Under An English Moon

by Bess McBride

“Certainly, Lord Hamilton.” She nodded, keeping her eyes respectfully averted.

  Reggie bowed and left with his brother, who threw a look over his shoulder that only Phoebe seemed to notice.

  Phoebe entered the small shop, hardly more than several rooms, really. Several worn velvet-covered chairs rested beside small scratched tables against one wall. A counter presided on the other, cloth spilling over the edges.

  “May I offer you some tea?” Sarah asked.

  “No, thank you, Sarah. We are having tea at the Village Inn in a bit. We have come to purchase some dresses for Miss Warner.”

  Phoebe noted that Mattie’s speech had taken on a formal note. Had she not known her, she would have thought she was born in the early 1800s, although in America given her accent.

  “Oh!” Sarah said with a blush. “Dresses? I would be most delighted. What would you like?” She turned to Phoebe who looked to Mattie.

  “Miss Warner is new to England, and she would like to try some English fashions. Could you make some morning dresses, a walking dress or two, a few dresses for evening and several Spencers for cool days? Let’s see. What else? Oh, could you make some unmentionables, petticoats, several chemises?”

  Sarah nodded with wide eyes.

  “Do you have a preference for colors? Would you like to look at some samples? I fear my cloth may not be as nice as that which you might find in London. I could send for some cloth.”

  Phoebe spoke up. “Whatever you have is fine,” she said. “I like what Mrs. Sinclair is wearing. The fabric is lovely.” Mattie wore a plain cotton dress of lavender that looked stunning on her for its simplicity.

  “And if you have some silk, you can make some evening dresses from that. I do not think Miss Warner is particular about color, are you, Phoebe? With her hair and skin, she can obviously wear anything.” Mattie grinned. “We need to have some of the clothing as soon as possible, Sarah. Miss Warner’s luggage got wet on the crossing from America, and her things are ruined.”

  “Oh, certainly. I could have a morning dress and an evening dress ready within three days? Would that be sufficient?”

  “That’s fine for a start. Thank you, Sarah.”

  “I need to take Miss Warner’s measurements.” Sarah pulled out a tiny silver container containing a blue cloth tape and measured Phoebe from head to foot.

  Phoebe tried to pull her white athletic shoes inside the dress but failed to conceal them completely. Sarah paused in her measurements for a moment when she saw them, but she looked up quickly, smiled, and continued.

  Phoebe shot Mattie a look. Mattie waggled her eyebrows and shrugged as if to signal there was nothing they could do, and that Phoebe shouldn’t worry.

  “Oh, that is cute, Sarah. Where did you get that?” Mattie asked, spotting the small filigreed tape measure that Sarah used.

  Sarah blushed and kept her eyes on what she was doing.

  “It was a gift, Mrs. Sinclair.”

  “Mattie. Please call me Mattie. Mrs. Sinclair is my mother-in-law. Well, no, not really, she’s Lady Hamilton now, but still...you know what I mean.”

  “Mattie then,” Sarah said with a smile. “In private. It would not do for me to call you anything other than Mrs. Sinclair in company.” She rose and jotted down Phoebe’s measurements on some thick paper.

  “I have everything I need, Miss Warner,” she said.

  “Oh, that was quick,” Mattie said. “Ummm...Sarah?”

  Phoebe thought she knew what was coming.

  “Are you and Samuel...you know...seeing each other?”

  What sounded like a fairly harmless question to Phoebe turned Sarah to stone. Her cheeks blazed, and she dropped her eyes to the floor.

  “Oh, Mrs. Sinclair. Please do not tell anyone you saw him here. His brother was suspicious enough as it is. I saw it on his face. If Lord or Lady Hamilton discover...” She wrung her hands and shook her head.

  Mattie moved quickly to her to take her hands.

  “Oh, Sarah! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I promise I won’t say anything to them. I promise.”

  Sarah threw a shame-faced glance in Phoebe’s direction, and Phoebe looked down at her hands. She was obviously embarrassed to discuss the matter in front of a stranger.

