His Lady Midnight

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “I didn’t mean … that is …”

  Lady Windham slapped her husband on the arm, her color becoming more normal as she laughed. “Stop hoaxing her, Hamilton.”

  “Any friend of Sir Ledwin Woods must appreciate a good jest,” Lord Windham said as he took a glass of wine from the nearby table. “He is known for his excellent sense of humor. She must be well accustomed to it.”

  Phoebe tried not to stiffen. She did not want to own that she had never met the man who owned this house. Then she realized she could be honest. “To own the truth, my lord, I have never had the privilege of meeting Sir Ledwin. He is Galen’s friend.”

  “I understand that you are quite the heroine, my lady.” Lord Windham lifted his glass in her direction. “You saved Townsend from his own folly in driving his carriage at a dangerous speed along those rough roads.”

  She flushed, not wanting to be false with the kindly viscount. “I did only what anyone else would have done.”

  “You are being too generous in your estimation of many of the people I have met.”

  “You are cynical, my lord.”

  His wife slipped her arm through his and laughed. “Do not let Hamilton’s skepticism disturb you.”

  “Skepticism?” Lord Windham asked with a laugh of his own. “I only wish more people would be like this kindhearted lady. She stopped to help someone in need.”

  “As you would have,” Phoebe said.

  “Yes, he would have.” Lady Windham smiled. “After all, that is how we met. He paused to help me when I was nearly ridden down.”

  “How horrible!”

  Looking up at her husband with a soft smile, Lady Windham replied, “It all worked out for the very best. Wouldn’t you agree, Hamilton?”

  “Yes, for the very best. If—”

  “Pardon me,” said a voice accompanied by an elbow that drove Phoebe back a half step.

  She jumped forward so Mr. Townsend did not reel into Lady Windham and hurt her unborn child. When the odor of brandy flowed from him toward her, she scowled. He was foxed!

  “Yes, do excuse him, my lord, my lady,” she said as the viscount scowled at Galen’s foolish brother.

  Lord Windham took his wife’s arm again and steered her away from Mr. Townsend who was weaving on his feet. Phoebe wanted to run after them, not only to apologize, but to prevent Mr. Townsend from engaging her in conversation when he reeked with brandy.

  Mr. Townsend must not have been as drunk as she had guessed because his voice was not slurred when he said, “That was rude of them. Windham has always thought himself the better of the rest of us.”

  Galen crossed the room, his smile becoming a frown. He must have heard his brother’s words, because Mr. Townsend took no care to lower his voice. “Carr, I am glad you have decided to join us.”

  “Join you?” He sniffed. “I thought I had no choice. You were quite clear in your orders.”

  Phoebe began, “Mr. Townsend—”

  Putting his hand on her arm, Galen said, “You might be more comfortable addressing him by his given name.”

  She nodded, even though she would have preferred to keep as much distance as possible between her and Carr Townsend. Quietly, she said, “It would be more courteous to our guests to take this conversation elsewhere.”

  “Why?” Carr retorted. “Are you ashamed of anything you or Galen might own to in your guests’ hearing?”

  “That is enough,” Galen said, his tone becoming stern. “Recall your manners, Carr.”

  “I shall when … What are you wearing?” Carr bent toward Phoebe and exclaimed, “You are wearing Grandmother’s rubies!”

  “Grandmother?” Phoebe gasped and looked at Galen who was frowning at his brother. He had not told her this necklace was a family heirloom. No wonder he had cut Mrs. Boyd off in the midst of her question. He must have suspected—quite rightly—that if Phoebe had known the truth, she would not have accepted such a gift. Her fingers went to her throat.

  Galen halted her from taking off the necklace as he had in her private chamber. Color scorched her cheeks when she remembered that. Had she lost every bit of good sense she had ever had? “Phoebe, they are mine to do with as I please.” He drew her fingers away from the necklace. “And it pleases me for you to wear them.”

  “But, Galen …”

  A throat was cleared.

