by Stacy Reid
Hugh lowered himself onto the stone bench facing his father.
“When is she leaving?” Father demanded without looking away from the stars.
At his silence, his father shifted his gaze and met Hugh’s stare.
“Lady Phoebe is the daughter of a duke, one who is on the list of your ten most influential family in the ton.”
The old earl went silent for several moments, then he asked, “Which one?”
“The Duke of Salop.”
His father’s mien grew contemplative. “I see. Salop is an influential man. Very rigid. His connections are golden. We ran around town years ago.”
Another long silence stretched, and Hugh waited for his father to gather his thoughts.
“Salop’s daughter is not the best choice. One of the young ladies whose guardian responded to the advert, that lady is the daughter of an earl and she is quite charming from the tone of her guardian’s letter.”
“I do not want that one.”
His father jerked and faltered into stillness. “You want this Lady Phoebe?” he asked gruffly.
“Yes.”
“No!” the old earl thundered. “I am extremely vexed! It did not escape me that she traveled here with no chaperone and uninvited! That kind of willfulness must not be tolerated. You know where it will lead.”
“Father…she is courageous and determined, the kind of wife I will need by my side when the world starts to whisper of my bastardy, when they talk that none of us Winthrop siblings look alike, and when they try to cut us…when they try to harm our children. I can already tell she will be fiercely protective.”
Hugh sensed he was falling into something he did not fully understand, only knowing that he was willing to tumble headlong into it, but with some caution and shrewdness. He’d promise his father to marry and take his place in society, and that he would do without hesitation, but the choice of whom he took to be his bride would remain with him.
He knew what suffering a massive blow to the heart could do to a man. The evidence of it was seen in the longing and pain in his father’s eyes every day for the last fifteen years. “Our marriage will be one of mutual convenience. We are simply using each other, Father, and I perceive numerous advantages in our connection. Rest assured you have nothing to fear with my choice.”
“And when she breaks your heart?”
A spurt of amusement went through Hugh, and it showed, considering how his father narrowed his gaze.
“There is little chance of that ever happening.”
“But why her? I am dying, my boy; you should select someone whom I approved,” the earl said with ruthless manipulation.
“Perhaps there are some things that will simply exist beyond my capacity to control.”
His father’s jaw slackened. “Like what?” he hissed.
Hugh considered his father for a few seconds then said bluntly, “Like wanting her. I am attracted to her beauty and the strength I’ve seen.” In truth, he had never been this aware of another woman in his life. But that was a physical matter that enticed him, and to his way of thinking, it was better to have a desirable wife.
His father surged to his feet, and Hugh calmly stood. “I am five and twenty. Trust that I can desire a woman, and I’ll not allow her to twist my heart into a mangled mess. If we marry and one day she decides to walk away, I promise you I shall not give a damn. It won’t hurt, and it most certainly will not ruin me.”
The old earl gripped his walking cane, his bony yet still elegant fingers curling like claws over the head of the cane positioned at his front. “My boy,” his father said heavily. “She is the wrong sort, but the stubborn fool before me now is my own doing. I’ve raised you to be intractable and shrewd. See that it does not cause you harm.”
Relief blew through him in fierce waves. He almost hesitated in saying the rest. How many shocks could his father endure in one evening? “There is more.”
His father grimaced. “Just tell me and be done with it.”
“She is with child.”
His father stumbled, and Hugh quickly grasped his elbow and steadied him. The earl lowered himself to the stone bench, resting heavily on the cane. “With child?”
Hugh released him and sat. “Yes. More than five months.”
“Is she widowed?”
“No.”
“Upon my word, you have lost your damn senses. The ladies who responded to the advert are all from respectable families without any scandal or scrutiny attached to their names!”
“Yes, but none needs the protection that Lady Phoebe does. How could I, in good conscience, turn away from a lady in such need? Despite the ruthless way you’ve groomed me over the years, you also raised a man of honor.”
“You are talking a great deal of nonsense!” His father wheezed out a gasp. “This bastard child could have a claim to the earldom. Have you gone mad?”
Something in Hugh’s heart chilled. “I am also a bastard who will inherit your titles and all your wealth. And once we are married, this child will be mine.” The import of his words sank deep inside Hugh’s heart, and for a moment, he felt rattled. Here he was committing to be a father, when only yesterday he’d had the thought that after a few years of marriage he might start to consider fatherhood. His heart pounded, and he looked toward the churning ocean, a queer sense of disorientation infusing his senses.
“While this is sooner than I anticipated, fatherhood is not a responsibility that frightens me. You made me, Caroline, and William your beloved children without any hesitation or resentment. I will do the same with Lady Phoebe’s child, and this child will be your grandson or granddaughter.”
His father stared at him for long moments, and it jolted Hugh to see a sheen of tears in his eyes.
“I see Wolf made his way back to you,” he started, disregarding everything Hugh had said.
He briefly glanced down at the dog beside him. “Do you believe in fate or destiny, Father?”
“I believe in the tangibility of logical reasonings and science.”
Hugh smiled. “She brought Wolf home to me…and he is healthy and happy. I thought him lost to me forever.”