  “No one must know. I told the foolish boy to go away, but he does not go.” She shook her head but smiled tenderly. Phoebe recognized the look. Those Hamilton boys! How did they do it? Charm the caution right out of a girl?

  “Well, of course not,” Mattie murmured. “Why wouldn’t he be interested in you? You’re beautiful, you’re sweet, you’re intelligent.”

  “But poor,” Sarah said with a wry smile. “Too poor to marry.”

  “I can see that could be a problem. I take it Samuel doesn’t have his own money?” Mattie looked toward Phoebe as if she knew.

  “Reggie does, but I don’t know about Samuel,” Phoebe said. “I can’t believe that would be a problem though. Couldn’t he find some work?”

  “Work?” Sarah whispered. “Oh, I do not think so. He told me he once mentioned becoming a solicitor, but his father would have none of it.”

  “I’ll talk to Reggie,” Phoebe said. “Maybe he can help out. I take it you all want to get married?”

  “No! Please do not say anything to his brother, Miss Warner. I could not bear it if they disagreed on this matter. Samuel worships his brother. I think he fears his brother’s displeasure more than that of his father, but he has not said so in words.”

  “Okay, okay, don’t worry, Sarah. I won’t say anything,” Phoebe soothed. “I don’t see why Samuel and Reggie would disagree about your marriage, but I’ll keep quiet.”

  The opening of the door startled them, and they swung around. Reggie entered alone, a broad smile on his face.

  “Have I returned too soon, ladies?” he laughed. “Your countenances show varying ranges of dismay. A gentleman could feel unwanted.”

  Phoebe grabbed his arm. “No, no. We’re done. Thank you, Sarah. We’ll see you soon.” She pulled Reggie from the shop while Mattie stayed behind.

  “So, you and Samuel had a good visit?”

  “Yes, we did. I spoke to the local land agent, and he is aware of several houses for sale. I should like to visit those as soon as possible. I will need you at my side, of course, for the final decision must be yours.”

  “Mine?” Phoebe squeaked. “You’re going to make me pick a house? What do I know about historic houses?”

  Reggie patted the hand tucked in his arm. “Not all the houses will be historic, my dear. Not in 1827.”

  “No, I guess they won’t,” Phoebe said with a grin. “We’ll choose together. How about that?”

  “Delightful! See how well we get on?”

  “Mmmm hmmmm,” Phoebe murmured with a lift of one eyebrow. “Only the attic will tell.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  They returned to the inn in good time for tea, with a stop at a cobbler’s shop to procure slippers for Phoebe with an order for several more. The innkeeper saw them to a table, and a serving girl brought tea and sandwiches.

  Reggie’s heart overflowed with joy, and so elated was he that he could not say with any degree of confidence how the tea or food tasted. Marriage! A wife! His wife! Phoebe had consented to become his wife. He thought he understood her concerns—that they did not know each other very well, but there could be nothing about Phoebe to which he would object strenuously.

  “And was the seamstress able to accommodate your needs?” Reggie asked.

  Phoebe looked to Mattie before responding. “Yes, she was. She’ll have some dresses ready in a few days. Meanwhile, I’ll keep borrowing from Mattie.”

  “Excellent!” Reggie said. What could be other than excellent this day? “She seems a very nice sort of young woman. I cannot imagine that Lady Hamilton should send Samuel to the dressmaker on an errand rather than her own maid, but it was pleasant to see him again today. He is alone too much, reading in the library.”

&
nbsp; Phoebe and Mattie seemed to exchange glances again, almost secretive, and Reggie’s heart missed a beat. There was a look of hesitance on Phoebe’s face, of caution. He prayed that she had not changed her mind. He did not think he could bear it.

  “Is there aught amiss?” he asked, dreading the answer. He directed his question to Phoebe, who looked down at her tea as if to divine her fortune in some way.

  “No,” she said. “Not with me.” She directed a sideways glance at Mattie, who turned to survey the room with studied interest.

  “I wonder if those two gentleman are the publishers who are coming to dinner tonight. William said they were going to stay here.”

  Phoebe was quick to follow her eyes, and Reggie tore his gaze from her with reluctance. Something was amiss. Phoebe, his own dear love, normally guileless with him to the point of indiscretion, hid something from him. He was certain of it!

