Phoebe and the Pea: A Regency Holiday Tale

by Catherine Bilson

  “It’s rather a shame your cousin Phoebe got the pea. The little mouse wouldn’t know what to do with one gentleman, much less three!” Mrs. Myles laughed loudly, almost a cackle, the sound grating on John’s nerves. He would never understand why women felt the need to be so cruel about others of their sex; Miss Faraday was hardly a threat to either of them. Mr. Myles was one of the wealthiest men in Sussex, doting on his young wife, while Lord Edmund was quite devoted to Lady Eugenia, spoiling her with whatever she wanted. In her plain dun-colored gown several years out of fashion, poor relation Miss Faraday faded into the background beside the two ladies in their bright silks and satins.

  “That’s enough,” Eugenia muttered to her friend, at least making John think a little more kindly of her for defending Phoebe.

  “We must have some royal robes,” John declared, finding he thoroughly disliked the way Miss Faraday was almost folding in on herself as though trying to disappear in plain sight. “Bright coats or capes for us kings, I think. Edmund, can we prevail upon you to provide? And Lady Eugenia, I’m sure you can supply Miss Faraday with something worthy of a queen from your extensive wardrobe.”

  His cousin Edmund was a good sort, if rather self-centred at times, and he immediately rose to his feet, declaring their kings and queen must indeed be suitably attired, and Eugenia at once agreed, telling Phoebe to go on up to her dressing-room and choose whatever she wished.

  Chapter Three

  Phoebe stared at herself in the long mirror mounted on the door of Eugenia’s dressing-room in silence as Eugenia’s French lady’s maid, Anais, tweaked the long ribbon sash of the gown she was wearing to fall in the most flattering way.

  “You are a little taller than my lady but a little slimmer as well, so your ankles do not show,” Anais said in her softly accented voice. “Please do not tell Lady Eugenia I said you were slimmer than she.”

  “Of course.” Phoebe smiled at Anais, who was probably the person in the house closest to her own status—somewhere above most of the servants but below the family.

  “You look very pretty in this gown,” Anais said, standing up straight. “The color suits you.”

  “Do you think so?” Phoebe brushed her fingertips lightly over the heavy skirts. The gown was wool, not silk, but still easily the finest garment she had ever worn, the wool finely spun and soft, the color a rich emerald.

  “The same color as your eyes,” Anais pointed out, gesturing her to sit down and taking up a hairbrush and a handful of pins. “You look very much like m’lady wearing it.”

  Phoebe considered that, still looking at herself in the mirror as Anais began braiding and pinning her hair. Her hair was brown to Eugenia’s gold, but otherwise, dressed in a fine gown for the first time in her life, she did look quite like her cousin, she supposed. Which was a very strange thought, for Eugenia was an acknowledged beauty, and Phoebe had never thought of herself even as pretty.

  Sitting in silence as Anais arranged her hair, Phoebe wondered what she was even supposed to do that day. Nibbling on her lip, she debated if the older Frenchwoman would have an answer to the question and finally plucked up the courage to ask.

  Carefully placing a last pin, Anais opened a drawer and took her time selecting something from within before returning. “Just enjoy yourself, mademoiselle,” she advised. “I believe m’lady has a number of games planned; if you do not wish to play, you have the perfect excuse to set yourself up as judge, oui?”

  That was an excellent point, and one which made Phoebe brighten a little. She was sure she wouldn’t know how to play half the parlor games Eugenia might wish to play and had no wish to make a fool of herself.

  “Oh,” she protested as Anais drew a green silk ribbon around her neck, a cameo of carved jet hanging from it, “I couldn’t possibly borrow any of Lady Eugenia’s jewelry.”

  “It’s only a trinket,” Anais dismissed. “A gift from one of her sisters m’lady has never worn. She prefers the pearls m’lord gave her.”

  Since the cameo was already seated in the hollow of her throat, Phoebe gave in with grace, though she thought privately that if Eugenia so much as frowned at it, she would take it off at once. Instead, she thanked Anais for her help. “You have made me look like a true lady, Anais.”

