He lifted his fingers from the keys at the abrupt tone of his sister’s voice. The look about her was somewhat urgent, and for a moment Benjamin worried that perhaps something was wrong. But then she launched into an unexpected scolding.
“You’re going to break that piano, you nodcock. I’ve never heard such a ruckus.” She floated into the room in a flurry of black satin and onyx jewelry that clicked together as she walked. “Perhaps you should take your frustration outside. Hunt animals or whatever it is you men do, rather than taking it out on a fine musical instrument.”
“I’m fine,” he said curtly. “I will play quieter so as to not disturb Her Grace.”
He groaned as she sat down next to him on the bench, causing him to have to scoot over to make room for her. Dammit, why wouldn’t she leave him alone? He just wanted to be alone. Or with Phoebe. But certainly not with his bloody sister.
“You are not fine, and neither is your wife. I can’t get her or Lady Grimsby to answer the door, Benjamin. I only know they are alive because they return barely touched trays to the hallway after every meal. And because I occasionally see Phoebe dashing between her own room and her mother’s.” There was a pause, and Benjamin could feel her gaze on him. Her pitying gaze, which he really did not appreciate. “Ben, what happened?”
“Hah! I knew it!” He was off the bench, stalking across the room with a sardonic laugh.
“Knew what?” Katherine was at his heels. Could she not just go away?
“That you were here out of your own curiosity and not out of any concern for me.”
“That’s not true, Benjamin. I want you to tell me what happened so I can help.”
“Help? I think the word you’re looking for is meddle.”
“It’s no wonder she won’t speak to you, you boar!”
Benjamin opened his mouth and then clamped it shut on an acidic retort. “You are very fortunate you’re with child, Kat, because otherwise I would wring your scrawny little interloping neck.”
“Don’t you dare threaten me, Benjamin Wetherby! I am your sister, and I am only looking out for you. And your wife.” She stood there a moment, her nostrils flaring slightly as she seethed. Then she stuck her nose in the air and turned to go. “Never mind. I will share my newfound information with someone who cares.”
Benjamin’s head snapped to look at her. He hated to take the bait, but he couldn’t help himself. “To what ‘newfound information’ do you refer?” he asked, keeping a sneer in his voice to make it sound as though he wasn’t completely interested.
Kat whipped around. She raised one brow as she attempted to hide a triumphant smile. “No, no . . . I wouldn’t want to appear to be meddling. I’ll just be on my way.”
He didn’t let her take two steps before he clamped his hand around her dainty little elbow and spun her around. “Stop playing games, Kat. What the hell are you talking about?”
“Stop cursing at me, and I will tell you.”
“Dammit, woman, you are infuriating! Tell me what you’re talking about!”
Her black eyes flashed at him ferociously, and he feared “The Canary” was about to peck his eyes out. But at last she yanked her arm from his grasp and retrieved something from the sash of her gown.
He took the folded parchment and held it up in the air while giving her a condescending look. “Have you taken to going through my post now as well? Perhaps I should litter the roads with my personal correspondence, and then gentry from near and far can come to tell me about Great Aunt Gertrude’s trip to Bath.”
“I will not apologize for this, Benjamin,” she said, her demeanor suddenly serious. “I know that you told her about the duel, and I know that’s why you fled to London in the first place. I imagine it has something to do with why the two of you aren’t speaking now, though obviously, I’m a bit fuzzy on all the details of the last week or so—”
He didn’t bother to ask how she knew what she knew—The Canary had sources apparently. He just wanted her to get to the point. “Kat, what in God’s name are you going on about?”
“Just read the letter, Benjamin.”
With great reluctance, Ben did as his sister bid and gave a chuckle born of irony. Of course. It was a letter from Geoffrey, sent more than a year ago, telling him the circumstances of Grimsby’s death.
“Where did you find this?” he asked when he was done scanning its contents.
“I . . . happened upon it.”
Ben had never even seen it, yet somehow his sister simply ‘happened upon it.’ Not bloody likely. But somehow he couldn’t find it within himself to be angry at her for snooping through his things. He was simply going to have to accept that that was what women did apparently. He could rant and rave about it all he wanted, but it wouldn’t make an ounce of difference.
“Right,” he said as he tore the letter in half and handed it back to his sister. “Well, it won’t do me any good. I already knew what was in that letter, and so does Lady Grimsby. Only she refuses to tell her daughter, which led us into an altercation, which sent her into a depression, which upset Phoebe, and now, my dear, gossip-mongering sister, you know why my wife and mother-in-law will not come out of their rooms, let alone give me the time of day. If you will excuse me, I’m going to go shoot something.”
And then he brushed past his sister and made his way to the stables.
***
As much as her brother and the rest of the ton thought to the contrary, Katherine Wetherby Hart really did hate to meddle. She didn’t do it because she was so desperately curious about other people’s affairs; she did it because she wanted her friends and family to be happy. And if she could do something to help solve their problems, well, then, why should a little thing like privacy stop her?