  Reggie turned to see two well-dressed gentleman seating themselves at a nearby table. Their attire was fashionably correct, most certainly obtained in London, yet subtle and discreet, which suggested they were men of business and not leisure.

  “I could make inquiries, if you wish,” Reggie said without enthusiasm. “Their names?”

  “Oh, let’s see. Thompson and Duncan, I think. Mr. Thompson and Mr. Duncan.”

  “Very well, I shall ask. Do you wish them to join us for tea?”

  “Oh, sure!” Mattie said.

  Phoebe, having looked at him while he spoke to Mattie, dropped her eyes again when he turned to her. He pressed his lips together, longing for a private moment in which to speak to her.

  Reggie approached the men and discovered that they were indeed publishers and scheduled to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair that evening. He invited them to the table and introduced them.

  “Mrs. Sinclair, allow me to present Mr. George Thompson and Mr. Ian Duncan, of Milton Publishers in London. Mrs. William Sinclair and Miss Phoebe Warner.”

  “Welcome,” Mattie replied with a smile. Phoebe nodded politely.

  The gentleman bowed and took the two available seats at the table.

  “Such a pleasure to meet you early, Mrs. Sinclair,” Mr. Thompson, a short thin man of middle age and graying hair, said. “Mr. Duncan and I look forward to meeting Mr. Sinclair this evening.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Mr. Duncan replied. “Is that an American accent I hear, Mrs. Sinclair?” A tall, dark-haired young man of handsome features, Mr. Duncan appeared to have a sparkle in his eye for the ladies.

  Mattie laughed. “Yes, I’m from America. So is my cousin, Miss Warner.”

  Reggie listened to the conversation with half an ear as he wondered what could possibly have changed Phoebe’s mind about marriage in the past few hours. Had someone said something that gave her pause? Mattie? Unlikely. Mattie had seemed quite happy when he announced the impending marriage. The dressmaker? He did not know the woman.

  Or had he badgered Phoebe with his pleas of marriage such that she accepted with reservation and, in the light of day and in his absence, found opportunity to review and revise her decision?

  “Yes, from New York City,” Phoebe was speaking. “I work at a publish—” She paused. “My father works at a publishing house there.”

  “Aha!” Mr. Duncan. “Which one? I am certain we would have heard of it.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. It’s very small, a small press really.”

  “Nonetheless, we in the publishing business know each other very well,” Mr. Duncan pressed. “I am sure I will have heard of it. The name?”

  Phoebe’s face took on a harried expression.

  “Miss Warner is not mistaken. I have been to the publishing house. It is very small. You will not have heard of it,” Reggie said with finality.

  Mr. Duncan quirked a dark eyebrow but ceased the line of questioning. Phoebe gave Reggie a grateful look, but he turned his face away lest she see his unhappiness.

  “Oh, you have been to New York then, Lord Hamilton?” Mr. Thompson asked. “A vast new market for books. I envy you.”

  “I am not in the business of publishing books,” Reggie said. “But I did enjoy New York City. I was only there for a short while.”

  “I hear a note of regret in your voice,” Mr. Thompson said. “A pity you could not stay longer.”

  “Yes, perhaps,” Reggie said. It was not regret for the brevity of his visit to New York that Mr. Thompson heard, but a lament for the intolerable situation in which he now found himself—engaged to a woman who most likely did not wish to marry him.

  The remainder of their time at the inn was spent conversing on the merits of publishing in England and abroad with Reggie involved not at all as his mind was elsewhere. Phoebe took very little part in the conversation as well, seemingly equally distracted with occasional glances in Reggie’s direction. Mattie listened intently while Mr. Thompson and Mr. Duncan spoke.

  “Well, we should be going if we are going to make it back in time for you to come to dinner,” Mattie said with a laugh. “I will see you at eight o’clock, gentlemen.”

  Farewells were made, and the carriage was brought around for the short journey home. Reggie caught Phoebe’s eyes on his face occasionally, and he smiled briefly and turned his attention to the scenery outside the window.

