Phoebe startled in alarm, lifting her gaze instinctively to the Duke of Talwyn. Even if he did not initially recognize her from Lord Spencer’s Masquerade and the time they spent together in the room at the end of the hall, he surely knew her now.
Moreover, he knew, because Birchwood had just pompously declared as much, that when Phoebe had been engaged to another man, she had spoken of private matters with the Duke.
Phoebe blushed profusely and made an attempt to wriggle free from Lord Birchwood’s grasp, but her efforts were futile. He held her tightly to his side.
The Duke’s gaze was fixed on the Marquess. His emerald eyes narrowed, as if he knew, as if he understood something the others did not.
At least he comprehends my situation. The Duke can see that I am being forced to interact with the loathsome Birchwood against my will.
“What do you think of my prize?” Lord Birchwood laughed as he leaned closer to Phoebe. “Is she not a worthy catch?”
She made a small, discreet noise of protest as she stumbled against his side.
“How exactly did you manage to ensnare your bride-to-be?” the Duke of Talwyn asked in a voice that indicated he disapproved of the way His Lordship spoke about his future wife.
“I…well…” Lord Birchwood stammered in a bemused manner.
While he might have joined this crowd in a bombastic way and had even surged forth to claim Phoebe as his betrothed, he did not have enough bluster to answer questions about how their union came to be arranged.
“I just…”
“Clearly, you possess few oratory skills,” the Duke of Talwyn mused when Birchwood failed to produce a proper response.“So, I gather that you did not encourage this lady to fall in love with you by reciting an original poem.”
Percy, the Duke of Whitestone, emitted a snort of laughter. His wife, Verity, placed a gloved hand over her mouth and giggled loudly at the clear cut.
“I…I am not a poet.” Lord Birchwood stumbled over his words yet again. “I…Lady Phoebe and I…the agreement between me and her father is…”
“Oh, I see,” the Duke interrupted. He gave Birchwood a glare that would have silenced even the most arrogant and eloquent speakers. “You and the Earl here…” He paused and nodded toward Phoebe’s father. “…have made a bargain of sorts. You have agreed to take lovely Lady Phoebe from her family’s home in exchange for…what exactly? What do you bring to the table, Birchwood?”
If Phoebe could have the use of both her hands, she would have properly applauded the Duke. Using just a few jibes he had managed to strike at the heart of her conundrum and put on display, for any nosy onlookers to see, how her parents had offered her to Lord Birchwood for reasons no one could possibly be expected to comprehend.
“Yes,” Genevieve cooed as she sent a frosty stare of her own in Lord Birchwood’s direction. “I have often wondered how you managed to convince my aunt and uncle to give you my fair cousin’s hand. Tell us all…tell us now…” Genevieve’s voice grewlouder as she made her ultimate demand. “How did you manage to secure Lady Phoebe as your bride-to-be?”
“I…well…I…” Lord Birchwood let go of Phoebe’s waist just long enough so that he could fuss with his cravat.
No! Don’t make a comment about being a fashionable man. This lot will only laugh in your face.
Phoebe was not exactly rooting for Lord Birchwood, but she did not wish to see anyone embarrass himself in the way he was doing. The humiliation he was suffering was palpable. Shame lingered tangibly in the air, and Phoebe hoped this unique form of torture would end soon.
Just keep your mouth closed. Do not provoke the Duke further.
But His Lordship could not pick up on Phoebe’s silent entreaties.
And, instead of exercising common sense, he said, “I am an excellent dancer, Your Grace.”
Phoebe groaned as the Duke’s eyes lit up brilliantly. His friend, the Duke of Ravenwood chuckled, while the Duke of Whitestone said enthusiastically, “Indeed?”
Lord Birchwood bobbed his head in agreement. Having found his footing, he even lifted his chin slightly and dared to meet the Duke of Talwyn’s eyes. “I have been known to trip the light fantastic, Your Grace.”
“Splendid!” Verity clapped her hands as if she were delighted by this pronouncement. “I was hoping we would all dance a reel this evening.”
While both the Duke and Duchess of Whitestone were enthused by the prospect of standing up together and having their new friends join them, the Duke of Talwyn seemed unconvinced by Lord Birchwood’s bravado.
He lifted a hand and tapped a finger slowly to his lower lip. When he spoke, the Duke used the same tone he had when he had questioned her at Lord Spencer’s Masquerade. It was evident he wanted answers to his questions, but he wasn’t quite pressing the issue.
“Lord Birchwood,” he murmured, “I am confounded. You say you are light of foot, yet you do not allow us to judge the matter for ourselves.”
Lord Birchwood shared a dumbfounded look with Lord and Lady Tripleton. Phoebe’s mother gave him an encouraging smile, so he turned back to the Duke.
