She was always so quiet, so docile andgood,but her frustration and confusion had long boiled over, and she could not hold her tongue any longer.
“And yet youwilldo as we command,” her mother retorted. “We will offer you to one suitor after another for as long as it takes until we find one who can endure your…ways,Daughter. Make no mistake, you have shamed us, and we refuse to declare you a spinster. You will wed before the Season ends, and I promise you that. I do not care if he is old, if he is cruel, or if he hates the very blood in your veins. You will be married to an eligible gentleman before you know it. We will not endure the shame you bring upon us, you ungrateful wretch.”
Phoebe flinched, falling hard against the closed door. Her hand groped behind her until she found the doorknob. With shaking hands and tears in her eyes, she wrenched it open and burst through the opening.
She pushed her way out of the stifling room, fleeing down the corridor with a tight chest. She gasped for breath. Her knees buckled so badly that she had to grasp the wall as she stumbled away from the horrific words her mother and father had just uttered.
“Pick yourself up,” she whispered to herself fiercely. “Pickyourself up now.”
Somehow, she made it, step by step, to the garden, running through blurred vision and weak limbs. Soon, she was out of the glass doors, beyond the ballroom, , and she did not stop until the soft slippers on her feet met grass.
Once she did, she staggered across the lawn. She stumbled through a cluster of Black-Eyed Susans, tripped over a smattering of tulips and finally stopped when she spotted a thicket of white daisies.
Daisies.
She saw a stone archway looming nearby and allowed herself to sink to the ground.
For a long moment, she heaved tortured sobs, then, she hoisted herself back into a standing position. Her fingers scraped over the stone pillar, grounding her, and she struggled to find her footing.
She let loose a series of ragged breaths. Her head spun as she sought to work through everything her parents had said.
One suitor to another, until they were rid of the shame thatshe had brought upon them. That was all they ever wanted: to be rid of her.
Phoebe was the daughter they needed, but not the sort they wanted. She was the daughter who hated embroidery and could not play a pianoforte piece to save her life, even though she loved listening to music. In fact, she could not play any instrument, nor could she speak eloquently in another language, yet she adored hearing all of those performances. They were just not skills she could achieve herself, even though she appreciated them in others.
“Compose yourself,” she breathed. “Phoebe,please.Compose yourself. This is not the place to fall apart.”
“Why not?”
A voice that came through the darkness had her whirling around. Her hands scrambled as she reached behind her back to brace herself on the pillar.
Her eyes sought the figure that stepped out of the shadows.
Sebastian.
Her mind was fractured. She had seen him inside and heard his voice. She was sure of it. But she could not recall what happened after he had spoken to her and Lord Birchwood.
One second Sebastian was there and in another he was gone again.
She blinked at Sebastian, not wanting to lose sight of him again.
His features were so handsome in the dark. He was Pyramus; he was the Duke of Talwyn. He was the man who had spoken to her in low, seductive tones beyond a latticed wall, and he was also the man who had secluded a whole tent for them just to warn her about the truths of her terrible fiancé.
Was what he had done, or said, enough?
Was what he had done, or said, enough?
Had he orchestrated what happened tonight?
“Are you pleased?” Phoebe cried, her voice thin and breathy. “You were right, Sebastian. But what does that matter? You may have saved me from Lord Birchwood, but you have not rescued me from my parents. You have not given me another option! Imust marry another man of my parents’ choosing, they insist upon it. I shall be engaged again before the end of the Season.”
“Phoebe.” He moved closer to her. As he drew nearer, she could see the wealth of despair in his eyes. “Phoebe, I did not realize?—”
“Of course you did not!” she retorted. “Men like you never do because you are above regulations and expectations. You do notunderstand.”
“Do you really think I cannot understand what it is like to live under the rule of a tyrannical parent?” Sebastian asked her coolly. “Do you honestly think I am incapable of seeing your struggles and turning a blind eye upon them?”
“No.” All her feelings twisted and turned in her stomach. She sagged under the weight of her own turmoil. “How did you even know about Lord Birchwood’s dealings? There is clearly evidence enough for an arrest, so you were right.”