  On arrival at Ashton House, Mattie hurried inside after Reggie handed her out, and Phoebe lingered until the carriage had pulled away. She looked up at him questioningly.

  This was the opportunity for private conversation that he had longed for, and yet now that it had arrived, he found himself tongue-tied.

  “Is anything wrong, Reggie?”

  “I do not think so,” he replied, his hands clasped behind his back. “Is all well with you?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “You asked me that earlier.”

  “I did, did I not? And your answer was the same.”

  Phoebe hesitated and reached out to touch the lapel of his coat. Reggie steeled himself for her next words.

  “When do you want to go house-hunting?” she asked softly.

  Reggie drew in a sharp breath and stiffened. Her words were not what he had expected to hear.

  “Do you still wish to accompany me?” he asked in a husky voice.

  “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I? Unless...” Phoebe dropped her hand and took a step backward.

  “Unless?” Reggie prompted.

  “Unless you’ve changed your mind,” she said in a strangled voice. “You have, haven’t you? You’ve changed your mind.”

  “About the house? No, I have not.”

  “About me?” she cried.

  So taken aback was he by her reaction that he could do nothing for a moment but stare at her without words.

  “Oh, Reggie!” Before he could stop her, Phoebe grabbed her skirts and ran inside the house. He turned to follow her but did not catch her before she ran up the stairs. He could not simply chase her down, nor he could he with any degree of decorum pound on her door and ask for an explanation of her whimsical changes in temperament.

  In a house not his own, he was not even free to sulk in the library, and he had no intention of retiring to his room to brood. He longed to ride Sebastian, but there did not seem to be enough time to hurry over to his own home and saddle him.

  Reggie turned from the house and made his way to the wooded area at the side of the house, there to ponder the mysteries of women, love, and marriage—not necessarily an inclusive package as he was discovering.

  “I hear you are to be congratulated,” William said as he approached.

  Reggie looked up, stricken. He shook his head. “I do not think so, William. Perhaps this morning, but I cannot think that Miss Warner desires to marry me.”

  William looked taken aback, and Reggie did not blame him. Could this have been the shortest engagement in the annals of history?

  “Come, come, Reggie. What has gone awry? Mattie told me only a short time ago that you and Miss Warner were engaged. But now I find you brooding
in the woods, and Miss Warner apparently locked in her room.”

  “I cannot say.” Reggie shrugged. “One moment I am made the happiest man in the world and in the next, I am brought lower than I thought possible. Phoebe did agree to marry me this morning and all seemed well, but at some point during our visit to the village, she seems to have rethought her decision.”

  “Did she say so?” William asked.

  “Not in so many words,” Reggie shrugged. “But there was a hesitation about her when I met them at the dressmaker’s shop, a reluctance in her demeanor that gave me pause. She could not face me directly as she had only hours before, and I knew that I had pressed her too hard to marry me...that she had regretted accepting my proposal. You will remember that she did not wish to marry me at this time, claiming she did not know me well enough. That she agreed so suddenly this morning delighted me beyond words, but it should have been suspect, and I was too blinded by joy to allow myself to see it. I do believe she holds me in the highest regard, perhaps even loves me, but I do not think she is reconciled to marriage...or perhaps even to life in the nineteenth century.”

  William sighed. “I think you may have been hasty in your assessment of the situation, Reggie. Did you ask her whether she still wished to marry you?”

  Reggie shook his head. “No, I did not ask the specific question.” He scuffed the ground with the toe of his boot. “I was seized with a misery which tied my tongue and clouded my mind.”

  “And perhaps your judgment. I hear naught in your words to suggest that she wished to end the engagement,” William said. He pulled out his pocket watch. “I must change for dinner, as should you. Mattie rarely entertains at home given that she did not grow up accustomed to such society, thank goodness, and I wish things to go as pleasantly for her as possible.”

  “Of course, William!” Reggie said. “I will be on my best behavior at dinner. I am grateful to you for sheltering us, and I wish only the best for Mattie. You are a very lucky man.”

  William clapped an arm around Reggie’s shoulders. “I am a fortunate man, but my happiness was not achieved without suffering. It is possible that may be your path as well.”