These past months, she had forced herself to go through the motions of living each day, indiscriminately handling the trivial bits of life which arose in Tristan's absence with the quiet but firm attitude of “I will do this for now, but only until Tristan is home.”
It was the sort of thinking which had gotten her through those difficult first months after the argument which had sent him away, and then Grandmother Amelia's arrival, and even her debut. But now....
From the moment Mister Claybourne had returned her to Rothwyn House yesterday afternoon until late in the night last night, tears would spontaneously fill her eyes and spill onto her cheeks and she would let them fall until there simply were no more to be shed.
In the end, she was left facing the stark reality that Tristan may never return home.
The pain of the possibility of losing her brother set up an aching grief inside her so similar to what she had felt when her parents died she knew she would never really recover from his loss. She felt broken, and yet...
She knew she must put her head up, her shoulders back, and begin to live life as if her own presence were the only one that mattered. It was time to stop mourning possibilities, and come what may, get on with her life. If her marriage to the earl's grandson assisted her brother in any way, she would be grateful. But whether it did or no, she was still a St. Daine, and it was beyond time she behaved as one.
Despite her resolutions from the night before, as she stood staring blindly out over the front lawns of Rothwyn House, Phoebe decided she did not know which was worse: being uncertain whether her brother lived or no, or knowing he lived but that his life may soon come to an early, tragic end.
The one thing she did know without a doubt, however, was that she could not – nay, would not – believe her brother capable of murder. No matter the charges against him, she knew in her heart of hearts Tristan was innocent. He would never take the life of another if doing so could be avoided, and most especially not that of a woman.
If Edward were to be believed, and she had no reason to doubt him, Tristan was being held on suspicion of having done just that. And while she had previously entertained some hope, when she believed the charges against him to be piracy, in Lucien and his friends' ability to find a way to secure Tristan's freedom, this new accusation frightened her far more than she dared to admit.
One did not simply walk away from such a claim, no matter how well placed in Society one's older brother may have the good fortune to be, and it was the new, seemingly utter hopelessness of the situation which had her locked away in her chambers, wallowing in the depths of an unfathomable fear. How would she find the strength, the will, even, to live if Tristan were gone?
At the center of every important moment of her past which hadn't centered upon her parents stood Tristan. From her earliest memories, he had been there, with his lackadaisical smile and charming wit, and she did not think it possible to face the years that remained of her life without him.
She did have memories of Lucien as well, even a few which still left her feeling a bit awed that it had been him who instigated those moments. But with Lucien...things had never been the same with him as with Tristan. Lucien was a good brother, and she loved him, but he was more the type to be admired and respected from afar.
Where Lucien had maintained his distance and merely stared at her as if she were some oddity nature had cruelly visited upon him by making her his sister most of the time, Tristan had laughed with her, teased her, helped her secure her first tooth inside a locked box, and then helped her to bury that same valuable treasure in the back lawn.
Her gaze traveled immediately to the tall oak standing sentinel in the center of the sprawling lawn and a wobbly smile crept over her lips. If she were to insist upon being granted a spade to dig before it now, she knew she would not have a difficult job locating the chest containing the pearly white tooth they had hidden together even now.
She followed the trunk upward with her eyes to the curved branch where she had spent many an hour sketching images of the swans upon the lake in the distance. Tristan had also been the one who taught her to climb that tree, she recalled. He had taught her how to catch a fish, how to skip rocks across the surface of the lake as well as any of his friends, and he had even taught her how to slide down the thick banister of the front stairs at Rothwyn House whenever their parents were away. As she grew older, their relationship had changed, but still he had been there for her whenever she needed him.
During those terrible years in which her body had begun to change from wiry, knock-kneed girl to a still budding yet already willowy young woman, he became both her protector and confidant, the one who soothed all her self-conscious worries and banished her pesky, unfounded fears about growing up. Now she faced a new epoch of her life and, blast it, she needed him here to help guide her!
Tears filled her eyes again and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Leaving the view and her childhood memories behind for the moment, she moved to sit at her dressing table, wincing at the sight reflected back to her from the mirror there. If either Grandmother or Lucien should see her now...
Crossing to the washstand in the corner, she poured cool water from the pitcher into the matching bowl and dipped the same damp cloth she had been using to dry her tears inside. Wringing it out, she folded it crosswise and laid it over her eyes, putting forth a bit of an effort to improve her appearance, for all the good it would do. Two days of tears tended to leave one's eyes almost irredeemably red and swollen.
From the drive below, sounds of gravel being crunched beneath wheel and hooves reached her ears, alerting her to the arrival of company. Without another trip to the window, she could only guess at who their visitor might be, but the warmth unfurling in her limbs warned her of a secret hope that it would be Edward.
Another glance at her eyes told her she should wish for some other visitor—one who would not be expecting her to put in a cheery appearance, or at least one she did not feel the need to look her best for.
Dipping the cloth into the water to cool it once more, she pressed it to one cheek and then the other before rising to tie on her wrapper. She reached for the bell pull to summon her maid to her chambers.
