Alice shook her head. “George, George, George.”
“I still meant those things I said. They were still true!”
“They would have meant a great deal more to her if you had said them years ago. Or when you were both fully dressed, when you were playing chess. Or better yet, during a waltz. Not when you were deigning to tutor her in physical pleasure. Phoebe is as blind as you are, George. Blind to how wonderful she is because she sees the world through your lens, the one you have forced on her all your life, the one where she is Bumblephee. Your pupil. Always just a bit behind you, never catching up, never drawing even. And in her own way, she’s as stubborn as you are. She had given up on you. She had tipped over her king and said ‘Enough, I’m done.’ If you wanted to get her back to the board, you should have known you would have to fight in order for her to give you another chance. Bedding her was never going to be enough.”
Filled with fury, George stood.
He would now tell Alice off in his most imperious manner. Thunder at her that she was a meddling, conniving bitch of a sister who knew nothing about Phoebe. About him. About what was between the two of them.
He was shocked when his knees buckled and took him to the floor and his words came out in a pitiful bleat.
“Tell me what to do, Alice. Tell me what to do. I love her. I love her. I love her.”
Nineteen
Despite very little sleep and not having packed yet for the house party, Phoebe had Dawson dress her for Lady Huxley’s whist party.
She had been tasked to lose by her future husband. She could do that. It shouldn’t be difficult, should it? A queen’s sacrifice. For her king.
And it was George who had made her want to win. But now that she was shut of George Danforth forever, she could shed that teaching. Like a butterfly sheds its little shell and comes out, no longer a worm.
Because she didn’t want to be a worm any longer.
There must be something wrong with him. He wants to marry you.
George’s words had scalded her heart all night long. Those words were a hundred times worse than any reproach she had ever given herself. A thousand times more painful than any other criticism she had ever weathered. A million times more shaming than Thornwick’s disapproval which now seemed nothing in comparison.
Alice had tried to soothe her, telling her George didn’t mean what he had said, he was an idiot, he was never very good with words.
Never very good with words? George wrote monographs about the blasted things. He had given Phoebe half her vocabulary and all of her grammar. Who was Alice trying to fool?
Whom.
No, George had told the truth. About why he had never wanted her. She was deficient. No. He thought she was deficient. There was a world of difference between the two things. She didn’t meethisstandards.
But that was unimportant now. It should have become unimportant years ago. She had been a fool to continue to play chess with him, to delight in his praise when she won, to hang on his words and instruction, to let him share the strategies he learned at his chess club and from his reading of the masters’ great games.
She should have abandoned chess and him years ago. But she hadn’t been able to give up his deep voice. His hands moving the pieces. His glances at her, making sure she understood him. She had gone on wanting his attention long after she had come to understand he would never choose her as his wife.
And now she knew why he hadn’t wanted her. She wasn’t good enough for him. No, no, no. He thought she wasn’t good enough for him. Even though she had worked so hard to be.
Well, no longer. Her job now was to meet Thornwick’s standards. And she would do so. Today.
She was on time to Lady Huxley’s whist party. As she came through the front door, Alice was at her side immediately.
“Did you sleep, Phee?”
“Yes, Alice. For a few hours after you left. Did you?” Phoebe gave her reticule to Lady Huxley’s butler and came farther into the hall.
“Oh, you know me. I don’t really need sleep.” Alice tossed her head and laughed. “A cup of coffee and I’m fine.” She lowered her voice. “I saw my brother and he is dreadfully ups—”
Phoebe shook her head. “I don’t want to speak of him. I am here to play whist. I must concentrate.” Phoebe touched Alice’s arm. “I love you, Alice. You need have no worries on that front. You are a good and true friend. In fact, now you are my only—” Oh, no. She was going to cry. Thirty seconds into the whist party and she was going to cry. Surely, she had used all her tears.
But Alice rescued her.
“Of course, you love me.” She took Phoebe’s arm. “Everyone loves me, don’t they? I’m so amusing and unpredictable. And everyone loves you, too. Now, you are going to sit down to some whist and enjoy putting fear into the hearts of all these ladies with your brilliant play. Aren’t you?”
“Lady Phoebe.” Lady Huxley’s voice broke into her and Alice’stête-à-tête. “Practically early. Your engagement has improved your tardiness, I see. We will begin. You will partner me, of course.”