His father shuffled closer and clasped his shoulder. “I am glad he is with you. Have you considered that she might love the gentleman who compromised her?” his father demanded gruffly. “I’ve long warned you about entangling with women whose hearts are caught with another.”
Hugh stared at his father. “It matters not if she loves this man. It has no bearing on our arrangement.” Yet an unknown feeling twisted through him. Do you love this man still, Lady Phoebe? With a silent scoff, he dismissed such inane wonderings from his mind.
“Is it possible for me to alter your decision?” the old earl demanded.
A vision of her eyes, and the fear that had filled them, swam in his thoughts. The memories of her letters, how each fiery and mocking word had entranced him, scythed through his chest. The anomaly of how his heart pounded at the thought of her fascinated Hugh.
“You do not have to answer—I can see it in your eyes. Let’s arrange this marriage, then. I might die in a few days,” he murmured with gruff irritation. “And what is most important to me is that you do get married, my boy.”
Hugh made no reply, but he retained the clasp on his father’s arm as they made their way inside. A sense of strange unreality stayed with him when he settled his father inside the drawing room with a blanket thrown over his legs. The twin fireplace roared, and several lamps were lit, bathing the room in a bright warm glow. The lamps reflected the warm reds of the drapes and furniture, which made the formal drawing room seem so cozy and welcoming.
The door creaked open, and Caroline hovered in the doorway. As usual, she was dressed in dark breeches and a flowing white shirt, which, while it did not disguise her slender curves, did at least not seem unduly modest. Her
garb was shocking to those who were not acquainted with her, but it could not be considered seriously fast. Caroline was without the refinements and polish ladies of the ton had been privy to, and Hugh believed she would have an extremely challenging time being accepted into society’s fold. Especially if the rumor of her father being a humble footman resurfaced. Yet he could see the hunger in her eyes when she spoke of England and finding her place in the world.
“I want to carve out a piece of the world for myself, and when I am old, I will be able to look back and say, ‘I, Caroline Juliette Winthrop, did that, and I’ve lived a life with no regrets.’”
Those words had been said with such aching hope, Hugh had resolved to do everything within his power to protect his siblings and see their dreams fulfilled.
“How is Wolf here?” she demanded, walking over.
Quickly, he relayed the story to her.
“Good heavens! The lady you are to wed is the one to whom I entrusted Wolf’s care? I am astonished at such serendipity.”
So am I, he silently thought and beckoned his sister to sit beside him.
“I spent months telling you about her. I knew she was not a figment of my overly active imagination,” she groused, settling on the sofa, curling into his side. A place where she wouldn’t have dreamt of being a year ago.
It was only since he’d been ill that Hugh and Caroline had become at ease with each other. He had kept her and William at a careful distance over the years. Seeing her sobbing at his bedside had affected Hugh, and the hardness surrounding his heart had been nudged at, and he had allowed her a lot closer. It had astonished him to learn that much of the distance that had existed between them had been due to his aloofness, which she had found off-putting. In a long heartfelt conversation, which had lasted until the wee hours of the morning, they had promised to be better siblings.
“I will do the reading tonight,” she said, smiling at their father.
Hugh passed her the novel, which they were more than halfway through, and drew his beast of a dog closer. Caroline started to read, and invariably his thoughts turned to Lady Phoebe, wondering if he had made the right decision. She had not been in his home for a day, and Hugh felt that he had been altered in a manner he had yet to understand or may never do.
And he still could not understand the emotions twisting through him. His heart raced, his senses were aware, and deep down, there was a peculiar sense of uncertainty. He had always embraced changes, hating when life seemed to stand still in any way.
Yet now his thoughts darted in several directions, refusing to respond to the control he’d mastered over his emotions years ago. It was with a jolting sense of bemusement that Hugh realized he anticipated the future state of being married to Lady Phoebe.
…
Phoebe glided down the curving staircase, her gloved hand trailing along the banner as she made her way to Hugh Winthrop. The beautifully rendered paintings that hung high on the wall commanded her gaze. She faltered in front of a portrait, which showed a rather handsome man with white-blond hair and vibrant green eyes. It was the elderly gentleman who had stood by the forecourt yesterday but had hobbled away. Surrounding him in the paintings were three children, and it was very easy to identify the viscount. Although she realized that the elder gentleman’s hair would have been a powdered wig as had been the fashion of the time, something struck her as peculiar. In the painting, Hugh appeared a lad of about fourteen years, and even then, he had been terribly handsome. Yet his eyes were so lonely.
Looking at his somber expression made her heart ache. Even the older gentleman possessed an air of sadness, his eyes also empty. Lowering her gaze to the other children, Phoebe blinked to see that both possessed a shock of bright red hair and gray eyes. There was no resemblance between anyone in the portrait—Phoebe frowned—except for the cheekbones. Each child shared high, slanted cheekbones, which lent an air of elegance to their attractiveness.
The clock in the hallway chimed. She took another step down and gasped at the pain that went through her ankle. Moving carefully, she held onto the banner and descended the stairs. She could hear the distant rumble of thunder through the thick stone walls of the castle. Rain fell in earnest with the occasional flash of lightning splitting the sky. The warm sweet scent of flowers filled the hallway, which was also remarkably quiet and absent of servants.
