Phoebe’s pulse leapt, and for a heartbeat she felt the old familiar surge of doubt, the fear that she was making a mistake, that she was defying a world too vast for her small self to stand against. But she forced herself to inhale again, centering on the quiet voice of her own integrity.
“I am not acting on whim,” she said, voice clear, steady. “I am acting on principle. I cannot betray my own sense of what is right. I cannot consent to a life in which I am merely an object of convenience or a remedy for embarrassment.”
Her mother’s eyes blazed with disbelief. “And you believe you are entitled to make such choices? That your personal desiresoutweigh the sacrifices of your parents? That you can flout the rules Society without consequence?”
Phoebe’s lips pressed into a thin line, her fingers tightening at her sides. “I do not disregard the rules that govern our Society lightly,” she replied. “I acknowledge the consequences. I understand what is expected of me. But I must stand for myself. I cannot live a life that is not my own, even to satisfy others’ expectations. I will not compromise who I am.”
Her father threw his hands into the air, voice rising, quivering with exasperation. “You are obstinate! Ungrateful! You will bring ruin upon yourself and this household. Do you hear me, Phoebe? You will regret this folly!”
Phoebe’s throat tightened, but she answered him calmly. “I hear you, Father. And I take responsibility for my choices. I will not act against my conscience. I will not betray my own heart for convenience, for convenience’s sake, or to appease fear. I must live with integrity, and this is my choice.”
The room fell into tense silence. Her mother’s lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing in a mixture of fury and disbelief. Her father’s jaw worked silently, the veins in his neck standing out, his fists clenched at his sides.
“Very well,” the Countess said, voice sharp and resolute. “If you refuse to be guided, if you cannot, or will not, heed reason, then a course must be set. You will be sent to your aunt Celia’s estate. Removed from London. Removed from temptation. Hidden until you can be managed.”
Phoebe’s stomach tightened, a flicker of fear passing through her.
She thought of Sebastian. The idea of leaving him was excruciating.
“No,” she growled through gritted teeth.
“What did you say?” The Earl challenged.
“I cannot return to Nantwich. I will not leave London.”
“Ha!” Her mother’s eyes flashed with triumph; her father’s expression remained tense, unreadable. “You may have turned Lord Robyn away, Phoebe, but you cannot defy us on this matter. You will go to Nantwich and stay there until?—”
“I willnotgo.” Phoebe stared at her mother, wanting to see the look on the Countess’ face when the next words left her lips. “I cannot leave.”
“You will go immediately,” her mother said. “Your things must be packed. There will be no delay, no further argument.”
Her father crossed the room and rang the bell for the butler.
Phoebe did not know how often the servants listened outside the rooms she and her parents occupied, but in a flash, the butler,as well as two footmen, appeared in the doorway to the drawing room.
“Yes, my lord?” The butler bowed slightly toward Phoebe’s father.
“See that my daughter’s trunk is packed at once. And call round the carriage. We are leaving for Nantwich within the hour and…”
“I will not leave!” Phoebe exclaimed. She was sure she had never spoken so loudly in all her life. Certainly, she had never dared raise her voice in such a manner when speaking to her parents before.
“Make haste!” Her father shouted at the footmen as he waved his hands, gesticulating wildly.
“Stay where you are!” Phoebe ordered, and the poor, frightened footmen paused to stare at her.
“You do not obey her,” Phoebe’s father groaned. He flung both hands into the air and made as if to shoo the staff. “Be gone with you. Do as I say.” Then, he lurched forward as if to grab hold of Phoebe’s elbow once more.
“No!” She jerked away from him and stepped aside so that she was separated from both of her parents by the backside of a settee.
“Even in our home you insist upon making a scene,” Phoebe’s mother said acidly.
Phoebe lifted her head high and looked at the butler and footmen, then narrowed her eyes and glared at her parents. “I have an announcement to make.”
Her mother huffed prissily and her father crossed his arms over his chest.
Phoebe inhaled deeply, then proceeded. “I cannot… will not leave London because I am engaged to be married.”
“Surely, you jest.” Her mother waved a hand flippantly at the doorway. “You just rejected Lord Robyn. Who do you think will have you now?”