  Anais’ slightly severe face broke into a smile as Phoebe stood up. “It was a pleasure, mademoiselle. And do not worry for little Miss Eleanor; we shall all take care of her today so you may enjoy your time as Queen. Perhaps I shall go to dress her hair, too.”

  Ellie would like that, Phoebe knew. Impulsively, she seized Anais’ hands in hers and squeezed them. “Thank you again. I’m sure Lady Eugenia does not say it enough, so I’m afraid you must tolerate me saying it too much,” she persisted when Anais tried to wave off her gratitude.

  “Go,” Anais insisted. “No more time wasted talking to me, you have three handsome gentlemen who are waiting to pay court to you!”

  Phoebe chuckled as she obeyed Anais’ urging, enjoying the feel of the fine lawn petticoats swishing against her legs as she descended the stairs. The only thing of her own she still wore was her shoes; Eugenia’s feet were a size smaller than Phoebe’s, and the pretty shoes Anais had tried to press on her had pinched abominably. Hence, she still wore her practical black boots, knowing they would not be visible beneath her gown.

  “There she is, Her Majesty appears!” Mr. Cobley cried as Phoebe descended. He strode gallantly to the foot of the stairs, extending his arm. “Miss Faraday.”

  “Queen Phoebe, you mean,” Lord Edmund said jovially, “and you are King Frank, Cobley!”

  “Quite right, quite right,” Cobley nodded solemnly.

  “King Frank, why, you must have brought the gift of frankincense,” Phoebe said, trying to enter into the spirit of the day.

  Cobley’s round face lit up, and he beamed at her. “Why, that’s capital! Brilliant, Miss Fara—Queen Phoebe, I mean. That means Davies, er, King Joseph must have brought the gold, for he’s rich as Croesus, you know. And the major has brought the myrrh. What’s your first name, Randwyck?”

  “John,” Major Randwyck answered with a small smile. “Not a particularly auspicious name for a king, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, indeed, I should say not!” Cobley said, dismayed.

  “In England’s histories, perhaps,” Phoebe put in quietly. “But there was a King John of Denmark as well, and in fact, he ruled all of Norway and Sweden too. His descendants still hold the thrones of all three countries, I believe. And while John of England may not have been the finest of men, it is an indisputable fact that he was the king who signed the Magna Carta—the document which forms the basis of England’s laws to this day and enshrines many of the common man’s rights. For that alone, King John deserves to be remembered with respect.”

  Mr. Cobley stared at her as though she had suddenly sprouted a second head. Mr. Davies looked no less befuddled. And Major Randwyck… started to chuckle, before applauding her.

  “Very good, Queen Phoebe! If only England’s King John had had a queen of your education and intelligence, no doubt England would still have dominion over Normandy and Brittany, at the very least.”

  Phoebe smiled back at him in relief, glad at least one of the gentlemen hadn’t dismissed her knowledge. As she passed into the drawing-room, though, she heard Cobley say in an undertone to Lord Edmund, “Cleans up well enough, but you didn’t say she was a damned bluestocking.”

  Ouch. Phoebe winced. On the other hand, what did she care for Mr. Cobley’s opinion of her? Stiffening her spine, she kept walking, refusing to look back. I’m queen for the day, she told herself. Just one day, and then I go back to my normal life, invisible to these people. My life where my education is the only thing I really have to make myself useful.

  “Where did you come by your knowledge of John of Denmark?” Major Randwyck murmured in her ear, startling her. For a large man, he moved very quietly indeed.

  “My father was a professor at Trinity College, Cambridge,
” she said proudly. “My mother, though of course not permitted to study or qualify, was the daughter of an academic herself. She acted as my father’s secretary and assistant, and they were both my tutors until…” She trailed off.

  “Until they passed?” Randwyck said gently.

  Phoebe nodded, suddenly unable to speak as she thought of her parents: her kindly, absent-minded father and her mother, quiet around strangers but coming to life around those who knew her and accepted her intelligence.

  “How old were you?”

  “Thirteen,” she whispered through a choked throat.

  “That’s when you went to live with your great-aunt? So your education stopped at that point?”

