‘I’ve not had the chance,’ she protested. ‘I haven’t even had a season! Though if a season means Sophie endlessly ringleting my hair, I suppose even a purple earl can hold appeal!’ she added, rolling her eyes.
Fred chuckled.
‘I can’t imagine you ever enjoying a regular season, either!’ He grinned. ‘All that primping and parading, you’d be bored by the end of the first waltz – and jumping into the nearest canal!’
‘It wasn’t quite like that,’ Phoebe returned indignantly.
‘So I understand. And it sounds like Matilda was lucky you were there,’ he conceded. ‘Clearly, we owe Viscount Damerel a debt of thanks, too.’
Briefly, she closed her eyes and pictured the viscount standing on the canal side: hair soaked, shirt glued to his chest, perfect eyebrows forked in disdain. It was chased by another image of him beneath the magnolia, standing so close she could feel every beat of his heart; before that, too, morphed into a darker image, his face shadowed by anger, accusing her of endangering his little sister. Finally, there was his admission on the bridge, that he was seeking reparations with Aurelia, that everything he’d said and done beneath the magnolia had been less than virtuous behaviour, nothing more.
Something twisted deep inside.
‘We owe the viscount nothing!’ she forced. ‘Any debt has been more than settled, and he has more pressing matters on his mind, now that he is betrothed.’
She caught her breath, aware Fred was perplexed.
‘Lord, Phoebs … at least you know your fate could be worse – imagine marrying someone youreallydisliked, like the viscount? Now there’s an adventure you wouldn’t want!’
He tailed off into nervous laughter, while Phoebe tried to empty her thoughts of the viscount’s dark silhouette: schooled face, gold-flecked eyes gleaming with intent. Fred knew her better than anyone, but even he would be scandalised if he knew the full extent of what had passed between them.
‘What a fate, indeed!’ she exhaled, urging Bluebell to a gallop.
ChapterTwenty-One
Four weeks, five days, and lying to Thomas until the wedding
‘Good morning, Alfred… Phoebe!’
Phoebe straightened the moment she heard Thomas’s authoritative tone, and turned her gaze slowly towards their aunt’s pretty breakfast room. Sure enough, their eldest brother was standing between the lemon damask chaise longue and matching curtains, eyeing her muddied riding habit with something between forbearance and disdain.
She clenched her fingers tightly. Of all the people she least wished to see, after spending much of the ride thinking of the person she should least wish to marry, Thomas had to be at the very top.
‘Thomas!’ Phoebe returned, glaringly aware of his spotless frock coat and pantaloons. ‘Fred didn’t say you were coming.’
She swung a gritty smile back at Fred, who was opening and closing his mouth like one of Edward’s toads.
‘Indeed, I didn’tknowThomas was joining us!’ Fred recovered, striding across the room. ‘But they do say May is the month the fashionable set decamp to Bath… Or were the stakes a little deep at Whites last night?’
Thomas broke into a rare smile as his younger brother shook his hand, giving Phoebe a chance to prop herself up on her aunt’s sturdiest chair.
‘Thank you, Alfred, but as I am neither fashionable nor afraid of faro, your theories are wasted on me. I’m actually in town on business, and pleased to find you both together, if a little less so to know the nature of your diversion.’
‘Aunt knew nothing!’ Phoebe returned in a flash, determined to avoid any repercussions. ‘And Fred merely followed to ensure my safe return from the park – I’ve missed the moor,’ she added, on a quieter note.
‘I’m pleased to hear Bath has had a positive effect on your health,’ he returned, unusually buoyant. ‘That was its purpose, after all. But as for missing the moor, well, you will need to develop some fortitude on that front, for I’ve come to confirm details of your happy news!’
He smiled then, and Phoebe realised she’d never really seen him smile properly, at least not in her direction. She stared, feeling the dread she’d been suppressing at her very core start to seep into her veins.
‘Details?’ she murmured, conscious of Fred’s glance.
‘Yes, the Earl of Cumberland and I enjoyed a very beneficial meeting last week, during which we agreed your dowry, your guest list and your personal effects. Everything will be small and in accordance with the earl’s wishes for a low-key affair – he has little taste for society these days – but properly managed. Your betrothal will be placed in theBath Chronicleand theLondon Gazette, as well as announced formally, and your wedding will take place at the end of the month. With regard to the formal announcement, and for the sake of ease, I have agreed to a swift presentation at the next Bath Assembly Ball.’ He paused. ‘May I be the first to offer you my felicitations, dear sister. I think Father would be most pleased indeed.’
Thomas’s face then lit up with satisfaction, while Phoebe’s stomach fell like a stone into her boots.
‘But that’s barely three weeks away,’ she whispered, ‘awhole weekless … than I thought.’
‘Indeed! Well, the earl was very generous in his praise of you after the Damerel dinner, and when you get to his age, there is little reason to wait, after all. He’s in need of a son to inherit his title, as soon as possible of course, and I’ve assured him you are from excellent Fairfax stock!
