As Phoebe’s eyes fluttered open, a throbbing pain pulsed through her head and her back ached from the uncomfortable position she had slept in. She groggily remembered the restless night she had spent, tossing and turning while plagued with dreams of the stranger she had shared a forbidden kiss with. She shook off the thought with a sigh.
The bright sunlight streaming through her curtains was almost blinding as she tried to sit up. Her body protested, and she settled back against her fluffy pillows. She was in no hurry to rise at any rate, for she dreaded facing Daphne after last night’s debacle.
For that matter, she was not even sure she wished to face herself. Last night had been the single worst night of her life. The events of the prior night ran through her mind from Lord Owen’s relentless pursuit to her time hiding in the tree, then her wanton and reckless abandon in a stranger’s arms. What the devil had she been thinking?
Phoebe pressed her palms to her temples. Now, she could not help but think the steady pounding behind her eyes was a fitting punishment for the previous evening’s mischief. Not that she had intended to cause trouble, but she had all the same. She released a frustrated sigh.
Had she known she would find herself chased by one scoundrel only to be ravished by another during her time in London, she would have stayed safe at home in the country.
Though last evening proved to be the worst of her experiences in London, she had not completely enjoyed any of the time she’d spent in the city. The constant whorl of activity simply did not suit her. And she cared not for being paraded around on the marriage mart. It was as if she were little more than goods for sale.
Indeed, she wanted to return home at once. London was not the place for her. Too many dangers prowled about, hiding in plain sight at balls, musicals, and the such. And with that simple thought, she was reliving the kiss again.
She brought her fingertips to her lips. As much as she detested this place, she could not regret the kiss she’d shared with her mystery rogue, but neither did she wish to repeat it. She wanted to marry, and a rogue would not lead her to the altar—of that, she was most certain. Neither did Phoebe believe London would be the answer to her prayers.
Surely there was a better way to go about falling in love. Rebecca and Daphne had not been led around like harnessed horses paraded in front of countless gentlemen. Phoebe had no wish to do so, either.
Phoebe winced as a sharp knock echoed through the room, intensifying the pounding in her head. She groaned and lifted an arm to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight streaming through the window. With a strained voice, she called out for whoever it was to enter, hoping it was her maid with a much-needed tonic to ease her headache.
Not likely, considering her maid did not know her dreadful condition. How could the maid know that the lie she told the previous night had materialized? The door opened, and Phoebe peeked from beneath her arm as Daphne stepped into her room. She cringed.
“How are you, dearest?” Daphne strolled across the room and cast the drapes open before coming to sit on the edge of Phoebe’s mattress. “Your maid told me you retired with a headache. Are you quite recovered now?”
Phoebe slammed her eyes shut and winced at the sound of Daphne’s voice as she massaged one temple. “It is a dreadful pounding.”
Daphne’s voice dropped to a whisper as she spoke. “I will have a tonic sent up,” she said, standing up from the plush mattress and smoothing out her silk gown.
Phoebe looked at Daphne and gave a slight smile. “Thank you,” she said, before closing her eyes against the brightness of her room. She should feel guilty for her deception—should confess to last night’s escapade—but what did it matter when she truly had a pounding head now?
She could not bear to confess right now, still reeling from the previous night’s events. She mentally rehearsed how she would apologize and beg for forgiveness once she had recovered. But then again, maybe she should keep her secret to herself. Revealing it would only bring embarrassment and hurt Daphne’s feelings. Poor Daphne had gone to such trouble in order to give Phoebe a season in London. It would not do to seem ungrateful or cause her regrets.
Yes, when Phoebe felt better, she would discreetly make her wish to return home known. With some luck, her secret would stay hidden, and she could be back in Northumberland before the week was over. And without causing a scandal or hurt feelings.
No more rogues or unwanted suitors for her. Absolutely not. She would find an amiable country gentleman to marry and hope that love would follow. Or at least, a comfortable companionship. She could be content with such an arrangement. More than content, she could be happy.
“Phoebe,” Daphne’s voice came out low and questioning.
Though it pained her, Phoebe turned her head toward her sister-in-law.
Daphne stood with her hands on her hips, holding up Phoebe’s once-beautiful gown. The delicate lace and muslin frock was torn and stained. Daphne fixed Phoebe with a skeptical gaze, one eyebrow raised in question.
Phoebe’s heart sank as her eyes locked onto the ruined gown. It was irrefutable evidence of her mistakes. There would be no avoiding the truth now.
Daphne shook her head as she gazed at the yards of stained and ripped muslin. “What happened to your dress? It is positively ruined.”
Phoebe fought the urge to duck under her covers. Hiding would do nothing to get her out of this predicament. She had to explain what had happened. Still, she did not have to share everything that had transpired.
She swallowed past the dryness in her throat and forced a weak grin. “Perhaps,” Phoebe chose her words carefully, “my headache results from last night’s over exertion. I had a little adventure.”
“I daresay you did.” Daphne’s eyes widened as she examined the gown more closely. “It is covered in dirt and your seam is ripped.” She turned the now dingy white gown over and ran her hand across the fabric. “There are little rips and snags everywhere.” Her eyes narrowed. “And it is filthy.” She scowled, lines creasing her brow. “Beyond repair, to be sure.”
Phoebe looked at the damage, too. She had been in such a state last night that she’d scarcely noticed the condition of her gown. A fact she could kick herself for now. If she had the foresight to stuff it into her wardrobe, Daphne would not be interrogating her now. To lighten the mood, she said, “Lucky for me, I have several others.”
Daphne strolled closer, clutching the filthy dress to her chest. “Tell me what happened?”
Phoebe’s shoulders sagged as she took a deep breath, her gaze avoiding Daphne’s. Much as she wished to, she could not avoid this conversation. “I...,” she started hesitantly, her voice trembling. “I am afraid you will not like what I have to say.”
“Nonsense.” Daphne waved her hand dismissively. “We are sisters. You should know I am always here for you. Now, out with it. Tell me everything.”
