“Lord Tripleton,” Lord Birchwood greeted, bowing, and receiving Phoebe’s father’s bow in return. “How are you on this fine night?”
“I am well, thank you, Lord Birchwood.”
“Please,” he laughed, “call me Cecil. We are practically family now, are we not?”
“Indeed.” Phoebe’s father beamed, clasping Lord Birchwood on the shoulder, all friendly in a way Phoebe despised. “Indeed, we are. So, call me Lewis in return, then. And my wife is Myrtle, whom you have met.
“Of course,” Lord Birchwood said, turning to Phoebe’s mother. He bowed to her, inclining his head. “Lady Tripleton, you look exquisite tonight, if your husband does not mind me complimenting you so openly.”
Phoebe’s mother laughed shrilly. “I am certain he does not! Why should he? I spent a great deal of money on this gown, and someone ought to tell me just how ravishing I look in it.”
Phoebe’s father nudged Lord Birchwood, chuckling. “Ispent a great deal of money.”
“Do all of us not do such things for those we marry?” Lord Birchwood laughed in return, his eyes briefly glancing over Phoebe. He smiled at her, then nodded briskly. “Lady Phoebe… There you are.”
Despite her resentment towards him, she waited for a compliment like he had given her mother, or a longer greetinglike the one her father had received, but he barely looked at her. Phoebe swallowed her growing bitterness.
While Phoebe waited, her mother pinched her side, and Phoebe automatically responded by dipping into a curtsey.
“Lord Birchwood, it is a pleasure to see you, I’m sure.” Phoebe knew that her words were less than cordial, and she was not surprised in the slightest way when her mother nudged her once more with the tip of her elbow. “Your suit is…rather fashionable.”
Her fiancé straightened. His grin widened as he tugged at his already perfectly knotted cravat.
“I know. I bought this attire especially for tonight, knowing you would be here. I was hoping that I might look quite dapper and turn a few heads.” He chortled. “Dapper. I think that is the term the fashionable crowd uses nowadays.”
Phoebe coughed, smoothing down her skirt. “I would not know about that, my lord.”
For a fraction of a second, Lord Birchwood seemed flustered. He tugged once more on his tie, then patted his hands down the sides of his waistcoat.
“No offense is meant toward you, Lord Tripleton, of course. You provide beautiful garments for your daughter, but it is not hard to see who is the wealthier of the two families...”
“Certainly. My wealth is vast, but yours doubles, if not triples, my own.” Phoebe’s father nodded stoically. “There is no need to conceal the truth when one is amongst friends.”
Something flitted across Lord Birchwood’s face, something like doubt, or worry, but Phoebe noticed it. If her parents did, they did not comment; it was likely they hadn’t.
Phoebe’s thoughts flew back to the conversation she had with Genevieve before they entered Lord Spencer’s Masquerade.
My father might have debts, but Genevieve thinks Lord Birchwood is only marrying me for my father’s wealth.
Phoebe tilted her head to the side and stared at Lord Birchwood appraisingly.
Can it be that Birchwood owns far less than he pretends?Is he clinging onto his title and putting on airs because that is all he has left?
“Friends,” Lord Birchwood echoed. “Yes, our two families will be on the friendliest of terms going forward.”
“Speaking of dear friends,” Phoebe’s mother began, “did you hear about the scandal between Miss Hartford and Lord Callum?”
“No…” Lord Birchwood’s eyes grew wide and avaricious as he leaned closer and whispered, “What happened?”
Lady Tripleton pinched her lips together as if she had not been the one to bring up the topic and meant to nurture the secret. Then, her eyes gleaned and she relaxed her mouth enough to whisper, “They were caught in a room together…all alone…without a chaperone.”
“Really?” Lord Birchwood murmured.
Phoebe knew she ought to listen and learn what people were saying about the couple, but she could not bring herself to focus on their predicament.
I once spent an evening alone in a room with a gentleman andwe did nothing but read and talk and…
Phoebe’s thoughts drifted back to Pyramus who had hidden his identity from her behind the latticed wall.
