This was a much happier outcome than she’d dared hope for, and while he still read her a long lecture on the unfortunate fate that befell sisters who chose to ignore those who knew better, he’d also given her the estate books and accounts, together with a short note about how he hadn’t expected to be a guardian at thirty.
It felt like the closest thing to an apology.
Since then, she’d discovered she’d quite a talent when it came to managing the estate, and had already made several suggestions for improvements, including running water to all the bedchambers, which Thomas had agreed to consider. He’d also agreed to her overseeing Matilda’s studies, which she ensured included plenty of time for tree-climbing, and treasure-hunting.
And so the days passed. News from Bath was slow and intermittent, which they all welcomed, and yet also gave rise to the second unexpected thing: the viscount and Aurelia didn’t marry.
‘It’s just us and the woodland fae, isn’t it, Misty?’ Phoebe murmured, the ancient oaks reaching over their heads to create a natural canopy.
And in that moment, enclosed in the heart of the woods, she could have believed in a little magic. Because she didn’t really trust her eyes when she glimpsed a distant figure coming toward her, a figure on a familiar grey, with a proud seat and dark, tousled hair. She drew to a halt, unwilling to tread further and watch the apparition melt away with the night shadows. Except it didn’t. It continued getting closer, until she could see the light in his jewelled eyes.
‘It’s really you?’ she whispered, as he stopped and dismounted.
Phoebe swallowed, suddenly aware of the pounding inside her chest reaching over the dawn song around them. She’d tried to picture the viscount’s face so many times these past weeks, but never could outside her dreams, when he came to her in the kind of intimacy that left her breathless and bereft when she woke.
Yet this was no dream; he was right here, standing before her, extending his hand – and then, she too was in the stream, standing closer than was good for either of them.
‘Sophie said I could find you here.’ His voice caught as his eyes held hers.
‘I thought you’d gone to London…’
‘I’m staying nearby, and couldn’t…’
They trailed off as their voices overlapped, and for the first time Phoebe noticed his loose shirt, unkempt hair and boots speckled with moorland moss. He’d never looked less perfect. She gazed at him, noting the way the light caught his dark eyelashes, accentuating their curve, and the golden hue of his skin inside the open collar of his shirt. She swallowed, conscious of a rush of something as he smiled, stealing words.
‘Well, I might have,’ he murmured, ‘had it not been for someone who insists on proving me wrong – about everything.’
She smiled faintly.
‘I thought I was ahare-brained simpletonwho needs to rethink her expectations?’
He cursed softly, before catching her hand and raising it to his lips, kissing it with the kind of fervour she thought belonged only to novels.
‘I am the biggest simpleton for ever saying it!’ he groaned. ‘And while youwillneed some driving tuition before you go near my greys again…’
His eyes danced as Phoebe bit her lip.
‘Upon my family’s honour, I’ve never known a girl as headstrong, stubborn, reckless, and hopelessly courageous as you,’ he murmured. ‘Youarea heroine in every way.’
She looked up in astonishment, unsure how to receive compliments from a man who’d only ever laboured her shortcomings.
He was so close now she could feel his breath on her cheek, his heat blurring her thoughts, and suddenly she realised she wanted him too close, this arrogant viscount who’d done nothing but infuriate and interfere since the day they met.
‘What of Aurelia?’ she whispered, her name feeling awkward in the space between them.
He drew a breath.
‘That betrothal was arranged when we were each in the cradle. I never relished the prospect, but was prepared to honour it until Elliot told me her part in your escapades. Since then, the Marquis and Marchioness of Carlisle have called off the engagement. They were quite willing, after I pointed out the perils of their only daughter concluding her first season amid a cloud of rumours involving dubious actresses and snuff! As I understand it, she may well be the new countess before the year is out, anyway.’
A slow smile spread across Phoebe’s face.
‘If anyone was ever born to it,’ she murmured, raising her eyebrows.
‘She will make a much better countess than you,’ he agreed.
‘Oh, yes?’ Phoebe parried. ‘And why is that? Apart from the fact I’m not fit to grace polite circles as a general rule?’
‘On the contrary,’ he smiled, gold flecks glistening, ‘it’s just I believe you would make a much better viscountess.’
