‘Dresses, picnics … even a masked dinner! Though it was more of a dance and buffet really,’ Sophie added, wrinkling her nose. ‘It was at Damerel Place – the viscount’s Bath home?’
‘And Thomas permitted that?’ Fred quizzed, genuinely surprised.
‘It was a private affair, just family … apparently,’ Sophie clarified, ‘and we were only permitted as a thank you. In truth, it wasn’t the disagreeable viscount who invited us, but the delightful captain instead. With whom I danced the cotillion!’ she concluded rapturously.
‘Viscount Damerel, disagreeable?’ Fred quizzed, frowning. ‘The same Viscount Damerel who was up at Oxford with Thomas? He was a capital fellow back then, impressive oarsman with a devilish right hook, if I remember rightly,’ he mused.
Phoebe thought back to her own devilish right hook the night in his library, and bit her lip.
‘I daresay there’s more to being agreeable than having moderately above-average boating and boxing skills,’ she suggested.
‘Ah, but who are we to judge, dear!’ Aunt Higglestone admonished. ‘He is a rather stern gentleman at times, to be sure. But it was kind of his brother, the captain, to invite us, especially afterthe unfortunate incidentat Sydney Park!’
Fred looked enquiringly at Phoebe, who developed a sudden interest in her embroidery.
‘It was truly an honour to be treated like old friends!’ Aunt Higglestone continued, beaming. ‘I’m not sure what we did to warrant such consideration, but your uncle and I were most flattered – were we not, dearest?’
Uncle Higglestone managed to convey the extent of his appreciation in two small grunts and a shake of his daily newspaper, while Phoebe drew a steadying breath.
She was quite determined not to think of the viscount, if she could help it. In truth, their last parting had been so fraught, she’d quite made up her mind never to think of him again.
‘I think you may all be labouring under a further illusion when it comes to Captain Elliot Damerel.’ Fred frowned, while Phoebe began to wonder if she’d looked forward to her brother’s visit a little too much. ‘He’s a nice enough fellow, but not his brother’s influence in any way! He was always one of the quiet ones, and his brother bought his officer ranking long before he finished Oxford. There was some kind of hush-up, which seemed odd to me as he didn’t seem the type to attract a scandal. Still ... one never can tell with some fellows.’
‘You knew there was a scandal, but failed to find out what it was?’ Sophie asked in a pained tone.
Phoebe conjured an image of Captain Elliot’s kindly face and dancing eyes.
‘We aren’t so different, you and I.’
He was absolutely right: neither of them were comfortable with the role their birth had mapped out for them. Dr Kapoor’s wary glance rose to the forefront of her mind – that he and the captain shared something more than friendship she was certain, and while she might not know its full extent, she was aware that polite society would be damning.
She wracked her memory, trying to recall something one of her governesses had said about ancient civilisations and tolerance. At the time she thought it a curious statement, but now she realised her governess had understood the weakness of their society – that one restrictive mould could exclude people like the captain, and even herself.
Instantly, she felt a rush of empathy and warmth for the soldier, surviving life with his dancing eyes and dazzling smile. It was just a well-rehearsed act, for the people that demanded it.
‘Captain Elliot is the very definition of a gentleman,’ Phoebe replied quietly. ‘Indeed, sometimes I wonder at he and the viscount being related, at all.’
‘Well, they’ve got the same chin,’ Matilda pronounced, wrinkling her nose.
They all laughed, though Phoebe was conscious of Sophie’s glance.
‘I’ll call on the Damerels, anyway, if they’re in town.’ Fred shrugged, flicking a fleck of dust from his sleeve. ‘As I will the earl, too, of course. Thomas mentioned the wedding date has been fixed now, even if the old dog hasn’t actually covered his proposal yet! Congratulations, Phoebe, you’re going to be the toast of the season!’
Phoebe raised her eyes to her brother, and for the first time in her life, forced a smile.
‘Truly,’ she observed. ‘I’m having fits of the vapours just thinking about it.’
ChapterTwenty
Four weeks, five days, and trying not to lie to anyone until the wedding
Phoebe could not rid herself of the notion that by the time she found herself at the top of an aisle, beside the onion-scented earl, she would consider any one of her Bath mishaps high adventure indeed.
‘Which only goes to prove that the perception of adventure is entirely defined by the bleakness of your life,’ she muttered, leaning forward to pat Bluebell’s damp neck.
She closed her eyes and inhaled her fresh scent, trying not to think of the fact that she’d disobeyed both Thomas and her aunt in order to take an early morning hack, entirely unaccompanied. And yet, she was feeling freer than she had in weeks, as well as sincerely grateful to Fred, who’d inadvertently distracted their aunt from her usual hawk-eyed vigilance.
She relaxed into Bluebell’s stride and allowed her mind to wander, aware that above all things, she’d reached a point when she couldn’t pretend anymore.