  She nodded.

  “Then I’m all the more impressed you remember so much.” Randwyck smiled down at her.

  Phoebe tried to smile back but was sure she managed little more than a grimace.

  Eugenia clapped her hands just then, however, and declared the festivities were to commence. “Every king—and the queen, of course—will nominate an activity for the day,” she announced. “Though you must leave it to me, as the hostess, to decide what we shall all do first!”

  “She’s not very good at giving up control, is she?” Randwyck murmured, and Phoebe bit her lips to keep down a smile.

  “King John?” Eugenia came to him first with a pretty smile. “What activity do you select?”

  Randwyck paused, glanced about the company, all of whom were eyeing him with great interest, hanging on his choice. “Perhaps cards?” he said. “Depending on what the other choices are, we may welcome an hour or so to sit down quietly. Speculation, perhaps, or loo?”

  “I daresay, people may divide up as they wish when the time comes and play the games of their choice; we have quite enough for several games,” Eugenia said, giving him a nod. “One for the afternoon, I think, Major. King John, I mean!” She laughed her pretty, tinkling laugh, and Randwyck bowed to her.

  Eugenia turned to Mr. Davies next, as Phoebe chewed on her lower lip and wondered what she should suggest. Charades, perhaps? But she was immediately thwarted in that idea when Davies promptly announced he loved a good game of charades and would settle for nothing else.

  “You are all very dull,” Mr. Cobley declared. “The sun is shining, though it is cold, and it is a perfect day for ice skating! We had such fun on the pond three days ago; we must do it again!”

  “We shall do that this morning,” Eugenia decided, “and then we can play the other parlor games after we return. I shall have Cook prepare a nuncheon for us, for skating will surely make us all hungry!”

  There was a general chorus of agreement. Phoebe felt a certain relief that none of her ‘kings’ had suggested an activity in which she did not know how to participate; she had skated many times when younger and indeed had been out just a few days earlier on the pond herself while skating with Eleanor.

  “What about you, Queen Phoebe?” Eugenia asked, and before Phoebe could reply with her new idea that they should have a game of riddles, Eugenia turned around and declared, “No doubt Phoebe will have thought of something very clever for all of us to do!”

  Horrified, Phoebe listened as several gentlemen groaned and ladies sighed, looking at each other with pursed lips. Quickly, she changed her mind. “Indeed not, Lady Eugenia. I was going to suggest a musicale evening after dinner, and request you and Lord Edmund sing together at the climax of it. I have only heard you duet once, yet the beauty of it has stayed with me ever since.”

  Obviously startled, Eugenia looked back at Phoebe. Then she smiled. “That is a capital suggestion, Phoebe! Everyone shall have a chance to shine.”

  “And if you permit, I know Miss Eleanor has been practicing her music most diligently,” Phoebe suggested timidly. “She might sing a song for you to begin the musicale.”

  Both Edmund and Eugenia looked delighted at the idea, and Phoebe gave a little hidden sigh of relief. Having satisfied Eugenia with her suggestion, hopefully she could avoid her cousin sniping at her the way Great-Aunt Susan used to whenever Phoebe displeased her.

  “A born diplomat,” Major Randwyck murmured at her side with a thread of laughter in his voice, and she looked up at him.

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “You’re a born diplomat, Miss, ah, Queen Phoebe. That was nicely done.”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea to what you might be referring, King John,” she said with the most saccharine of smiles. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go find my skates.”

  Chapter Four

  John watched Phoebe walk away, amused by her denial. She’d obviously chosen her activity deliberately to please Eugenia. A very intelligent young woman and one who was wasted as governess to a little girl, in his opinion, even a child as precocious as Miss Eleanor.

  She would make a fine wife for a diplomat, he thought before banishing the thought. He hadn’t even decided whether he should accept the position he had lately been offered by the government: that of senior aide to the ambassador to the royal court of Denmark. In essence, being the man who would manage England’s affairs in that country since the ambassador was a duke’s second son—long on noble connections but short on brains.

  “Have you skates, John?” Edmund asked him then.

