“But what?” Genevieve teased. She leaned forward, and Phoebe caught a whiff of her cousin’s signature rosewater scent. “You are afraid to see what will happen when the most prestigious members of thetonlower their inhibitions?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Are you feeling shy because you do not wish to consort with Lord Spencer and his collection of friends?”
“Lord Spencer is the son of a respectable Earl,” Phoebe countered.
“Not tonight.” Genevieve’s eyes continued to blaze with excitement and mischief, and that look in her cousin’s eyes extended Phoebe’s unease.
Still, there was another part of her that was thrilled by the prospect of going to this ball. Phoebe had been locked up for far too long. Even as the carriage jounced and jostled them through the streets of London, she felt the kind of freedom she had hitherto only ever fantasized about attaining.
Impulsively, wishing to embrace that adventurous side of her personality, Phoebe twitched aside the curtain on the window and peered out into the inky blackness.
Just as she caught a glimpse of the passing buildings, the carriage jolted once more and nearly sent Phoebe toppling.
What am I doing?
A rush of trepidation crowded out all of Phoebe’s dauntless feelings.
“We must go home!” Phoebe pulled herself upright and rapped on the top of the carriage with her knuckles. “Turn round at once,” she demanded of the driver.
“Stop that!” Genevieve scolded, and grabbed Phoebe’s hand. “Drive on, Rochester!”
The coach did not slow or halt, and it was unclear if Rochester simply did not hear Phoebe’s earlier command or elected to obey Genevieve’s.
“Phoebe, you must…” It was clear that Genevieve had abandoned her playful attitude and meant to give Phoebe a lecture, but then, quite suddenly, Genevieve’s tone softened and she started massaging Phoebe’s fingers. “You are shaking, Cousin. What has come over you tonight? Are you really this frightened?”
Phoebe gulped loudly. “I cannot say what worries me more… going to this masquerade, or being caught out by my parents.”
“How can I help you?” Genevieve asked as she gazed at Phoebe with a look that was full of concern. “What can I say to assuage your fears?”
“Nothing.” Phoebe flexed her fingers and pulled her hand out of her cousin’s grip. “My only wish at this point is to return home.”
Genevieve continued to give Phoebe a long, quizzical stare, then she huffed prissily and folded her hands neatly in her lap. “That, I cannot do.”
“What?” Phoebe squawked in disbelief. “You will not deliver me to my parents’ townhouse?”
“I will not allow you to miss this opportunity.” Genevieve tipped her head to the side and fixed another sympathetic look on her face. “Come now. Let us evaluate the situation rightly. If we go to the party, we will dance, flirt, and spend the rest of the evening enjoying ourselves. But if you go home, what will you do?”
Genevieve cocked an all-knowing eyebrow at Phoebe, making it clear that her question was rhetorical. “I know you, Cousin. If I ask Rochester to turn this carriage around and take you home, you will run into the house, dive beneath your bedsheets, and pray that your parents have not noticed your absence.”
“Yes,” Phoebe murmured, already accepting this interpretation of her behavior as a premonition of what was to come. “That is precisely what must happen.”
“You cannot give into your fears so easily,” Genevieve cried in an almost hysterical manner. “I will not let you.” She drew in a slow breath then said in a much more relaxed manner. “Do not fret about your parents. They will not send anyone to check your bedchambers this evening.”
Silently, Phoebe agreed with this summation.
No one will think to bid me a goodnight, she thought bitterly.As long as I show up for breakfast, they will not care what I do in the meantime.
“You have a point there,” she conceded after a beat. “But just because my parents do not care how I spend my time does not mean I am free to roam.”
Phoebe swallowed the lump building in her throat, making it difficult to speak. It was almost as if her body was protesting her next words. “I…I am engaged to be married, and Lord Birchwood will not want me if I…I…tarnish my reputation.”
Genevieve guffawed loudly. “I would not think you cared one fig for what that stuffy, old, Lord Birchwood thought of you or your reputation. Not when he is the most horrid scoundrel.”
“Genevieve!” Phoebe was alarmed to hear her cousin speak so disparagingly. “You should not say such things.”
“Well, he is,” she insisted. “He is old and he is desperate, not to mention an awful snob. You deserve far better.”
Phoebe stared at her friend in disbelief. “Is that what all this has been about? You have cajoled me into accepting Lord Spencer’s invitation because you hoped that I might find someone far better at the masquerade.”
Now that the pieces were falling into place, Phoebe was flabbergasted. “Youdoknow that everyone there will be shadowed beneath masks so they cannot reveal their true identities, right?”