It shouldn’t. And that was why, when the plan began to form in her mind, she didn’t stop its formation. Kat was smart enough to know she couldn’t very well march up to Phoebe’s room and hand her the letter that would solve all of her and Benjamin’s problems. She wouldn’t live to see them reunite if Benjamin ever found out. But she could surely find a more discreet way of passing the letter on.
She certainly didn’t have any time to waste. She had seen those dinner trays of Phoebe’s, and they were coming back with hardly a dent. If Kat didn’t do something soon, poor Phoebe would waste away to nothing. And what a shame it would be for her fetching sister-in-law to lose those lovely curves! If she were too thin, it would ruin the silhouette of all her new gowns.
Not that Phoebe had been forthcoming in showing Kat the new gowns since they had arrived from London a few days ago.
Kat harrumphed in sudden annoyance and crossed her arms over her chest. This whole mess was not only ruining Phoebe’s, Benjamin’s and Lady Grimsby’s lives, it was ruining hers. Phoebe wasn’t merely her sister-in-law, she was her friend. And Kat wanted her friend back.
She wanted to see the new gowns that she knew were up there in Phoebe’s room collecting dust. She wanted to walk through the gardens with her, and laugh at their hideous attempts at embroidery together.
Blast Benjamin and his blasted sense of honor! If he wasn’t going to tell Phoebe about Lord Grimsby, Kat would have to take matters into her own hands!
***
Phoebe looked up from her book as she heard the scratch at her door. It was a distinct scratch—a code of sorts that she and Becky had developed so she wouldn’t have to call out “Who is it?” every time someone was at her door. If it wasn’t the telltale three-scratch code, she simply didn’t answer.
“Enter,” she said weakly from her spot by the window.
The door creaked and Becky entered. “I’ve come to deliver your laundry,” she said.
“Thank you, Becky.”
Phoebe turned her attention to the rain-soaked vista outside her window. It hadn’t stopped raining for days, it seemed. Or maybe she was always looking at the gardens through her tears. She didn’t know. And it didn’t really matter one way or the other.
Sh
e had expected Benjamin to come to her and offer an apology, or to tell her he had apologized for upsetting her mother, but he had not even tried to visit her. Everyone else had. Kat made almost hourly trips to her room, begging her to come out. Her mother-in-law had been by a few times, and Phoebe had received her—she wasn’t going to turn away the dowager Marchioness of Eastleigh, after all. Thankfully, the woman had not asked any questions or pressed her for any answers; she had simply come to check and make sure she was well and did not require the services of a doctor.
Even the twins had tried to lure her out of her room with their scandalous talk. She had not come out, but at least they’d made her laugh.
But the one person she actually wanted to see apparently did not want to see her.
Phoebe blew out a long breath in an attempt to stop the blasted tears that wouldn’t stop flowing. Just when she thought she was going to be all right, that her heart was on the mend, she would think of something that made it break all over again. Happy thoughts of Benjamin, angry thoughts of him . . . it didn’t matter; any thought of him made her ache with sadness.
“Hm…” Becky’s tiny, curious sound drew Phoebe’s attention to her once more. She stood by the armoire with a stack of white undergarments in one hand and a small piece of parchment in the other. She turned it over, then back again.
“What is that?” Phoebe asked, noting how very weak and dejected her voice sounded to her own ears.
Becky shrugged. “I don’t know. It was mixed in with your drawers and things.” She crossed the room and handed it to Phoebe before going back to the business of putting the clothes away.
Phoebe stared at the folded-up piece of parchment. There was nothing on the outside that she could see. She would have to open it up in order to know to whom it belonged.
A bird outside the window attracted her attention for a moment while she thought about what to do. She had learned her lesson well in regards to opening and reading other people’s post—most specifically her husband’s. She didn’t particularly care to go down that path again, but what choice did she have? Certainly, she could toss it in the grate and be done with it, but what if it was important?
Oh, this was ridiculous! It wasn’t as if things could get any worse.
As soon as Becky left the room and closed the door, Phoebe unfolded the letter. Only it wasn’t in one piece. Someone had torn the thing in two, which explained why there wasn’t anything on the outside. The piece with the address had been on the inside; the piece that was addressed to her husband, from her own cousin Geoffrey.
Phoebe closed her eyes and leaned back, ignoring the pain when her head thudded against the wall behind her. How was it she always found herself in these blasted situations?
A thought occurred to her, bringing with it a resigned chuckle. She hadn’t found herself in this situation . . . Kat had put her right smack in the middle of the situation. Oh, yes, this little ruse had the Duchess of Weston written all over it. Who else would sneak about and drop letters into someone’s pile of drawers? Clearly, there was something in that letter Kat wanted her to see, but was she really meant to see it?
Chapter 23
After a long, hard ride about his property, Benjamin made his way to the Ravenscroft Castle library and poured himself a snifter of fine brandy. And then another. He was about halfway to a drunken stupor when a glorious vision appeared in the doorway of the library. He must have been more foxed than he thought, for surely, this could not be real. After six days of silence, she wouldn’t simply appear before him, would she?
“Phoebe?” He said her name in a whisper, unable to believe she was really there. But then she spoke back.
“I-I found this,” she said, crossing the room on tentative feet until she stood an arm’s length away from him.
