecessary as a wardrobe and opening up the town house.’ To say nothing of the cost of keeping the horses and the carriage in town and all the other expenses of simply being in London.

  It was Aunt Wilhelmina who answered. She sharply dismissed Phaedra’s concern. ‘If we’re worried about cost, we can stay at Lady Grace Mannering’s, Araminta’s aunt. Not much to be done about the wardrobe though. We can’t have you go looking like a pauper. People will talk. There’s frugality and then there’s stupidity. The money has to be spent in the right places.’

  Giles covered Phaedra’s hand with his own. ‘Don’t worry your head about money.’ There was a glint in his eye that warned her not to press the argument further. He knew very well she hadn’t been worried about money in Buxton when it came to Warbourne. He understood her argument now was just a polite subterfuge to avoid the real issue. If she was going to get out of a Season, she’d have to tell the truth, the real reason she didn’t want to go.

  ‘I can’t leave the stables,’ Phaedra said bluntly. ‘When I left in January to visit the new stables at Chatsworth everything fell apart while I was gone.’ She’d come home to find the stables in disarray, hay orders not placed and horse
s not shoed.

  ‘We have a reliable man in place now. Bram Basingstoke is quite accomplished, Tom Anderson said as much today when I spoke with him,’ Giles answered her evenly.

  Giles had come to the stables? ‘You came down and didn’t come to see me?’

  ‘I came this morning. I was told you were out riding,’ Giles said firmly. ‘Now, don’t change the subject. You know I’m right. You rode with Basingstoke this morning and you know he’s capable if he handled Merlin. Besides, Tom Anderson is on the mend. He’s able to keep a better eye on things than he was in January.’

  ‘It’s not just the stables,’ Phaedra hedged. ‘I can’t leave Warbourne. I won’t.’

  Aunt Wilhelmina exploded. She pointed her spoon at Phaedra. ‘That is enough, young lady. You’re twenty and you’ve never come out properly. You’ll never catch a husband, you’ll be nothing but a burden on this family.’ She paused to draw a breath before continuing.

  ‘I promised my sister on her deathbed I’d look after you girls and see you settled. Your mother worried about what would become of her precious girls. It’s so much harder to raise daughters. The world takes care of its men but it doesn’t take care of its women. That’s a family’s job and one I accepted willingly. Out of love for my sister, I’ve devoted my life to seeing the six of you raised. You will not fail me at the last, Phaedra.’

  Phaedra rose and shoved back her chair, tears of anger and guilt burning in her eyes. She had to get out of the room before she embarrassed herself. ‘No, I won’t go. Not this year. I most respectfully refuse.’

  She shot her brother one last look. ‘I’m sorry, Giles. I can’t do it. I simply can’t.’

  Phaedra didn’t stop to change her dress or to grab a shawl. She headed out into the night, to the stables. Where there would be peace and there would be no more talk of Seasons and husbands and promises to keep to mothers she didn’t remember.

  Chapter Six

  Bram couldn’t sleep. The idea of being in bed at this early hour was still an utterly novel idea. It wouldn’t seem so novel in the morning. Still, that didn’t change the fact he couldn’t recall the last time he’d gone to bed before ten. Usually he headed to bed when the sun was creeping up over the horizon. In London, evening entertainments would barely be under way. But nothing he’d done today had resembled any of his London activities, why should going to bed differ in that regard?

  Instead of sleeping away half the day, he’d risen early and seen to morning feeding, following Tom Anderson around and making notes about the various dietary needs of the horses. He’d broken his fast with the other men on the simple but hearty fare of thick porridge. After breakfast, the grumbles had begun over who had to take Merlin out to exercise and he’d quickly assigned himself the task. If there was a difficulty, he wanted to address it immediately and personally.

  Then Phaedra had arrived and he’d spent the rest of the morning riding out with her, which had been insightful. She was proving to be an enticing mixture of strength and innocence that was as responsible as the early hour for keeping him up tonight.

  He’d made a tactical error today. He should have kissed her, claimed his forfeit and been done with it. Past experience had taught him the best way to deal with unmitigated desire was to address it head-on, much the same as a difficult horse.

  Bram gave up and rolled out of bed. There would be no ‘addressing’ of the Phaedra issue this evening. She was safely out of reach up at the house. But perhaps a little exercise would help him sleep. He reached for breeches and a shirt. He’d do a quick patrol through the stables and see if the horses were settled.

  Halfway down the stairs, he heard it, the sound of someone in the stables. The sound could be anyone, a stable boy checking on a horse or Tom Anderson up and about. A sound wasn’t necessarily cause for alarm. But the lantern light coming from the vicinity of Warbourne’s stall was, especially this time of night. Phaedra hadn’t made any friends with her purchase. Bram wouldn’t put it past Samuelson to attempt some chicanery.

  Bram slowed his steps and approached cautiously. He tensed his body, ready to take the intruder unawares if there was one. It seemed there was. The outline of a figure became evident in the light—a figure wearing skirts. Tension ebbed out of Bram. It was no thief in the night at Warbourne’s stall.

  ‘Good evening, Phaedra.’ He’d been careful to keep his voice quiet but she startled anyway. She turned to face him, a hand at her throat.

