“No, but I am your cousin and friend,” Genevieve replied stoutly. “I should have made every effort to comfort you.”
Slowly, Phoebe lifted her free hand and rubbed her cheek. The spot did not sting. It did not cause her pain at all. Unless she pushed all other thoughts out of her brain, she struggled to remember the horrid conversation she’d endured with her parents just after His Lordship was led from the soiree.
Yes, her father had struck her and certainly, she recalled the way her parents had threatened to sell her off to the next willing suitor. But their words did not bother her as they had at thatmoment. Their threats, their harsh tones, even their callous coldness, could not touch her now.
“Your support would have been most welcome,” Phoebe assured her friend. “But it was unnecessary.” She lowered her hand back to her side and gestured to her dress. “You see, I am quite well and…”
“If you are well, then why did you come here so early?” Genevieve narrowed her eyes and peered at the closed door in the distance. “How did you get past Jones?”
“Jones is not quite the gatekeeper that he once was and besides… I have news.”
“Yes…” Genevieve yawned broadly. “I suppose you did say that initially.” She patted her mouth daintily with her hand. “Did something else happen last night after Lord Birchwood made his departure?”
A giggle of happiness burbled out of Phoebe’s lips. “A great many things happened once the Marquess was escorted out of the ballroom.”
“Really?” The end of Phoebe’s little nose wriggled as if she could smell the gossip and was eager to hear more.
“I am engaged,” Phoebe said, not wanting to prolong the moment or the suspense further.
Genevieve’s upper lip curled as she sank back onto her cushiony pillows. “I already knew that, Cousin.”
“What?” Phoebe gasped. “How could you know?”
Genevieve rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows. You have been engaged to that rotten Birchwood for ages. I suppose things will be different between the two of you now that he is bound for Newgate but…” Genevieve brightened. “Is that why you visited? Did your parents already free you from that awful marriage contract?”
Phoebe tipped her head slightly, acknowledging that Genevieve had guessed parts of the truth. “I will not marry Lord Birchwood.”
“Thank Heavens,” Genevieve murmured with a touch of dramatics.
“But,” Phoebe continued, “when I said I was engaged, I did not mean I would be marrying Lord Birchwood.”
Genevieve gasped. She clung to Phoebe’s hand as if it were a knotted rope binding the two of them together. “Tell me that your parents have not already arranged another match for you? How could they? How could they work so quickly? How did they know Birchwood would be led away to the gaol?”
“My parents do want me to marry someone. And, they have insisted that I find myself a husband quickly. But the person Iam bound to…the person I have given my heart to is not one they might have chosen.”
Genevieve’s eyes flitted back and forth in her head. Phoebe could see that she was sifting through the possibilities, then suddenly, her eyes focused, and she squeaked. “But then that can mean only one thing!”
“Yes,” Phoebe prompted, certain that if given the proper time, Genevieve would work out the truth on her own.
“If you were free to pick any man you liked, if your parents allowed you to select your own husband, then I suppose that makes you the next Duchess of Talwyn!”
“Ha!” Phoebe beamed at her cousin. “Excellent use of deductive reason, my friend.”
“I cannot believe this!” Genevieve’s plump cheeks flooded with red as she matched Phoebe’s smile. “But how did this happen? When did he ask you to be his bride? How long have you known that you were in love with His Grace?” Genevieve gripped Phoebe’s hand tighter. “When he proposed, was it just like you dreamed? Did he take you in his arms the way Prince Sameul did Penelope and did he…did he kiss you?”
Phoebe smiled beatifically. “The Duke gave me a choice.”
“A choice?” Genevieve echoed. “I do not understand.”
“That is all right, Cousin.” Phoebe patted her hand gently. “I shall explain it to you.”
Chapter Nineteen
Sebastian slept past noon.
He could not recall the last time he had allowed himself to languish in his bed and be so utterly indulgent.
He had returned to his townhouse quite late and had been so full of energy that he spent another hour running up and down the stairs, waking up the servants, and then sending them promptly back to bed.
