‘It seems to me, Miss Phoebe Fairfax,’ he drawled, ‘that if gallivanting around the countryside dressed as a bourgeois tallyman is your idea of freedom, then you’re in need of your brother’s protection more than you realise. Young ladies of quality don’t get to be heroines!’
Then he pulled the bell with fervour.
ChapterFive
Eleven weeks and one concocted fairytale until the wedding
The journey back to Knightswood was conducted in silences and scowls.
Mrs Higgins, the viscount’s kindly housekeeper, who Phoebe latterly discovered was the owner of the suspiciously frilly nightgown, had also produced a distinctly unfrilly niece. Tilly was small, unsmiling, and had a head full of enviable corkscrew curls; but she was also the right age to be a plausible lady’s maid, and had agreed to accompany them back to Knightswood, on the promise of three sugared mice and a new ribbon.
Unfortunately, Tilly had none of her aunt’s bustling kindliness, and had looked askance at Phoebe more than once since leaving Ebcott Place, the viscount’s home, giving her the distinct impression that she thought her every bit as objectionable as her employer.
‘You were travelling to Taunton with your lady’s maid when your chaise and four were set upon by the Somerset Highwaymen, who forced you to hand over your belongings at sword-point,’ the viscount repeated, as though Phoebe were a child who’d failed to learn her basic letters. ‘That was when the accident occurred, resulting in your current injury. It was not long afterwards that I came upon the pair of you and, upon perceiving your injury, escorted you back to Ebcott Place, where my staff tended to you. Then, once you were fit to move, I delivered you back to your brother’s care,’ he finished, returning his stare to the rolling Devon countryside.
‘Did they also steal my clothes?’ Phoebe asked.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I was simply curious as to whether you’d wish me to say the highwaymen stole my clothes, because that would also answer the question of my lack of female apparel,’ she explained. ‘We’ll have every potential angle covered,’ she added, over-brightly.
He glowered then in a way that took her back to the moment in the library when she thought he was going to strangle her.
‘I don’t think thatangleis necessary at all,’ he growled, returning his attention to the window.
‘Then I believe I am fully conversant with your fictional account of my situation, thank you, my lord,’ Phoebe returned, conscious Tilly was scrutinising them both.
She lay back her head and closed her eyes, contemplating the last few days. Her wound had made a speedy recovery under Mrs Higgins’s excellent care, and once letters had been exchanged with Thomas outlining a very generous version of the actual truth, Phoebe had little to do except wait and think about all the choice words her brother would lay at her door the moment she arrived back at Knightswood. It was inevitable in the end, of course, but she’d rather hoped she might have a heroic tale or two to tell by then.
Instead, she had only a debacle of a duel with the most disappointing highwayman in all England, involving an épée with a distinct mind of its own. In fact, she had the sneaking suspicion that her abysmal performance would barely even warrant amentionin any of the windswept, heroic novels she and Josephine loved so much.
If only she hadn’t drunk the cider, if only she hadn’t tried to best the highwayman, if only she hadn’t been injured … what then?
She inhaled deeply, trying not to wonder what may have transpired had the viscount not come into her life, before she recalled the ringer she landed to his jaw. Her thoughts darkened with satisfaction. She may have lost her only chance of freedom and adventure, but at least he wasn’t in any doubt as to how she felt about it.
‘I don’t pretend to know the details of your private life, Miss Fairfax, but you might do better to embrace the fortunate position into which you were born, rather than regret one that exists only between the covers of a novel,’ he offered suddenly. ‘There are plenty of young ladies who would happily trade their own position with yours, as I’m sure you’re aware.’
Phoebe could feel Tilly measuring her reaction with interest, while she wrestled every pithy retort about the viscount keeping his perfect aquiline nose out of her business, from the tip of her tongue. It didn’t help that he had a point. She was fortunate in many ways, of course, but none of it compensated for an entire lifetime lost to a gout-ridden, onion-scented earl without one truly noble adventure to show for it. And this sorry escapade most certainly did not count.
Briefly, her thoughts flitted back to the night she was alone in the viscount’s library, to the way his fingers had brushed over the thin cotton of her nightie. It was so fleeting, and yet had somehow burned itself into her memory. She drew a shallow breath. She’d never been touched in such a way, and the memory caused as many conflicted feelings as the event itself.
Were these the moments that passed between a man and a wife when they were wed? One of the moments married women whispered about?
The thought of such a moment ever passing between herself and the earl was suddenly more repugnant than she could put into words. She suppressed a rise of nausea as she pictured his clammy, purple fingers reaching for her, his beady eyes undressing her, and yet still she was uncertain whether she was more afraid of being left alone with the earl, or never experiencing such a moment in her life again.
‘I am sure there are many who would agree, my lord,’ she returned coolly, ‘though, as you say yourself, the details of my private life are exactly that.’
Then she watched Tilly’s jaw drop with satisfaction, before swinging her gaze back to the window, certain her victory would be woefully short-lived.
* * *
‘You must understand the gravity of this situation, Phoebe?’ Thomas ranted from behind Papa’s gold inlaid walnut desk. ‘If Damerel here hadn’t been prepared to intercede, and help concoct a… fairytale, your escapadewould have very likely ruined us all!’
He’d ushered them into the library for the meeting, which was warning enough in itself as Thomas rarely used the room, except to share news of deaths or betrothals.
‘We would kiss goodbye to any favourable matches, let alone with the Earl of Cumberland, which would, in turn, endanger the chances of all your sisters! Really, Phoebe, this folly of yours is beyond any kind of comprehension! Do you understand the disquiet you’ve caused? I have burned the midnight oil trying to fathom how to tell the earl that his betrothed has seen fit to run away on the common stage, dressed in her brother’s clothes!’
Phoebe felt the viscount’s eyes flicker towards her at the last, though she kept her eyes trained forward. Thomas had at least spared her the indignity of a chastisement in front of Tilly – let the viscount think what he liked.