  ‘It’s not polite to sneak up on people.’

  ‘It’s more interesting though.’ He gave her an easy smile. She was dressed oddly for a late-night visit to the stables. Still in an expensive evening gown, she clearly hadn’t planned to come. She shivered a little and he noted she hadn’t come with even a shawl for protection against the damp night. There were only two reasons for such an impromptu visit.

  ‘Is Warbourne all right?’ He’d personally checked the colt before he’d gone upstairs for the night and the colt had seemed fine a few hours ago.

  ‘He’s fine,’ Phaedra said shortly.

  ‘Are you all right, then?’ On closer inspection, she did appear upset, although she’d not admit it.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Phaedra crossed her arms against the cold, unable to suppress another shiver.

  ‘No, you’re not.’ Bram stripped out of his jacket, a plain woollen hacking jacket that had been in the pile of clothes he’d borrowed from Tom Anderson. He swept the coat about her shoulders in a neat gesture, the simple garment a stark contrast to the richness of her own attire. In London, he would have had an expensive jacket of superfine or his long riding coat of heavy cloth to wrap about her. His favourite riding coat would have dwarfed her. Here, he had nothing so fine to offer her. It was something of a first for him. But Phaedra shrugged into the cheap coat gratefully.

  ‘Now, are you going to tell me what you’re doing out here freezing?’ He leaned against the wall, studying her. She was elegant tonight, dressed in a gown of oyster silk that rivalled the styles of London’s dressmakers, her hair piled on her head instead of hanging down her back in a thick braid. At her neck she wore a thin gold chain with a charm shaped like a horse dangling from it. She looked beautiful, delicate.

  Almost.

  With a face like that, a man could easily mistake her beauty for fragility. Tonight, there was nothing of the spitfire who’d raced him neck or nothing across the winter fields. But he had seen that woman and Bram knew better. Something had stirred her inner fires enough to make her flee the house.

  ‘How was dinner?’ Bram tried again when she said nothing. That got a reaction. Her eyes turned stormy. So that was it.

  ‘They want to send me away.’ She shot him an accusatory look.

  Bram sat down on a hay bale left between stalls for the morning. ‘Where to?’ The way she said it made it sound like she was being shipped off to a convent or the wilds of Scotland.

  ‘London! They want me to go have a Season.’ Phaedra waved a hand in outraged dismissal. He ducked in time to avoid being hit. ‘You’d like that. You’d have the stables all to yourself.’

  It was on the tip of his tongue to say she was a lucky girl but to argue it would make him look complicit in her assumption that he wanted her out of the way. He’d love to be back in London with all the comforts it provided. But obviously Phaedra didn’t want to go and, contrary to her beliefs, it didn’t suit his plans to have her go. London was the one place he couldn’t be right now. ‘A Season is very generous.’ Bram hedged his comments. Inspiration struck. ‘Have you been before?’

  Some of Phaedra’s anger faded when she realised he wasn’t going to argue. He could see her body relax beneath the overlarge shoulders of his coat. ‘No. I was supposed to but that was the year my brother, Edward, died. He was nineteen.’

  He’d heard as much from Tom Anderson. ‘And the next year?’ The family would have been out of mourning by the following spring.

  She shrugged, a gesture he was coming to recognise as a di
stractor. She shrugged when she wanted to appear nonchalant, a sure sign she was hiding something of greater value. It was a delightful gesture. He wondered if she knew she did it. ‘There were a lot of things going on with the family last spring. Giles had just come home and I didn’t feel like leaving, not for London anyway.’

  Another set of mysteries to solve about the Montagues, Bram thought. It was odd indeed for a ducal family not to send their eligible daughter to London. ‘Did your sister go?’ Phaedra wasn’t the only one who would have been itching for a Season.

  The reference brought a slight smile to her lips. ‘You don’t know Kate. The last thing she ever wanted was a London Season. She went once for her debut and she never went back.’

  He was starting to understand. Perhaps her sister’s poor debut had coloured her own perceptions. ‘Just because your sister had a bad experience, doesn’t mean you will.’ That would hardly be the case. London’s bachelors would stumble over themselves to get to her; an attractive duke’s daughter was quite a catch indeed. Something raw and primal knotted in his stomach at the thought of London’s bucks competing over Phaedra as if she were a prize to be won. If there was any winning to be done, he’d be the one to do it. After all, he saw her first.

  Phaedra shook her head impatiently. ‘I can’t possibly leave Warbourne. If I go to London, I’ll lose my chance to race him at Epsom.’ She paused and watched him, her blue-grey eyes holding his. ‘Aren’t you going to laugh or are you simply going to ignore the statement the way Giles does and pretend you didn’t hear it?’

  They were back to that again. The lantern light cast an intimate glow over the stables, limning Phaedra’s delicate profile in a soft rosy glow. In the loose box, Warbourne had settled to sleep. Bram let the words hover between them before he ventured into the conversation.

  ‘Warbourne’s a good horse. There’s nothing to laugh about there. But why Epsom? There are other races. There are even other races at Epsom he can enter next year as a four-year-old. Why is the Derby so important to you?’ The personal nature of her quest for Epsom had not been addressed in their earlier conversation.