  Looking over her shoulder, Phoebe tried to ignore how every eye on the room was focused on them. Instead she turned to Vogel who said with quiet dignity, “My lord, you asked me to speak to you about this evening’s wine.”

  “Thank you, Vogel.” Galen took a step, then glanced at his brother. “Carr, would you check the wine with Vogel?”

  “So you may put an end to this conversation?”

  “So we may tend to the needs of our guests.” Phoebe wanted to bite back the words as soon as they were uttered, because Carr aimed his furious gaze back at her.

  Carr smiled coolly. “I would have thought, Galen, that you might have asked me before allowing Lady Phoebe to wear grandmother’s rubies.”

  “Did you wish to wear them this evening?” Galen asked, his voice as chill.

  Phoebe looked from one brother to the other in disbelief. She had heard Galen speak so often about how he fretted about his brother’s safety. Now, when they stood face-to-face, they spoke like enemies.

  Carr muttered something and stormed out of the room.

  “Don’t say anything, Phoebe,” Galen said. Raising his voice, he called, “Dinner will be ready soon. If you will excuse us …” He offered Phoebe his arm and swept her out of the room before she or anyone else could speak.

  The dining room was deserted. It was a lovely room. Everything shone with tender care. A chandelier was gleaming with brass and glass prisms. The candles burned brilliantly in their silver candelabra, and the china and crystal on the long mahogany table seemed to be dancing with the flames.

  Galen did not give her a chance to admire it as he led her to the far side of the room and a sideboard beneath a stained-glass window. Picking up a bottle of brandy, he poured a serving into one of the waiting glasses. He downed it in one gulp.

  “Say what you wish now,” he said.

  “It is not my place to say anything.”

  “Nor do you need to speak what you are so obviously thinking. Let me tell you what I am thinking. Carr is my brother. I want to keep him alive and hope that he will assume the life of a gentleman rather than a blackguard.”

  “You do your duty as his older brother.”

  “Yes.”

  “But nothing more?”

  Galen started to answer, then poured more brandy into his glass. “Phoebe, you have your reasons for making a mess of your life. Allow me the liberty to do the same with mine.”

  “But I have a good reason for doing what I do!”

  “Ridding yourself of guilt? It has served Carr well.”

  She turned to look at the doorway. “Guilt? He does not act the least bit guilty.”

  “I said guilt served him well. I did not say it was his guilt.”

  “Yours? But, Galen, you watch over him so closely. It is clear that you wish nothing to happen to him.”

  “Again.”

  “Again?”

  Phoebe listened as Galen spoke of how his brother had almost died. Although she wanted to tell him that she could not see where his fault was in expecting his brother to behave with some sense of responsibility, she bit back her words. She could not fault him for his decision to help his brother. She was risking her life and her family’s reputation by doing the same for strangers.

  “You should take care,” she said, knowing that was advice she should heed as well.

  “In what way?”

  “Carr is … He is coming to depend on you.” That was the nicest way she could say what was careening through her head. “Maybe you should—”

  Galen pulled her to him and gave her a tender kiss. It had not taken him long to learn this was the best and s
ometimes only way to silence her, she realized, but she could not push him away when she wanted him near.

  He raised his mouth from hers. “Why are you prattling on about my brother? I would rather think of you.”

  “Of just me?”

  “Of you and me.”

  She caressed his cheek, and his hands at her waist tightened. Hesitating, she sought words to tell him that he did not need to give her priceless gifts to make her happy. The demanding pressure of his mouth against hers was heavenly.

  Carr’s uneven footfalls warned Phoebe who was entering the dining room. She stepped back and out of Galen’s arms, although she wanted to linger there all evening … and longer.

  “The wine for dinner is ready,” Carr announced, holding up a nearly empty glass. Sarcasm added a further chill to his voice as he added, “I appreciate your trusting me with such an important task as it appears that you do not trust me to do anything else.”

  Galen regarded his brother steadily. “I see you have not given up your habit of eavesdropping on otherwise private conversations.”