“Lay out my blue gown, Elise,” she instructed when the girl arrived. “You may inform my brother that I shall be joining the family for luncheon forthwith.”
Less than a quarter of an hour later and beneath her brother's watchful eye, Edward looked on as Phoebe regally descended the Rothwyn's stairs to the foyer, a vision in a cloud of China blue silk and a rueful smile tipped the corner of his mouth upward. Clearly a drive through the countryside was out of the question today... it had rained and her outfit would be ruined.
As she drew closer, he realized she was putting forth a conscious effort to hold herself upright. The sight of her red-rimmed eyes let him know she had spent many of the past hours during which she had locked herself in her room in tears, and the dark blue smudges beneath them said she had slept little, if at all. She looked almost frail at the moment, he thought, and for some unfathomable reason that angered him. Hurrying forward, he met her at the bottom of the stairs, his hand reaching for her arm the moment her slippered foot touched the carpeted floor.
“Are you all right, Phoebe? You look like hell.” Too late, he realized she would take offense at his comment despite his genuine concern but, damn it, he was not like those other posturing fools she was no doubt used to who pandered to femininity and never said what they truly meant.
Thinking she would likely hitch up her skirts and hie herself back upstairs to lock herself in her room yet again, he tightened his hold on her arm slightly to prevent her escape, but much to his surprise, the sound of her bubbling laughter filled the air around them and the fragile shell of forced determination she seemed to have created around herself shattered, leaving behind a softer, more vulnerable, but smiling version of the woman she had been mere moments before.
“I shall remember to info
rm Elise the dress does nothing for me despite our high hopes,” she said around her chuckles.
Relieved, Edward arched a brow. “On you, the dress is perfect. In fact, I should like nothing more than to paint you in it someday. But your eyes, Phoebe...”
He paused, his gaze seeking something within hers. “Your beautiful eyes bespeak a secret anguish I am guessing your lips would never tell. Are you certain you feel well enough to join us today?”
Behind them, Lucien cleared his throat, reminding Edward of his presence, and Phoebe's attention turned to her brother. She straightened though she did not completely retreat back into her shell of determined resolve. “Good afternoon, Lucien. Have you some news of Tristan?”
Something in the duke's gaze warned Edward the look in his own eyes when he gazed at Phoebe bespoke a much deeper knowing than a single outing with his sister should account for. Then, his gaze swung sharply in Phoebe's direction.
“No, sadly, I have not,” he grudgingly admitted.
Rather than allow her mood to slip back into the maudlin one of the previous day, Edward turned back to her, tucking her hand into the curve of his arm, and said, “You will be pleased to know I do have news. Grandfather has arranged a meeting with your brother, three days hence. The Magistrate was none too pleased, but there were favors owed, you see...”
He had started forward, intending to lead her into the dining room where the rest of the family waited, but she drew up so suddenly at his announcement he was forced to wait. “You mean we can see him?”
Edward nodded and the dimness in her eyes rapidly disappeared, its vague shadows replaced by a brilliant flash of joy an instant before she scandalously vaulted herself into his arms while trills of happy laughter spilled from her lips.
“Lucien, did you hear? I can see him!”
Practically jumping up and down in his arms, she put her own around his neck and hugged him tight. “Thank you! Thank you so much, Edward. I—”
The sudden bloom of tension—or was it awareness?--between the two caused her breath to catch, and Edward knew the precise moment her happiness over his news changed into something more. Something new. Something quite unexpected, and he could not bring himself to tell her she would not personally be allowed to visit with her brother.
Lucien had been guaranteed admittance for a brief moment with the accused, but Phoebe—even if the prison guards could be bribed, one look at Lucien was all it took for Edward to know he would never allow his sister to step foot inside the gates.
As if he were fully aware of the private exchange occurring between them, Lucien once again cleared his throat, subtly breaking the momentary spell that held the two of them enthralled. “I believe lunch is ready.”
Stepping forward, he took Phoebe's free hand and pulled her somewhat protectively to his side, all but forcing her to relinquish her hold on Edward before nodding for him to precede them into the dining room. “Phoebe will go in with me.”
4
“We should never have allowed this,” Lucien murmured across the top of Phoebe's cloaked head, the menace in his glare most evident, and Edward was wont to agree.
While she had filled the carriage with excited chatter during the ride over, once inside the gates of the prison, Phoebe was decidedly at a loss for words—and that was before a pair of burly guards had come to escort them to her brother's cell.
Although Edward knew his grandfather had taken the necessary steps to have her brother moved into a nicer accommodation within the prison, he also realized Phoebe would still be appalled by what she saw and heard during their visit, no matter how quickly the guards ushered them across the courtyard and along the darkened corridors of the place many referred to as Hell Above the Ground.
The piteous cries of those in the common cell were enough to send chills along the stoutest spine, but there was much, much more in this terrible place to turn the stomach and rattle the sensibilities of a gently raised lady...and that was saying nothing of the actual danger her presence posed to them all in this dwelling house of iniquity and filth.
