Phoebe sighed in relief. She was pretty sure they didn’t do room service in that otherplace, either. She struggled up on her good arm as a mob-capped maid walked towards her, bearing a laden tray.
‘Well, it’s good to see you awake!’ She smiled, setting the tray beside Phoebe. ‘Though you mustn’t put any weight on that arm just yet!’ she said. ‘We weren’t sure if you was gonna make it when you first arrived, what with you having the fever an’ all. But then Mrs Jennings said you’d be as right as rain once the fever broke, and Doctor Chappell agreed you had theconstitution of an ox.An ox, he said!’ the maid repeated, clearly keen that Phoebe share her awe.
Phoebe blinked, suppressing a mix of feelings.
‘Which is just as well, as you was nearly run through good and proper!’ the maid continued. ‘I could scarce believe my ears when m’lord said you fought a dangerous highwayman! How brave you are miss … sir… Oh!’
She turned, but not before Phoebe witnessed her flushed confusion.
‘Mrs Jennings said I was to draw your curtains while I was here!’
The maid hurried towards the window while Phoebe willed her fogged brain to clear, not least because she appeared to be wearing a suspiciously frilly night-dress, while bits of ‘Fred’ were hanging on the nearest armoire.
‘How long have I been here?’ she croaked.
‘How long?’ the maid repeated over-brightly, yanking the curtains violently in a bid to cover her embarrassment.
‘Well, let’s see … m’lord brought you back here just before supper time yesterday, and sent for Doctor Chappell right away. He said the ride from the Bridgwater Road most likely inflamed the wound, hence your delirium, and a good rest would sort you out. He also said that if you was a bigger … person … the wound mightn’t have cut too deeply, but what with you being a … when they found out you was a… As you’re quitesmall,’ she recovered triumphantly, ‘that highwayman got you good and proper! Anyway,’ she beamed, ‘it’s really good to see you have some colour today, miss, and if you start eating right, there’s no telling where you’ll be in a few days!’
She smiled in relief then, while Phoebe stared back with growing horror.
A few more days … when they found out… Thomas!
She sat bolt upright and regretted it instantly.
‘I have to get dressed,’ she forced out, her head spinning faster than Matilda’s nursery top, ‘there are people who will be missing me!’
‘Now then,’ the maid clucked maternally, ‘you’re no use to no one as you are! Far better you follow Dr Chappell’s orders, and stay put for a few days. Besides, His Lordship broke his journey to Bridgwater to bring you here, which he don’t do easy for anyone! He set off at dawn again this morning, course, but I don’t think he’d take too kindly to the news you’d finished yourself off after all the trouble he’s taken. He’s such a kindly gentl’man, m’lord…’
She tailed off mistily while Phoebe pictured the viscount with his perfect arched eyebrows and immaculate Hessian boots, demanding the landlord’s best horses. She couldn’t imagine him doing, or saying, anything that was in anyone’s best interests but his own, and the idea that he’d divert his own journey to rescue an injured nobody seemed entirely implausible – unless it benefitted him in some way.
She flushed. And now there was also the indisputable fact that the maid, the doctor, the viscount – and indeed his entire household – knew he’d rescued a girl dressed like a boy, who’d been pinked by the most unimpressive highwayman south of Bristol. Her flush deepened as she recalled the moment she’d fallen in front of his gleaming boots, and how the glitter of his eyes had said everything. Now, he’d think her every bit the scoundrel he’d assumed her to be at The Swan Inn, or perhaps worse. Perhaps, the extent of her disguise would intrigue him enough to make enquiries that would completely undo her, and bring Thomas to her bedside!
Phoebe’s eyes widened as the weakness of her plan presented itself in monstrous, chandelier-lit letters. She hadn’t considered such a dramatic diversion, and if injury meant her plan to escape to London was thwarted,what next?
Luckily, two soft-boiled eggs and some crusty bread provided a happy distraction from this question for a short while, but by the time the maid had left, Phoebe had begun to consider that she might actually be the very worst kind of heroine that time or tale had ever known. She had no contingency plan, no means to send word to dear Fred that she was safe, and worst of all, his shirt and breeches seemed to have entirely disappeared.
It was as she was pondering her sad misfortune to be born this pitiful creature, destined to live without one truly noble, heroic adventure – that didn’t include an unimpressive highwayman, dubious dandy viscount or husband old enough to be her grandfather – that she finally fell into a hot and fidgety sleep.
* * *
Phoebe shifted uncomfortably. The burn in her shoulder had quietened into a throb she couldn’t ignore, while the pale light spilling across the thick Turkish rug confirmed it was after midnight. It was the sort of light that used to make her think of smuggler rings and forest fae, but tonight she could only see the extra hours she’d allowed to slip through her fingers. She must have fallen asleep the moment the maid left the room, and now she’d spent the best part of two nights in the dubious viscount’s homeunaccompanied!
A cold shiver began to web across her skin. Taking the coach to London and sending word to Fred was one thing, spending the night in the country residence of an arrogant bachelor viscount, quite another – one had the hallmark of adventure, the other only scandal. Phoebe conjured his intricately tied cravat, perfectly cut coat and mocking eyes. She had no evidence he was a rake, but something made her believe he was precisely the sort of gentleman her mother would have warned her against.
Everyone would assumesomethinghad happened.
Of course, she had no idea what thatsomethingwas, only that her mother and friends always lowered their voices when they spoke of it, and that it was important when it came to marriage. This was a fact that had always perplexed her – after all, how could alackof knowledge be an asset in any way?
Cursing in a way that would make her brothers proud, she forced herself to sit up and swing her legs to the floor. Thankfully, someone had had the foresight to place a pair of woollen booties and dressing gown beside her nightstand, which she pulled on a little awkwardly. She couldn’t quite manage to tie the whole frilly ensemble together with only one good arm, but reasoned most of the household would be asleep, anyway. Then, pausing only to wonder what Effie and Flora would say if they could see her now, she pushed herself onto her feet.
For a moment everything swayed, like the corridor at The Swan Inn. Then slowly the room steadied again, and she managed a few tentative steps towards the window. Grimacing to suppress a wave of pain, Phoebe pulled at the heavy brocade curtain, before pausing to stare.
The viscount’s garden was a moon-drenched, landscaped fairytale!
There were wide, rolling lawns in perfect descending terraces; climbing trees and secret, winding paths as far as the eye could see; and right in the centre, where no one could miss it, a huge marble fountain was supported by an army of celestial cherubs.
It was the sort of midnight garden that belonged to the dreams of children, not a dubious, dandified viscount.