  “Eavesdropping?” He twirled the glass and smiled. “No, I was not listening to your court-promises to Lady Phoebe. I saw you sampling some of the brandy, and I thought I might as well.”

  “Serve yourself.” Galen put his hand on Phoebe’s arm and turned her toward the table. “Phoebe and I—”

  “Phoebe and you? Is there something you were remiss in not telling me?”

  With a growl of a curse he would not have wanted Phoebe to hear, he grasped his brother’s arm. He was surprised when Carr did not protest. Then he realized that his brother wanted to speak to him, that everything Carr had done since coming into the parlor had been aimed at provoking Galen so they could speak alone.

  He looked back at Phoebe. Her smile was brittle, and her eyes snapped with fury before she went to the doorway as the Lyttles appeared in it. Was she furious at him? He was trying to protect her from Carr’s untoward behavior. Blast his brother! And blast Phoebe for not understanding.

  “What is so important?” he asked.

  Carr’s eyes widened, then his mouth straightened. “You allowing that woman to act as if she is your beloved when you could not have known her a fortnight ago.”

  “You don’t believe in love at first sight?”

  “No, and neither do you. Lust? Mayhap. Love? No. By King Harry, Galen, you cannot disregard what you must have heard in Town about her.”

  “What I have heard is that she is kindhearted and pretty mannered.”

  “She is blasted old,” Carr grumbled. “She must be a half dozen years past twenty. You should consider that young miss I introduced you to at Almack’s. Now, she would make you a worthy wife.”

  “I am not presently looking for a wife.”

  “Does she realize that?”

  “Yes.”

  Carr’s lips curled into a superior smile, the one that Galen had always despised, for he knew his brother was about to jump to the wrong conclusion. Carr proved him right by saying, “Now I understand why you have no interest in coming with me to pay a call on Sandy and her girls. You have a marquess’s daughter to warm your bed.”

  “You insult Lady Phoebe.”

  “What are you going to do? Call me out for grass before breakfast?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I am not the ridiculous one. I am not the one who has her wearing our grandmother’s rubies like a placard announcing her place in this house.”

  Galen clasped his hands behind his back before he could reach out and shake some sense into his brother’s brandy-drenched brain. “Did you ever give credence to the idea that her own jewelry was stolen on our way here?”

  “So you lent her Grandmother’s rubies?”

  “No, I gave them to her.”

  Carr sputtered with fury. “How could you do something so want-witted?”

  Galen’s answer was forestalled when Phoebe said with a lightness he doubted any of their guests would guess was forced, “You two gentlemen should realize that some of the other gentlemen would appreciate a chance to share your brandy and your conversation.”

  “I leave you to your lady,” Carr said with a sneer. “I can see you are so fascinated with her fascinating arts that you were too busy to send a carriage for me to the Little Lost Lamb a few nights ago.”

  Phoebe flinched. Not at the insults Carr spoke, but how easily he might reveal that all she and Galen had said tonight was based on lies.

  When Galen slipped her arm through his and went to the table where their guests were listening agog, she knew her face was the same deep red as the rubies. Somehow, she was not sure how, she restarted the conversation. The guests soon were busy discussing every topic that appealed to them, but she was aware of their glances at her and Galen and his disagreeable brother who sat across the table from her. Carr ignored her, and, for that, she was grateful.

  The evening came to a close shortly after midnight. When the last guest took his leave, Galen’s shoulders sagged with the fatigue he had hidden throughout the gathering. His smile faded, and the lines of pain returned to his face.

  “Sit,” Phoebe said as she steered him toward a chair in the parlor.

  A maid appeared with a tray and a single glass. Thanking her, Phoebe took it and held it out to Galen.

  “Hot milk?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “To help you sleep.”

  “I believe you are conspiring with Mrs. Boyd, Phoebe.”

  She sat on a stool by his chair. “I believe she worries that you are going to overdo and injure yourself more.” Smiling, she said, “Drink your hot milk.”

  With a grimace, he took a sip. “What is that I taste?”

