“Bien sûr,”Clio agreed, falling back into French, the language that the two women had used for most of their acquaintance.
Letitia bussed a kiss against Clio’s cheek, and Clio tried to soak up the familiarity of her friend’s presence, her visage, even the light smell of her honey soap. And then Letitia boarded the carriage that Xander and Helen had sent to transport her into the country, which clattered down the cobblestones.
Clio waved until the carriage was gone from sight.
She waited a few moments longer in the dreary morning, trying not to feeltoobad for herself, then turned back to the house?—
And yelped to find Phoebe standing right behind her, hands on her hips.
“Are you trying tokill me?”Clio demanded, putting a hand to her chest. “What are youdoing?”
”I’ve been very patient,” Phoebe said in a not-at-all patient tone. “I know you are sad about your friend leaving. But it is time for us to talk.”
Alarm shot through Clio at her sister by marriage’s somber words. “What’s wrong?” she asked, too worried to resist as Phoebe dragged her back inside and then into a private room. Was Phoebe ill? Was Aaron ill? Had some other disaster struck, one so dreadful that Clio could not even conceive of it?
Phoebe locked the door behind them.
“You,” she said accusingly, “have beenkissed.”
Clio blinked, confusion, relief, and then irritation flaring through her all on top of each other.
“Phoebe!” she protested. “You cannot begin conversations like that. I thought someone wasdead.”
Phoebe ignored this, which was absolutely typical.
“So, you don’t deny it,” she said smugly.
“Youmusthave better things to do than worry about my romantic life—or lack thereof,” she hastened to add, when triumph gleamed in Phoebe’s gaze. “You are a duchess. Aren’t you busy?”
“Not really.” Phoebe shrugged. “Aaron and I only host one ball per year, and it’s not for weeks and weeks yet, and I’ve managed most of the details already. It really isn’t that hard, you know.” She grinned a feral sort of grin. “That gives meplentyof time to think about you.”
Clio darted a glance at the door, considering her chances of getting out of here before Phoebe tackled her. It wasn’t a ladylike way of resolving conflict, but Phoebe had never let something like a little impropriety stop her from doing what she wanted.
“There might be some…inexplicable feelings of attraction between myself and the duke,” Clio said eventually with all the decorum she could muster. “But that does not mean that I intend tomarryhim.”
Phoebe pressed her lips together. “But we are going to this house party of his.”
Clio rolled her eyes. “Do you really think Aaron would have considered skipping it?”
Phoebe scoffed. “You were the one who told Aaron about the party, so that excuse doesn’t have as much impact as you might think.”
“He would have found out,” Clio objected mulishly.
“I think you like him,” Phoebe said in a singsong voice.
“Aaron? He’s my brother; I like him just fine, when he isn’t being terrible.”
“I think you like the duke,” Phoebe sang on.
“Aaron is a?—”
“The Duke of Metford!” Phoebe chucked a pillow at her. “I think you are denying that there is something real between you. I went through the same thing with your brother, you know.”
Clio rolled her eyes again.
“You just want to see everyone in love,” she accused, and Phoebe shrugged, unbothered. “But whatIwant most is to see the world.I want to go to other continents. I want to sail on the Nile. I want to see if the birds in South America are truly as glorious and colorful as they say.”
These things all sounded wonderful. Clio knew that. But she also wasn’tentirelysurprised when, instead of launching into plans for a strange escape scheme, Phoebe frowned with uncharacteristic solemnity at her.
