“It is indeed. Thank you for noticing,” her mother preened, but then frowned at the space between her and Phoebe. “Where do you think you are going?”
Lady Tripleton reached for her, but Genevieve subtly stepped in front of Phoebe, protecting her. “Like I said, I just wish to takePhoebe for a turn around the room. We might even get a glass of wine or a piece of cake. This is a ball. She ought to enjoy herself, don’t you think?”
“I would like Phoebe to remain where I can see her, Niece.”
Genevieve’s eyes glinted with cunningness. “I understand, but if she is to be a marchioness, she ought to explore more of these events to know how they work. That way, she will be better prepared to host her own, lavish events that will get the entiretontalking someday. If she does not take this opportunity when it presents itself, you are only putting Phoebe at a loss to impress both her future husband and theton. I am certain you do not want that.”
Phoebe fought back a laugh, for her cousin had a way with words that always flummoxed Lady Tripleton. It was indeed splendid to see her mother so awestruck, and Phoebe admired her cousin’s bold spontaneity.
She wished that she could speak in such a way to her mama, but she dared not be so quick or clever. If Phoebe had attempted to dodge her mother in such a manner, there would be consequences to pay.
However, since Genevieve was exempt from facing such hardships, it was almost comical to watch the Countess deal with her discomfort.
Her mother’s face twisted in annoyance and then smoothed into consideration as she nodded slowly. “I see what you mean.Heavens, well, do not go far, Phoebe, and be ready to return as soon as I call you to rejoin our party.”
“I will,” she said, ducking her head in polite agreement.
Without wasting another second, Genevieve whisked her away, and as the crowd closed around Phoebe, she felt invisible once more.
Once they made it out of the other side of the heavy gathering, towards a quieter corner where a stand of champagne flutes waited to be plucked, Phoebe grabbed two of them immediately and handed one to Genevieve with a deep exhale.
“Thank you for getting me away from them,” she sighed. “Lord Birchwood is truly insufferable and the worst snob. He barely looks at me, which, in truth, is a blessing, but all he cares about is training me up to be his perfect little wife.”
“I am sorry, did you saytraining?”
“His words exactly,” Phoebe muttered, drinking half of the flute’s contents to settle her chaos of thoughts. “I hate it. I—I picture this future with him, the future my parents are forcing me into, and I just… I cannot fathom it. It is impossible. There will be no spots of light at all for me to even grasp onto, for I do not think he will even let me out of the estate once we are wed. How will I get to see you?”
“I shall sneak you out,” Genevieve giggled. “Just like I did the other night. I am cunning, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” Phoebe laughed softly.
Her cousin took her free hand, her expression turned serious as she addressed her. “Whatever happens, you will have me to get you through it, all right? You will never be alone, even if you are on your own. No matter what, we will find a way.”
“Can we find a way to free me from this engagement?” she asked hopefully, laughing nervously.
“If we can, we shall, but I cannot make promises.”
Phoebe embraced her briefly, smiling into the fabric of her friend’s butter-yellow gown. “I am not asking for promises, only for my friend to remain at my side.”
“Always,” Genevieve swore. “Always. But, speaking of friends, you must come and meet the Duchess of Whitestone! She and I were recently introduced at a garden party in quite a terrible fashion, but she is truly lovely. I think you will like her.”
Genevieve was already tugging her along the edge of the ballroom, over to where a lady stood tall and proud. Her dark curls tumbled over one shoulder, despite being pinned in a stunning fashion. She wore a fitted navy gown that hugged her heaving bosom, and Phoebe was immediately jealous.
Her mother never put her in dresses that truly complimented her own, wider figure, but this woman knew how to style herself in a most becoming way.
At their approach, the Duchess turned to face them, and Phoebe tensed, for she had always known duchesses to be older, stern, and consumed with their own power and authority, yet there was only kindness in her hazel eyes as she smiled at Genevieve before curiously looking towards Phoebe.
“Lady Genevieve,” the Duchess beamed. “I was wondering where you slipped off to so suddenly.”
“I went to rescue my friend so that I might introduce the two of you,” Genevieve said, nodding towards her. “This is Lady Phoebe Tripleton, my best friend and cousin. She is the third daughter of the Earl of Tripleton, but the other two are much older, long having married out of England. Lady Phoebe, this is Her Grace, Verity Duncombe, the Duchess of Whitestone.”
“It is lovely to meet you, Your Grace.” Phoebe curtsied deeply while smiling.
“Likewise. Lady Genevieve has spoken of you already. You are as beautiful as she claimed you are, Lady Phoebe.”
At that, Phoebe straightened up in surprise, glancing at her friend.
“What?” Genevieve grinned. “I had to speak highly of you, but that is not the only thing I said. I spoke of your taste in literature as well as yourother talents?—”