Out of the corner of his eye, Edward caught a pair of seedy looking blokes peering at them as they moved into a slightly cleaner section of the prison, whispering furtively back and forth, and his eyes narrowed in warning. It would not do for his grandfather to have to rescue not one, but three St. Daines from behind the walls of Newgate, he thought, but if either of them sought to harm Phoebe...
To her credit, as both he and Lucien had instructed, she kept her cloak close, the hood pulled low and her head down, keeping her eyes on the floor so she could not see the atrocities that lay on either side of her. Still, judging by the number of times he felt her flinch, her low profile did nothing to stop the horrific sounds of the prisoners from piercing her ears nor the smells of rotten and decaying human flesh from assailing her.
Edward applauded her valiant attempt to ignore it all. She tried so hard to hide her reaction to the cries and moans and the putrid aroma but there was naught to be done when, on the last turn before they reached the courtyard, her stomach heaved involuntarily, threatening to rid itself of the light lunch she had enjoyed earlier in the day right there in the dimly lit hallway.
Reaching inside his greatcoat, he produced a handkerchief and offered it to Phoebe. Lucien had obviously done the same because two sweet-smelling handkerchiefs appeared in her hands and she used them quickly to cover both her mouth and nose. Edward had to bite back his ill-timed chuckle at her eager rush to block the offending smells from her delicate nostrils, but with each step further into the prison, he was ever more inclined to agree with Lucien—a prison was no place for a lady.
“All will be well,” Edward offered in belated response to her brother, but he reached out his hand to press it against the small of Phoebe's back, gaining her immediate attention. She lifted her gaze to his and he could only hope the dire warning in his gaze was conveyed as fully as he intended. Pull yourself together was the silent message he tried to impart, but then there was no time to warn her against allowing her natural, feminine reactions to the squalor because a third guard stepped into the corridor, halting their passage.
“Wait here,” one of the two guards escorting them instructed before he moved several lengths away to speak with the new man. The two whispered urgently back and forth, with all three guards casting anxious glances in the direction of their small group before Edward finally grew tired of their murmuring and stepped forward. “Something awry, gentlemen?”
“The, ah, it's the prisoner, sir. He is refusing to see you,” one of the guards hesitantly explained, and a moment of blistering fury swept through him, which he hurriedly tamped down for Phoebe's sake. Rather than push the guards aside and tear off down the corridor to rip into Phoebe's brother for his refusal, he opted for raising a sardonic brow and cast the guards a dubious glare. “Refusing? Since when are your prisoners allowed to choose?”
When all three guards merely shuffled and stared at their feet and neither seemed inclined to renounce their hesitancy, Edward sighed.
“Vykhurst is going to be none too pleased when he learns how you have botched this meeting, gentlemen,” he said, berating himself all the while for using the title to get what he wanted—and what he wanted was a chance to allow Phoebe to see for herself that her brother was very much alive and well. Why being able to do so meant anything to him was beyond his ken at the moment, but the three of them had come this far. He was not going to stop now.
Another round of murmuring ensued until, finally, one of the guards stepped a few paces away and motioned for him to follow. After several more paces, the fellow stopped and whispered, “The prisoner has threatened to kill anyone we allow inside.”
The man was visibly shaken, causing Edward to wonder at what sort of fellow Tristan St. Daine had really turned out to be. Was he truly dangerous, then? A murderer after all, despite Phoebe's insistence to the contrary? Perhaps he was not innocent as his sister believed him to be, after all. Glanc
ing back over his shoulder toward the shadows where his fiancee still waited with the duke and two of the three guards, he could only hope...for her sake...that her brother was still the man she held him to be.
“Do you know who that man is?” Edward asked, hitching a thumb over his shoulder toward Lucien before turning back to face the guard. “That is the Duke of Rothwyn. I would be more concerned with what he certainly will do if you refuse to allow him this visit with his brother. The wrath of a duke is a much greater thing to fear than anything your prisoner may have threatened.”
The man considered his words but continued to display an unhealthy reluctance to let them pass. Finally, although doing so left a very bad taste in his mouth, Edward stooped to using bribery and blackmail to gain access to the duke's brother's cell.
“Take me to him. Now,” he demanded. “My grandfather will see that you are sufficiently rewarded for your assistance.”
His eyes narrowed. “Or would you prefer he see to it that you are likewise punished if you continue to ignore my request?”
After another moment of brief hesitation, the man nodded and led Edward down a short hallway off the main corridor to a locked door and inserted the key.
“I am not responsible for what happens in there,” he warned, gesturing toward the iron-clad bulk that separated him from the possible threat inside.
Edward nodded and stepped confidently forward. “Just keep the duke and his friend outside until I call.”
As soon as the key turned in the lock, Edward tipped his head to Lucien and Phoebe and pushed open the door. He stepped inside before closing it quietly but firmly behind him.
An Unexpected Passion (Unexpected Series Book 2) Page 3