The dining hall of Lord and Lady Brennan’s was filled with soft candlelight and the clink of utensils. Around Phoebe, conversations mingled, wordless with their overlapping. The words whispered by others created a hum of noise. Phoebe could not even snag a specific part of conversation to ground herself with or attempt to join.
Situated between her parents, always sandwiched between them, as if they thought she would need pinning between them should she try to make an escape, Phoebe traced an idle finger down the stem of her wine glass, keeping her eyes downcast.
Lord Birchwood’s absence was keenly noted by her father, his mutterings incessant as he spoke with another lord. Phoebe knew that, given the public spectacle, too many eyes kept flitting her way.
Finally, she felt a nudge from her mother, whose voice was the only thing that rang out clearly enough for her to properly process the words.
“I am most certain that Lady Phoebe will be more than willing to attend afternoon tea with Lady Monique later in the week! My daughter is thrilled to hear all about Lady Monique’s travels. After all, she has been speaking at length about integrating herself further into society, have you not, darling?”
Phoebe bristled at how nice her mother sounded in public, versus how cruel she could be behind closed doors.
“Have younot, dear?” Her mother demanded again, her pretty veneer threatening to break when Phoebe did not answer straight away.
She looked past her mother to see Lady Langerton, the woman who had hosted the ball where Lord Birchwood had been arrested. She mustered a smile, nodding.
“Of course,” she answered, knowing she ought to speak and accept the invitation. “It will be lovely to meet your niece.”
“My cousin,” Lady Langerton corrected gently. “She is coming from France where she lives with my sister and her husband until she makes her official debut here in London. I shall be sponsoring her. Perhaps you… you could guide her into the social scene, Lady Phoebe? I know you have had a—” She paused, her smile light and delicate. “Troubling time yourself.”
“Only because she waseverso popular upon her debut,” Phoebe’s mother cut in quickly, laughing with an edge of nerves to it.
To anybody else, it wouldn’t have been noticeable, but Phoebe knew how her mother sounded when she thought she was not winning a certain situation.
“Lord Tripleton and I were overwhelmed and inundated with the proposals and requests; we simply could not choose for her.”
“So, you picked Lord Birchwood in the end?” Lady Langerton asked, sipping her wine.
Phoebe turned her face away, trying to hide the twitch of her mouth at the slight judgement in the Countess’s tone.
“He was a solid choice, everyone said so,” her mother said. “At the time, of course, we were all beguiled by his manners and graces. We did not know about all the… discrepancies.”
“That is one word for his behavior.” The snicker came from a younger lady opposite Phoebe, who had been giggling behind her hand all evening while leaning in to gossip with her mother next to her. “Heavens, Lady Phoebe, you must feel ashamed. If I were you, I would not even feel comfortable showing my face after such a spectacle. And for your fiancé’s arrest to be so public!”
“Lady Francesca,” Lady Brennan said sharply, “that is quite enough. I expect all my guests to treat one another with courtesy. And if they cannot, then the offending party shall be asked to leave.”
The slight did not go unnoticed, and several conversations around the table went quieter. Phoebe’s mother cleared her throat.
“It was my decision to accept Lady Brennan’s invitation tonight,” she spoke up loudly. “My family does not bury itself in the sand when things go wrong.”
“And yet you sent Lady Phoebe away after her debut?” Lady Francesca’s mother, the Viscountess of Fletchley, mused. “If one did not know better, they might think that you were trying to get her away from theton. Perhaps to stave off shame? And now this has happened…”
Viscountess Fletchley shook her head slightly, making it clear that she disapproved of both Phoebe and the Countess of Tripleton.
Phoebe’s face burned, her shoulders pulled in. Her eyes briefly closed, and she reached for her newest grounding vision: a low-light library, a sitting booth separated by a wall, and a Pyramus that had made her feel noticed for the first time in her life.
When she opened her eyes, she caught the movement of a tall, brown-haired man who she would recognize anywhere.
Her cheeks warmed, and she hastily sipped her drink in case she was asked why she was so flushed.
“Good evening, Your Grace!” Phoebe’s father called out. “Here, you must come and join us!”
Behind Sebastian, Verity, Vincent, the Duke of Ravenwood, and Percy all followed. The Duke and Duchess of Whitestone linked arms while Vincent assessed the room.
Then, his eyes fell on Phoebe. He nodded once to her, an unreadable smile on his face. Phoebe smiled back politely, drinking more wine.
Then, Sebastian’s eyes met hers, and Phoebe bounced giddily in her seat.
He is here. I did not dream he would be invited to such an event. But my fiancé has come!
