“The time for denials has passed,” Mother said, her voice firm but laced with tenderness. “You need not fret. We have settled everything.”
Phoebe jerked her gaze to her father. “Then His Grace explained that nothing untoward happened?” Her cheeks warmed as she spoke, for she knew her words to be lies. Much had happened, but nothing that need have lasting consequences.
“Your Father found you undressed and alone with the duke. It hardly matters what happened in such circumstances.” Mother squeezed Phoebe’s hand. “The damage is done.”
“I fear I do not understand.” Phoebe’s eyes darted to the ground, hands shaking as she awaited her parents’ reaction. A mix of fear and anticipation coursed through her body, unsure of what their next words would bring.
“Don’t understand,” Father seethed. “You are ruined. What more is there to understand?”
Phoebe stiffened. “But?—”
“But nothing, young lady! Denials will change nothing. Your reputation, this family’s reputation, is at stake. I will not see our good name stomped into the carpets of every drawing room in England.” Father stared at her, his face red with anger and indignation. “You are going to salvage yourself and this family by marrying the duke.”
“He’s a reprobate, a rogue. You cannot seriously want him for a son-in-law,” Phoebe argued.
“He is a duke, and from an excellent family,” Mother said. “Marriage to you can only improve upon his reputation. Your union shall be a boon to our family and his.”
“No.” Phoebe pulled her hand from hers. “He will make me miserable.”
“But you will be a duchess, darling. Most ladies only dream of such good fortune.” Mother gave a warm smile. “Any hint of scandal will fade with the betrothal announcement, and all will be forgiven the moment you are pronounced husband and wife. A duchess can be forgiven for nearly any transgression.”
“Papa.” Phoebe’s lip quivered as she met his hard eyes. “Please, reconsider? Surely this is not what the duke wants.”
“The decision is made, and the duke has agreed.” Father narrowed his eyes. “You will do your duty to this family and marry him.”
“Papa...” Phoebe’s heart raced as she leapt from her seat and darted toward him, reaching out to grab his arm in desperation. “Please don’t make me suffer,” she pleaded, her voice trembling with emotion. “Surely, you do not wish for me to be miserable.”
“Nor did I wish to see you facing ruination, and yet, here we are.” He pulled away from her and moved to the door. “You will do what you must, or we will disown you. I promise you there are far worse fates than an arranged marriage.” He strolled from the room, leaving Phoebe to stare after him.
She inhaled a deep breath before returning to her mother’s side and clutching her hand. “Please, mama,” she pleaded, hoping she could intervene and stop this catastrophe. “Mama, there must be another way.”
“I am sorry, darling, marriage is the only solution.” She gave another soft smile, no doubt meant to reassure Phoebe. “The scandalous tale is likely already being shared among our circle. If you do not marry the duke, no one else will have you. This is the only way.”
“Mother, he is the worst sort of rogue. He will leave me alone…abandon me and embarrass me. He is a scoundrel with no semblance of a moral compass. I have seen it with my own eyes.” Phoebe plucked at her skirt. “I will be no more respectable as his wife than I am now. In fact, I will be laughed at.”
“Do not be absurd.” Mother shook her head. “He is a duke and a man, and as such, his transgressions are overlooked. The same will be true of you once you become his duchess. And let us not forget that one can reform a rogue.” She patted Phoebe’s leg. “Now stop fretting and behave yourself.”
Defeated, Phoebe’s shoulders slumped. She would honor her parents’ wishes. Perhaps her mother’s prediction would come to fruition, and life as Graham’s wife would not prove unbearable. Phoebe could not deny the attraction between them. Besides, she enjoyed his company and had seen his caring nature first hand. It may not be much to recommend him, but at least it was something.
It gave her a reason to hope, and hope she would.
Eleven
Phoebe sat rigidly on the edge of a velvet sofa in the blue parlor, her fingers moving mechanically over the intricate embroidery hoop in her lap. Across from her, Rebecca lounged casually, mirroring Phoebe’s actions with her own needlework. It had been two long days since their father had ordered Phoebe to marry Graham, and she had been confined to their home ever since.
Despite her efforts to distract herself, Phoebe could not shake the anxiety and frustration that swirled in her mind. Graham had made no attempt to contact her, and it only added to her growing resentment and unease toward their impending marriage. How could he be so callous as to not even check on her well-being? It was clear he had no regard for her at all.
Was he so angry that he intended to completely ignore her? Did he plan to follow through with their wedding? She pulled her needle through the cloth as she pondered the situation.
Father assured her that Graham had agreed, but perhaps he had since changed his mind? After all, he was a duke with a tarnished reputation. What did he care about scandal? As mother said, his transgressions would be overlooked.
It was likely he was as upset as she over the entire debacle. All the same, it would not pain him overmuch to show her some consideration. To share his thoughts with her, and discuss their predicament so that they might find common ground.
“Ouch,” Phoebe exclaimed as she poked herself with her needle.
“Are you all right?” Rebecca lowered her embroidery to look at Phoebe.
“Quite.” Phoebe pressed her index finger to the small pricked spot on her thumb. “I am fine, just a little needle poke,” she reassured Rebecca.