  “Cinnamon and sugar. It makes the hot milk easier to swallow.”

  Taking her hand, he smiled. “You will spoil me.”

  “As you spoil your brother?”

  He set the glass on a nearby table and came to his feet. “I should have guessed you had an ulterior reason for hovering over me. You barely know my brother.” He laughed humorlessly. “By Jove, to own the truth, you barely know me. I do not need to endure a lecture from you.”

  “So you would rather let your brother lambaste you with his selfish demands?” Slowly she stood. “I know it is not my place to speak so.”

  “It is not.”

  “You have come to my rescue more than once.”

  “So now you intend to rescue me from my own brother?” He reached for the glass, then grimaced and set it back on the table.

  “You act as if you were his father and he the ill-behaved son.”

  “I am his brother, and I am responsible for him.”

  “Why?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Yes, that is what I wish to know. Why do you feel responsible for him? He is a man full grown. He needs to learn to be responsible for himself.”

  “Like those petty criminals you free from being transported?” He strode to the door and put his hand on the knob. “You speak of me being a beef-head for watching out for my brother, yet you watch out for those who should have known better than to lift a purse or steal a hen. I have not interfered in your skimble-skamble, Phoebe. Do not interfere with my family obligations.”

  Reaching up, she yanked off the necklace. Its latch broke and skittered across the floor. She pressed the necklace into his hand. Walking away, she realized she still wore the earrings. She paused and undid them. She went back to where he still stood and dropped them into his hand.

  “And what is this performance supposed to mean?” he asked.

  She faltered when she saw how the lines of pain were deepening around his mouth. Mayhap he was speaking out of the anguish that must still be bothering him with every breath he took. Wanting to have sympathy for him, she knew she would only be hurting him more if she did.

  Quietly she said, “It means tomorrow I will be looking for another place to live until I can return to London. I will not stay here a
nd watch your brother manipulate you and speak carelessly and betray both of us.”

  “Carr was in his cups. He was not seeing clearly.”

  “But I am.”

  He threw the necklace and earrings onto the chair where he had been sitting. “I do not believe you.”

  “What?”

  “I do not believe you are going to find another place to reside in Bath.” He seized her shoulders. “I believe you are planning to return to London as soon as possible. You accuse my brother of foolishness and yet you will go and risk your life to save strangers.”

  “I did not accuse your brother of foolishness.” She jerked herself out of his grasp. Again she nearly faltered, knowing that she would not have been able to free herself unless he was weakened by his wound. She lifted her chin. She could not let sympathy for him keep her from saying what she must. “Carr is very smart. He is using you to get exactly what he wants, and what he wants is to keep you from paying more attention to me than to him.”

  She rushed out of the room before she could say more. She tried to erase the image of Galen’s stricken face from her memory. It was impossible, and she doubted if she ever could.

  Eleven

  Mrs. Boyd bustled about Phoebe’s bedchamber, oddly silent. There was no need for conversation. Phoebe was well aware of the housekeeper’s dismay at last night’s brangle, but Phoebe was as reticent. To speak of what she and Galen had said would only distress Mrs. Boyd more.

  “I am going out to take the air,” Phoebe said when she could no longer endure Mrs. Boyd’s anxious glances.

  “A fine idea, my lady. A brisk walk always helps me regain my perspective.” A tremulous smile tried to form on her lips.

  “You are right.” She had lost her perspective. She was worried too much about Galen when she should be thinking of her work in London. Without Jasper who loitered on the docks and alerted her when a ship was ready to sail for Australia, she could not know if she had missed the chance to help.

  Bidding Mrs. Boyd a good day, Phoebe put on her bonnet and went to the front door. She took her parasol from a footman before stepping out into the afternoon sunshine. She looked across the river to the curving streets of Bath. The wisest course of action would be to call on the Lyttles whose house was only a few blocks from the Royal Crescent. As she crossed the Pulteney Bridge, she turned in the other direction. She did not want to call on her friends until her emotions were more firmly under control.