It was her wedding day.
Only the second day after arriving on the viscount’s door, she was poised to become Lady Phoebe Winthrop, Viscountess Huxley and the future Countess of Albury. In her flight from home, Sarah had smartly insisted on selecting Phoebe’s best gowns, especially the ones that had been ordered by the duchess to hide her condition. She wore a peach morning dress of French silk and a bronze ribbon threaded around her waist. Her hair had been caught up in a cascade of curls and pearls threaded through the strands.
Sarah’s whisper of, “You are so beautiful, milady,” had urged Phoebe to assess her appearance in the mirror. She had been astonished that the rosy-cheeked girl with glittering eyes staring back was truly her. How often had Sarah remarked on Phoebe’s paleness? And with a sense of wonder, she realized the dread that had been heavy in her heart for almost a year had finally subsided.
There still lingered a piercing disquiet as she embarked on a new life with a stranger. Phoebe hardly knew what to expect and could not imagine what their marriage would be like, if they would ever find contentment or any joy with each other. It had felt much easier speaking with him through letters. The notion that they might be miserable and have an indifferent union like most in the ton threatened to blot out her joy, but she stubbornly pushed those feelings aside. At least his kiss had been pleasant. More than pleasant…it had been terribly exciting, and that was something to hold on to.
There was nothing to do but look to the future. She could only hope he would treat her with kind consideration, and she would endeavor to do the same. She closed her eyes briefly, hating that she would endure a marriage that was loveless, the opposite of what she had hoped. In his letters the viscount had been very firm on his stance on sentiment, and she had felt such pity for the woman he would take to be his.
Now I am that lady.
But Phoebe refused to pity herself, for it would be foolish to trust in the idea of love again. Perhaps then, even with the absence of love between them, they would have an amicable marriage.
Please, God, let it be something more than cold misery.
At the bottom of the stairs, she followed the instructions she’d received on how to locate the chapel. Phoebe had to slow her steps after a bit, grimacing at the growing discomfort in her feet. Taking a deep breath, she gingerly walked forward and winced, her shoes pinching her feet horribly. Phoebe turned around, peered down the long hallway and up at the double winding staircase. She hadn’t imagined the fit would have gotten so much tighter when Sarah had assisted Phoebe in slipping her feet in the delicate shoes.
It would be torturous to try and make it back to her room, but something had to be done.
“Have you changed your mind, Lady Phoebe?”
At Lady Caroline’s voice, she whirled around. Caroline was fetching in a yellow dress styled in the latest fashion. However, her hair hung loosely down her back in wild and beautiful disarray. They had met a few hours ago when they had broken their fast together. Phoebe had felt an immediate liking for Caroline, and they had spent the hour chatting as if they had been friends for some time.
Her brother stood with her, and Phoebe’s cheeks heated alarmingly as the memory of their kiss lingered in the air. She had seen him at least twice since morning, and each moment she had blushed like a silly girl in the schoolroom. It was so frustrating. She was with child, for heaven sakes, already having known intimacy with a gentleman, yet she had not blushed once upon seeing George after that night in the gardens. However, it was increasingly difficult to meet the viscount’s stare
, for she swore each time their gazes collided, his provoking regard suggested he wished they were kissing again and again.
“Was that your question or your brother’s?”
His hand touched his chest, and she gathered that meant mine.
“No…I’ve not changed my mind. I was heading to the chapel; however, my shoes are hurting my feet dreadfully. I was hoping to return to my chambers and see if I have something else that is roomier. But I quite doubt it; you see the swelling of my feet is a bit perplexing,” she said, feeling self-conscious, resting a protective hand over her stomach.
The viscount’s gaze went to her belly, and she flushed, placing her hand back down by her side. Refusing to be mortified when she had already come to terms with her fall from grace, she lifted her chin.
“I do have a solution,” she declared, sticking out one of her feet. “If you’ll assist me in taking them off, I shall do without shoes.”
Caroline made a choked sound and sent a swift glance to gauge her brother’s reaction. To Phoebe’s astonishment, a hint of a smile lingered about his mouth.
He lifted his fingers and signed. Caroline sent him a searching glance before turning to Phoebe.
“We’ll go barefoot, then,” she relayed with some amusement twinkling in her gray eyes.
Phoebe smiled at him. She had not really expected him to agree. Then the import of Caroline’s words resounded. “We?”
Instead of answering, the Viscount made his way over to her.
She choked on a gasp as he came behind her and lifted her in his arms. Shocked, she snapped her head up to meet his gaze. Except he wasn’t looking at her but staring straight ahead. His fingers tightened on her shoulder, then they relaxed and moved in a slow, soothing stroke in a seemingly involuntary gesture.
He took her down the hallway and then into a room where the door was ajar. It was a very cozy room done in shades of emerald and gold, with matching drapes. The sofas and carpet were a more muted color, which complemented well the overall elegance of the décor. An open book rested on a small table, along with a tumbler and an empty glass. He lowered her onto the sofa, and Phoebe silently watched him, knowing he would be unable to respond to any of her demands.