‘Look, I know it’s not what you want, Phoebs,’ she rushed as soon as they were out of earshot of their well-meaning relative. ‘And Lord knows, it’s not what you deserve. But all your efforts towards heroic adventures only seem to land you in trouble: duels, canals, mop-heads, acting debuts…’
Phoebe listened to her chatter on, wondering how to tell her that her terrible attempts at heroism were all that stood between her and the rest of her pitiful existence. That just as Sophie’s life was beginning, hers was ending, and she’d never felt so suffocated.
She opened her mouth, but it felt as though the canal weeds had wound their fronds around her words too.
‘Oh, look, Matilda has got her bonnet stuck in the tree!’ Sophie sighed in exasperation. ‘Honestly, you’d think they were still in the nursery!’
‘I’m fine,’ Phoebe managed finally, as they picked up their pace. ‘None of it is a surprise after all, and we both know Thomas won’t be content until his Monstrous Marriage Master Plan is well and truly underway. My only consolation is that at least you, Jo and Matty will have more say.’
‘Perhaps,’ Sophie qualified, frowning. ‘Though how muchrealchoice any of us have with Thomas, is debatable. At least we know Lady Aurelia and the viscount are perfectly matched!’ she added, with a rueful smile. ‘They can be perfectly obnoxious together!’
Phoebe nodded as they reached the younger girls, who were attempting to dislodge the bonnet with old pine cones, but her thoughts were full of a disagreeable viscount, his fingers raking his perfect hair, staring at her as though she were a mud monster that had crawled out from the murky canal.
She closed her eyes and pulled off her own bonnet before handing it to Sophie.
‘Here, hold this,’ she instructed.
‘What? No wait! Phoebe!’ Sophie implored, but her sister was already swinging herself up into the lower branches.
‘Five weeks,’ Phoebe called. ‘I need to rescue all the stuck bonnets I can find!’
‘Yes! But not with half of Bath watching!’ Sophie wailed, while their younger sisters danced with excitement.
But Phoebe was a million miles away. Viscount Damerel was the most infuriating, interfering gentleman, and he clearly thought her behaviour so reprehensible as to warrant the highest censure.
So,why did the thought of his marrying Aurelia make her feel so woefully bereft?
With a final effort, her fingers closed around the offending bonnet and, forcing a smile, she turned to wave it at the small crowd of nosy matrons and their delighted offspring at the bottom of the tree.
She could barely understand it at all.
ChapterSixteen
Five weeks and still avoiding the viscount until the wedding
‘It is all the more reason why you must have the best mask!’ Sophie insisted, tying the gold filigree mask around Phoebe’s hair, and taking care to pull her coiled ringlets free of the black velvet ribbon.
Phoebe stared at her reflection, hardly recognising herself. She’d buckled under pressure and let Sophie dress her hair, while her aunt had marched her to Madame Paragon’s a few days before.
‘For we can hardly have a future countess going to a private family dinner in a mud-stained dress, now can we?’
Phoebe thought the canal water stains on her picnic dress hardly noticeable at all, but knew better than to refuse, and if an evening gown of pale blue silk net, with silk embroidery and a silk, satin trim felt a little extravagant, especially after recent events, she consoled herself with the thought that at least no one was going to fight her for it.
‘And now you look like arealheroine!’ Sophie concluded, standing back to admire her handiwork.
Phoebe pulled a face, but even she could see Sophie had outdone herself. She’d twisted and curled most of Phoebe’s dark copper hair up into the latest fashion, as described inLa Belle Assemblée, before carefully pulling a few strands free to accentuate her shapely face and neck. Her mask, Sophie’s most recent acquisition from Madame Paragon, was shaped like an elegant golden butterfly and set with a thousand tiny rhinestones, which sparkled in the candlelight.
‘You look most elegant, my dear,’ her aunt smiled from the doorway, ‘the earl should watch his step!’
‘Perhaps he would, if he could see his own feet,’ Phoebe muttered.
Sophie giggled as their aunt frowned enquiringly.
‘Phoebe was just saying how much she loves her new dress!’ Sophie covered, pulling on a pair of gloves to match her own new gown of cream satin, which Madame Paragon had edged in French lace.
Their aunt had spared no expense, overriding objections with the argument that their mama wouldn’t want them to attend looking like country bumpkins.
‘Bath society is much more relaxed than London, my dears, and of course, this is a private family dinner at the direct invitation of the captain, but you must behave with the utmost propriety. Do I make myself clear? We must give no rise for gossip!’