  He shook himself from his reverie. “Not with me. Do you have some spares I might borrow?”

  “You can use mine; I bought a new pair this year, but my old ones are still perfectly serviceable, to tell the truth.” Edmund gestured for John to follow him, and the pair left the room to go in search of skates.

  “Then the old ones will do me well enough,” John insisted, making his cousin smile. “‘Tis more important by far for you to cut a dash for your lovely wife in your new ones!”

  “It’s not I who should be seeking to impress the ladies, cousin. You should look to taking a wife yourself now that you are home for good. I can vouch for the joy marriage has brought me, at least!”

  “You are fortunate in your family, Edmund. Perhaps I will indeed follow your example. Perpetual bachelorhood is a lonely business.” John thought wistfully of his house, Randwyck Abbey, an enormous stone pile in Shropshire. He and his mother were the only ones left of the family, rattling around the huge place even when they were both there. Which wasn’t often; Mrs. Randwyck preferred to spend her time in Bath or Cheltenham with friends unless he was at home. And John wasn’t home much.

  “Hear, hear!” Edmund nodded vigorously. “There are some lovely, eligible ladies at the party, you know. Miss Cottesloe is one,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, even though they were outside now walking toward the pond and nobody was close enough to overhear,“quite a dowry there, thirty thousand pounds, though I know you’ve no need of the money.”

  “Indeed not and I am glad for it.” John had seen too many of his fellow officers marry for money—since most of them were younger sons not destined to inherit their family fortunes, such as they were. Very few of them seemed to have found happiness with their heiresses. “Miss Cottesloe is pretty enough to please the eye,” he made sure to keep his voice low too, “but I fear her continuous stream of inane chatter would have me avoiding her in defence of my ears within a few weeks at best. I pray you and Eugenia will not try to make a match for me, cousin.”

  “We should not think of it,” Edmund disclaimed, but he had ever been a terrible liar. His gaze slid away, and he pursed his lips.

  “I hope you do not play cards for money with that face, cousin,” John chuckled. “You lie very ill!”

  Edmund had the good grace to laugh. “I do not gamble; indeed, Eugenia has forbidden it!”

  “A good thing, or you should no doubt lose the entire Holt fortune at the gaming tables within weeks,” John said dryly. “I forgive your interference because I know you wish only to see me content, but please, tell your lady wife not to throw any young ladies at my head? I have some very particular requirements for a wife, which will not be easily filled. I should hate
for any expectations to be raised which I could not fulfill.”

  “Well enough,” Edmund said good-naturedly, “but pray, what are these particular requirements of yours? Eugenia is acquainted with everyone in society, you know. She might be able to think of a few ladies who fit the bill without your having to take the time to conduct a search yourself.”

  “Intelligence,” John said promptly, “first and foremost.”

  “Well, as you’re such a damnably clever fellow yourself, your wife will need to be sharp in order to understand you!” Edmund laughed.

  John smiled at his cousin. They had finally come to the pond, and his eye was caught by Miss Faraday. She was already on the ice and skimming about, a graceful figure in a long green cloak which matched her dress.

  “Truth is, Edmund, I’ve been offered a diplomatic post. I haven’t said anything yet because it may not come to fruition, but I’ll need a wife with a good education who can hold her own in gatherings of all social levels. Preferably one with a good knowledge of languages and an ability to learn more.”

  “That’s exciting, John! But are you sure?” Edmund looked at him seriously as they sat down on a fallen tree trunk to attach their skates. “Have you not served long enough?”

  “I’ve a good steward taking care of the Randwyck estates,” John disclaimed, “and I’m in the habit of working for His Majesty now. Besides, there’s still a few cities around the world I haven’t explored yet.”

  Edmund laughed loudly, and John saw Miss Faraday turn toward them, her attention caught by the sound. “I wouldn’t have your itchy feet for quids, cousin! I’m quite content in my own little corner of England; I leave the travelling to you!”

  Others were joining them now, sitting down to put on their skates, and John decided he should get on the pond before it became too crowded. Additionally, someone of greater weight than Miss Faraday should probably test the ice before it became too stressed.