And all the while, the viscount just watched from the shadows.
‘Congratulations, my dear, the Countess of Cumberland to be!’ Her aunt fussed as a wall of society matrons closed in, claiming their right to inspect the match of the season.
‘Now, the announcement wasn’t all that terrible, was it?’
‘It wasn’t, Aunt,’ she agreed, with a hollow smile. ‘It really wasquiteunremarkable.’
* * *
Two weeks and two moments of real note.
By the time carriages were called, Phoebe had danced a great many dances with a great many more titled gentlemen than she cared to know. And it struck her, as she waltzed beneath the extravagant candelabras, that there were only two moments of real note in any girl’s life. The first was her birth and the second was her wedding. At both these moments, females were afforded a degree of importance – the former because she might actually be a man, and the second because she was marrying one.
And even though she was escaping onemarriage de convenience, she was well aware it was only into a less constrained one. Phoebe thought of the captain’s smart military coat, with its brass buttons and medals polished until they gleamed, just like him. He’d polished himself brightly to make sure no one saw beneath his sunny disposition – to protect himself – and now he would be as imprisoned as she.
The viscount’s proud face followed swiftly, his gold-flecked eyes narrowing while her stomach coiled and chest ached for no reason she could understand at all. She swallowed, reminding herself to smile as the earl’s chaise rattled past their coach window. His family coat of arms gleamed with an archaic right, projecting the sort of confidence that could only be gleaned though a thousand years of approval.
Could she really hope to run from it?
‘Well, I can’t say I’ve ever felt prouder!’ her aunt gushed again, as soon as they were settled. ‘A presentation and betrothal announcement by King George himself! I’m not sure even your uncle really expected that, did you, dear?’
Uncle Higglestone grunted his surprise into his faithful copy of theBath Chronicle and Weekly Gazette, and for once Phoebe was grateful for his lack of interest. She already knew her dawn race and elopement would cast her out from polite society, but her aunt’s pride only made her impending fall from grace even worse.
‘I still think the king could have mentioned Phoebe by name,’ Sophie murmured. ‘I mean, the earl could be marrying his favourite horse, for all anyone knows!’
‘Hush now, dear, we must remember it is the earl’s name that matters most in this matter. While the Fairfaxes are a distinguished family of the ton, the House of Cumberland can trace its roots back to William the Conqueror!’
Phoebe glanced at Sophie, who seemed a little quiet. She was still conscious of her sister’s watchful gaze during her waltz with the captain and longed to tell her the truth, yet to do so would mean trusting her with a fragile plan that could result in the captain’s arrest, should it become widely known.
She laced her fingers tightly, the thought of hurting her sister was suffocating, and yet it was far better she found out with everyone else. She could only hope Sophie ensured news of her elopementdidreach the ears of a certain earl – and that it persuaded him to wash his hands of all Fairfaxes forever.
‘Are you okay?’ Sophie whispered, reaching out to hold her hand.
‘I am now,’ Phoebe returned, savouring her warmth.
ChapterTwenty-Five
One week, six days, and one dawn flight until the wedding
Aveil of darkness shrouded Bath’s pretty skyline as Phoebe rose and gazed from her bedchamber window. Reluctantly, she turned to eye her small trousseau of essentials, unable to help comparing it to the portmanteau she’d packed when heading to London nearly three months before. A rueful smile passed across her lips as she conjured Effie’s and Flora’s faces. What would they say if they could see theirpoor gentl’mannow? Preparing for a dawn phaeton race, and scandalous elopement, no more than three hours after a betrothal announcement by King George himself? It was a lot even by her standards, yet by the time the viscount’s phaeton appeared at the top of the hill, like a ghostly apparition, she was ready.
Silently, she crept through the still house, brushing each of her sisters’ bedchamber doors with her fingertips as she passed. There was a muffled cough when she reached Josephine’s door and, momentarily, she hesitated. Her quietest sister had looked so pale when she took the letters yet there was no more time, someone would hear if Josephine worsened – they had to.
She forced herself on before she could change her mind, down the modest stairwell and along her aunt’s quiet mahogany hall, pausing only to gaze at a miniature portrait of her youthful mama and papa. They were picnicking amid a carpet of bluebells in Knightswood’s grounds, and briefly she stared, wondering if they’d ever discussed Papa’s debt.
Would they understand her course now? Or think her foolish for embarking on the most foolhardy escapade of her life?
‘A young lady needs a certain air of fragility about her person – not ruddy cheeks and splinters.’
Didn’t they know looks could be deceiving?
She dragged her gaze from theirs, before picking up a cherry-velvet ribbon on the hall table. It was one of Matilda’s favourites and somehow, the stretch of soft material gave her a surge of strength. Of all her sisters, Matilda would understand best.
‘Captain, please shoot the earl, then we can all move in permanently!’
She tucked it inside her riding habit as she made her way to the door.
‘We can all be heroic in big and small ways, loud and quiet, if we so wish,’ Josephine echoed.