He wanted to reach out and grab her, pull her into his arms and never let go. But he wasn’t quite sure where he stood at the moment, so he decided instead to follow her lead. His eyes shifted from her face—which was markedly thinner than last he had seen her—to the familiar piece of foolscap she held out to him. It was amazing how one little piece of paper could sober a person in an instant.
“Where did you get that?” he asked, raising his heavy eyelids to meet her gaze.
“Ahem . . . it was . . . ” She closed her eyes and shook her head with a little laugh. “It was in my laundry.”
He waited, wondering, but terrified to ask if she had read it.
“I didn’t—” she said, possibly in response to his unasked question. His brain was slightly muddled and he couldn’t be sure. So he was pleased when she added, “—read it, that is. I didn’t read it. It took all my strength not to, but I figured if there was something I was meant to know, you would tell me. I betrayed your trust when I read the letter from Lillian. I didn’t want to do it again by reading this.”
He said nothing, only stared at her, unblinking.
“I know it’s from my cousin Geoffrey,” she continued. “But that is all.”
“You found it in your laundry, you say?”
Phoebe nodded.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Kat the Canary was behind this. Though it was hard to believe she’d had the audacity to go behind his back and give the letter to Phoebe, no matter how indirect her method. Damn her! As much as he wanted a reunion with his wife, he was far too incensed to focus on that just then.
Benjamin snatched the torn-up letter from his wife and stalked across the room. “Katherine!” he bellowed as he leaned into the hallway, and then he yelled it again.
“Benjamin, don’t!” Phoebe was at his side in a moment.
“Don’t? Phoebe, there is only one person who can tell you what is in that letter. Only one person who has the right to say anything to you. That person is not I, and it certainly is not Katherine. If your mother doesn’t want you to know—”
“What on earth are you shouting about, Benjamin?”
Katherine approached them, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to wrap his hands about her neck. “I thought I told you to stay out of my affairs!” he yelled, brandishing the letter.
She paused, finally appearing to be slightly afraid of him, but it was only a fleeting moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said haughtily.
Phoebe pushed past him into the corridor. “It’s all right, Kat. We know you planted the letter. Don’t infuriate him further by lying.”
Kat’s eyes grew wide at having been properly scolded, and Ben wanted to give his wife a pat on the back. God, how he missed her! How he wished all this mess would just go away so he could be with her!
“Did you read it?” his sister asked of Phoebe.
Phoebe shook her head. “I appreciate what you were trying to do, Kat, but I . . . ”
“Katherine?”
All three of them looked up to find Lady Grimsby standing in the hallway behind them. She was thin—frighteningly so. She looked almost as awful as she had that first day he had found her in her room with Colonel Wallace. But what had brought her from her chamber at last?
“Mother? You’re out,” Phoebe said, appearing to be just as perplexed as he was.
“Of course I am. When Katherine told me there was an emergency, I assumed something was wrong with you. I went straight away to your room, but . . . darling, you look fine to me. Is everything all right?”
Benjamin and Phoebe both turned their gazes to Katherine, who was slowly backing her way down the long corridor. He shook his head. There was no hope of a cure for his meddling sister.
“Everything is fine, Mother,” Phoebe said, turning her attention back to Lady Grimsby. “But I think you and I need to have a chat.”
Benjamin shifted his gaze from his sister’s retreating form to his wife, wanting more than anything to draw her into his embrace and carry her off to their bedchamber. But he knew he couldn’t . . . not yet.
“I won’t be long,” she told him, planting a kiss to his cheek. “T
ry not to kill Katherine in the meantime. You know she means well.”
Phoebe took her mother by the hand and led her into the library, leaving Benjamin all alone in the corridor. He wondered if the truth would come out, or if he would simply have to accept that Phoebe had forgiven him, but that she would go on believing the worst of him.
Either way, he was certain it would be a while before she and her mother emerged.
***
Every last one of Phoebe’s nerves tingled with frustration. This had all gone on long enough. She wanted to know the truth, but she wanted to know it from her mother. She probably could have read that letter and perhaps known everything, but it wouldn’t make things any better. She had to hear it from her mother—every last word of the truth, no matter what.
“It is my impression, Mama, that you’ve been keeping quite a bit from me over this past year,” she began, making sure to keep her voice calm and even. She wanted to lull her mother into a discussion, not an argument.
But her mother remained silent, so Phoebe amended her last thought: she wanted to lull her mother to talk. Full stop.
“Would you like to begin with Colonel Wallace? Perhaps explain why he attacked me in London?”
Her mother turned suddenly to look at her with haunted eyes. “He what?”
“He attacked me . . . tried to violate me, really. He said you still owed him payment.” She paused to allow her mother a chance to explain, but still she said nothing. At least for a moment. And then the floodgates opened with tears and explanations and stories that Phoebe almost wished she didn’t have to hear.
Her mother recounted her horrific encounters with Wallace, and Phoebe hoped and prayed with all her might that the man would be brought to justice. It was awful to listen to; she couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for her mother to live through. No wonder she had kept it a secret. Anyone in their right mind would have.
Gentleman Never Tells (Regency Historical Romance) Page 18