“No.”
“We were friends long ago. She was very interesting back then,” Lady Fitzhugh mused. “I have not seen her in—what? Forty years. Not since she married.”
“You are purposely distracting my partner, Lady Fitzhugh,” Lady Huxley snapped.
Phoebe played her card and took the trick. Interesting? What a weighted word. How could a duchess beinteresting? As a group, they were quite like Phoebe’s own mother. Elegant. Regal and authoritative. But rather dull.
Lady Fitzhugh rattled on about the weather, a recent concert she had attended, Lady Huxley’s rose garden, the death of her husband’s cousin’s husband. Alice occasionally threw quips over her shoulder to the ladies at the neighboring tables.
Phoebe and Lady Huxley won the hand and the next and finally, the game. Of course, they did. Wasn’t that Phoebe’s purpose at these card parties?
But Phoebe dreaded the final trick because she knew Alice would corner her and question her about the cause of her even later-than-usual entrance to the whist party. Would she be able to keep her bedding lesson a secret from Alice?
She must.
Alice immediately seized Phoebe’s arm as soon as they stood from the table and pulled her into a corner of the drawing room, away from the other ladies who were now mingling, drinking ratafia and eating macaroons, chatting sociably until the next set of whist games.
“You must tell me, Phee. What were you up to? Were you meeting Thornwick for an assignation?”
“Alice!”
Alice shrugged her narrow shoulders. “You’re engaged. There’s no harm in checking out the goods before you sign the bill of lading. In fact, I recommend it.”
“Thornwick is a perfect gentleman. He would never!”
Alice raised her eyebrows. “You are quite flushed. Are you well?”
“Yes,” Phoebe got out. “Yes, of course, I am well. I just stopped by to see your brother. You told me Lady Starling was out of town, and I know how he hates a disruption. I thought he might be a bit lonely and I might cheer him up. We played a game.” None of that was a lie. It was just not the complete story. And Alice had brushed so close to the truth already with her suggestion of an assignation with Thornwick.
“A chess game?”
“Yes. What else would we do?” Phoebe could feel herself blushing horribly. Alice would be sure to worm her secret out of her momentarily.
But suddenly Alice did not seem interested. She looked away from Phoebe. “What a dreadful color that is for Lady Phyllis, don’t you think?”
Phoebe followed Alice’s gaze toward the green-yellow gown of the young woman in question. “Uh, I suppose.”
“Who won?”
“Pardon?”
Alice turned her gaze back to Phoebe. “Who won the game?”
“I did.”
Alice sniffed. “I don’t think that probably cheered George up much.”
“No, I suppose you’re right.”Phoebe allowed herself a gleeful smile. Alice would think the smile was due to her win. And yes, she was glad she had won the game and gotten what she wanted from George, but she also couldn’t wait to get home, get into her own bed, and find out if she could work the same magic on herself George had.
And she was glad she had forgiven Alice for forgetting to tell her such a thing was possible. All was right with the world. And someday soon, she would be a duchess.
“I do wonder . . .” Alice started.
“What?”
“I do wonder why you’re not marrying George.”
Marry George? Her oldest friend? Her teacher? George didn’t see her that way. She’d had to win a wager to get him to bed her. He would never marry her.
