“Oh, my dear Phoebe, that is precisely the point.” Her smile flashed wickedly from across the carriage bench, and Phoebe’s dread only grew.
“I do not understand you, Cousin, and that… that scares me,” Phoebe said in a whisper. Her words did not really represent a confession, for it was likely that her friend already knew and understood her qualms.
“Your fears are understandable. Some might think you were mad if you did not allow yourself to be slightly terrified by the prospect of going to a ball like this one. But let me impart a bit of wisdom before we arrive at our destination.” Phoebe laughed at that, for Genevieve had been doing that all day to convince her through whispered conversation in her parents’ townhouse parlor. “Your grandfather would not approve of Lord Birchwood. If you believe nothing else I have said tonight, you must acknowledge the truth in that statement.”
At that, Phoebe’s heart stuttered, and she turned her face away. Her hand instinctively rose to clutch the pendant that dangled on a delicate silver chain around her neck. The locket was a little bigger than a guinea, and on the inside, her grandfather’s Christian name was engraved.
Graeme Webb, the Earl of Tripleton.
She brushed a fingertip over the engraving of Graeme, reminding her of the man who had truly raised her until seven years prior, when Phoebe had just barely turned six-and-ten.
Tears stung her eyes, for grief had been long blanketed beneath duty and honoring her family’s demands, but Phoebe swallowed them back.
Feeling the weight of Genevieve’s gaze, Phoebe cleared her throat, trying to dislodge the tears she refused to let flow.
She would not indulge in her sorrows tonight, not when this evening was supposed to be full of excitement and glimmer and secretive smiles that Phoebe was not certain she knew how to make.
“I am sorry,” Genevieve said, when Phoebe finally looked back at her again. “I felt you needed to hear me say those words, but I should not have spoken of your grandfather at a time like?—”
“No, no, it is all right,” Phoebe quickly answered. “Please, do not worry. For what it is worth, you are right. He would not have approved of Lord Birchwood. But what choice do I have? I was pulled back to London from the countryside for this engagement. It is the only way I can prove my worth to my parents, so I do not see what else I can do.”
“You can rebel,” Genevieve urged. “Which is what tonight is all about. Snatch this opportunity, Phoebe, for I do not know anyone more deserving of such a thing.”
Phoebe laughed, a little helplessly, a little enthralled, still caught in that clash of emotion. “I did try to stop it, you know,” she whispered. “The engagement, but my parents would not listen.”
“When have they ever?” Genevieve sighed, slumping against the carriage bench.
Phoebe despised that she was already bringing down her friend’s mood. She did not want that. She wanted to throw herself right into the night, into the concept of what had been presented to her, but she could not shove her worry aside long enough to do so.
“It is my father’s debts,” Phoebe continued.
She realized that her cousin probably already knew all the woes that plagued the House of Tripleton, but she felt better muttering about her father’s failures than sitting quietly and holding her tongue.
She spent her days in so much silence in Tripleton House that now, with her cousin and friend, she finally felt able to speak freely.
A thought gripped her:how much freer will you feel beneath the cover of anonymity tonight? As Gen said, snatch it. Claim it, for it is yours.
“The debts must be covered,” she finished foolishly.
“Yes, but not byyou. You have done nothing wrong, yet your parents still put that burden upon your shoulders, and I hate seeing them make you feel this way.” Genevieve turned to her. The azure dress she wore shimmered in the lamplight. Her shoulders were scandalously bare, as were Phoebe’s.
Normally, she would have never been allowed to own such a daring frock even if it was a gift from Genevieve. But one look at the bold red gown that shined as brightly as rubies, Phoebe knew she could never throw it away.
So, she hid it, privately dreaming of slipping it on and wearing it on a rare, daring occasion such as this one.
“Focus on tonight, all right? The world can wait for tomorrow, Phoebe, but tonight... tonight shall not. I will make sure of it.”
Suddenly, Genevieve was right there beside her, and her arms wrapped around Phoebe’s shoulders tightly.
“Promise me that tonight we—you—will have fun, no matter what?” Genevieve’s mouth brushed Phoebe’s cheek as she murmured, “forget that blasted Lord Birchwood, and forget about your parents, and your past. Be a different Phoebe, one that might even claim a false name if that helps. Be the girl you could have been, had your parents not been so awful. Live for tonight, dear cousin.”
Her quick response surprised even Phoebe as she whispered right back, “I promise. I will not let you down.”
“No.” Genevieve pulled away with a brighter grin than before. “Do not letyourselfdown, cousin.”
Chapter Two
Aquarter-hour later, the carriage came to an abrupt halt in front of a beautiful townhouse draped in shadows; save for the low lamplight emanating from its windows.
