But Mr. Winwood pulled away.
Clearing his throat, he glanced at Mina. “These are for Miss Ashbrook.”
Chapter 27
For a heartbeat, no one moved. The air itself stilled. Thea blinked, certain she must have misheard, but then Mr. Winwood, all cheerful composure and oblivious confidence, stepped forward and extended the bouquet toward Mina with a little flourish. To the casual eye, Phoebe appeared unchanged—her smile fixed, her posture poised—but the bright glow that had lit her moments before dimmed, snuffed out in an instant, leaving behind a hollow copy of the expression.
Thea’s thoughts scattered, confusion and comprehension colliding at once. For Mina? He’d shown kindness toward her cousin in the past few weeks, but to make such an open gesture? And in front of Phoebe of all people? That was bold. Reckless, even.
Then again, the gentleman had clearly not anticipated Phoebe being there.
Thea could only stare as he spoke with a voice full of lightness and teasing, though his words buzzed in her ears as astonishment swept through her. Mina’s face was crimson all the way to her hairline, and she stammered some response, her eyes darting toward Phoebe, who stared on as the gentleman continued to flirt and flatter another.
Mr. Winwood smiled, tipped his head, and with an unmistakably rakish glint in his eye, gave Mina a quick wink (which she did not look up to see) before turning smartly on his heel and striding back down the path, looking entirely pleased with himself.
Silence settled in his wake, broken only by the crunch of gravel as his footsteps retreated. Phoebe’s face remained serenely composed, yet Thea felt the ache radiating from her friend as sharp and throbbing as any fresh wound.
“That is painfully fitting. My last hope is courting another,” murmured Phoebe as she sat, resting a hand upon the table as her gaze fixed on the path where Mr. Winwood had vanished.
The silence stretched long enough that Thea might have believed her unmoved—if not for the faint tremor in Phoebe’s fingers. Then the color drained from her cheeks, her mouth tightening as though fighting for control. But the effort was futile. Phoebe’s shoulders sagged, and she blinked hard, as though willing back tears that refused to obey.
It was so unlike her that Thea hardly knew what to think. Phoebe was not a lady easily unseated by emotion, yet here she was, pale and stricken as her mask of confidence stripped away.
“I thought…” Phoebe whispered, the words drifting off into nothing. Sliding into the seat beside her friend, Thea settled her hand atop the trembling one as she sought for something to say.
“I did not encourage him,” whispered Mina.
Phoebe nodded, though her expression regained no life or color.
“And the way in which he toyed with your affections makes it clear he is not a gentleman worth knowing,” said Thea, squeezing her hand. “There is someone better suited for you out there.”
Gaze snapping to Thea, Phoebe’s eyes flashed as she wrenched her hand away.
“I do not have the luxury of waiting and hoping for ‘someone better suited,’ Thea. You are not the only one whose life is unraveling around them. I must marry. I have no choice!” Phoebe’s voice trembled as she fought to keep her tone even, but the words came faster, sharper, until her voice cracked.
Pressing a shaking hand to her brow, she scoffed. “Even if Frederick manages to make a success of his business—which I am certain he will—the best I can hope for is to be the pitiable poor relation who lives off the charity of her family. Even if I had the skills to earn my bread, the best a woman can hope for is to be a servant.”
Thea’s chest tightened as Phoebe spoke, every word striking with the painful ring of truth. Her proud, quick-witted friend would be forced to live in a half-life, tucked into a corner of another’s household. Every parish was littered with those genteel ladies who hardly had a penny to their name; the spinster aunts and widowed sisters who quietly went about their lives, depending on the kindness of others and bowing to their family’s dictates.
They were never quite family, never quite servant. Always careful not to impose, always eager to be useful. The unpaid governesses, nursemaids, housekeepers, and companions, who served their family’s needs whilst being the object of pity in the neighborhood.
And the thought of the bright, fierce, capable Phoebe Voss being trapped in that role twisted Thea’s stomach into knots.
“My sisters are not unkind,” said Phoebe in a hollow tone. “I am certain they will welcome me gladly into their homes—heaven knows Frederick shan’t have the space or income to provide for me—but I would rather be mistress of my own home than a servant in another’s. Even if it means marrying a near stranger.”
Phoebe’s voice wavered, a ragged sound escaping before she mastered it again. “And now, the one gentleman who appealed to me, who made me laugh and feel desired, is pursuing another.”
Silence fell, heavy and absolute, as Phoebe’s words faded into the air. Even the hum of bees seemed to retreat, leaving only the faint rustle of the roses in the breeze. Thea sat motionless, her breath shallow, scarcely daring to look at her friend. The moment stretched, taut and aching—until, all at once, it broke.
Phoebe shot to her feet, the chair legs scraping harshly against the flagstones. She snatched up her pencils and stuffed them into her case, the movement knocking her drawing board over, and it clattered to the ground. Hands trembling, she righted it, though she knocked over a few brushes in the process.
Thea flinched at the sound.
There was something desperate in the way Phoebe moved. Anger, yes, but like a creature cornered with nowhere to run. Phoebe’s breath came quick and uneven, and she scrubbed at a smear of graphite streaked across her wrist where she brushed her hand against the half-finished sketch. Those hurried motions spoke more of fury than purpose, and it tore at her heart, yet Thea knew better than to intervene. Any word of comfort now would be tinder on the fire.
So Thea sat still, hands clenched in her lap, but Mina—dear, sweet Mina—did not know Phoebe, and she spoke before any warning could be given.
“I am sorry for your disappointment, but I do not think you would be happy with Mr. Winwood.”
