Phoebe summoned a smile for Alice and broke away to go into the drawing room. The other partnerings were selected by draw and then the tables were decided. Phoebe breathed a sigh of relief. For the first game, Alice would be at a different table than her.
From her.
No. Than her. Who cared about some pedantic preposition?
I don’t. Not anymore.
But she cared about putting some distance between herself and Alice. She did not want her friend to observe her play. If anyone here could spot what Phoebe was about to do, it was Alice.
Phoebe curtsied and greeted the other occupants at her and Lady Huxley’s table. Lady Fitzhugh was seated on Phoebe’s right again and the fourth player at the table was Lady Olivia Radcliffe, the daughter of the Earl of Titchfield and the greatest beauty of theton.Golden curls never out of place, blue eyes, perfect creamy skin. And her figure? Flawless. Her dress, her posture, her manners—all perfect. It was astounding that she was nineteen, almost done with her first Season, and still not yet engaged.
Phoebe felt herself quite an aged frump next to Olivia. Surely, Thornwick should have chosen her for his bride instead of Phoebe.
But Thornwickhadchosen Phoebe. And he was stuck with her now, wasn’t he? She wasn’t going to give him any excuses for wiggling out of the engagement. She was going to prove herself to him. And then she was going to be married and devoted to making her husband happy and it wouldn’t matter what George Danforth thought or said about her ever again.
“I am unexpectedly to travel to the duchy of Thornwick tomorrow, Lady Phoebe,” Olivia said. “My mother and I will be guests at His Grace’s house party.”
“What a delightful thing.” Lady Fitzhugh laughed. “The oldest two Cavendish girls are going as well and have asked me to chaperone them. I’ve agreed, but I’m not sure what the world is coming to when they think it’s fine to go to a house party when they are not even three months into mourning their father.”
“Lady Anne and Lady Grace?” Lady Huxley quirked an eyebrow. “I forgot your late husband was a relation to the dowager Duchess. Did the new Duke of Middlewich, the Cavendish brother, invite you to his wedding?”
“I understand it was a small affair.”
“Tell me is it true—” and then Lady Huxley put her mouth to Lady Fitzhugh’s ear.
Phoebe knew Lady Huxley must be asking about the new Duchess of Middlewich’s pregnancy at the age of forty-six, and the duke, only twenty-nine. And despite the duchess’ former wealth, she was to bring no money to the marriage. It was well and truly a love match consummated long before the wedding. Not a fit piece of gossip to be discussed in front of two maidens. Not that she was a maiden herself anymore, but no one here knew that. Except Alice. Last night, Phoebe had not been as discreet as she should have been between her sobs.
Phoebe spoke a trifle louder to cover Lady Huxley’s whispering. “I’m glad you will be a guest, Lady Olivia.”
“Yes, my mother accepted the invitation.”
“I understand the gardens are lovely.”
“Oh. You have not been yourself?”
“No. I will see them for the first time tomorrow. Do you like gardens?”
Olivia laughed and her laugh was as beauteous as the rest of her. “May I be honest with you? I somehow feel like I can be. I don’t like gardens. Not at all. There always seems to be a bee hovering about somewhere.” She shuddered. “I live in fear of bumblebees.”
Bumblephee. The pet name came into her head. Phoebe pushed it away.
“What do you like?” Phoebe asked. She would never play chess again so she must search out new, feminine interests. And she must search out new friends. Perhaps she and Olivia could become close companions who talked over embroidery or collected butterflies together.
“Oh.” Olivia’s expression changed to one of rapture. “Music. If I could listen to music all day long, I would be the most blissful person in England. No, the world.”
Phoebe knew she couldn’t share this passion with Olivia, but maybe she could help her feed it and gain a friendship that way.
“You must pay a call on me before I’m married then, Lady Olivia. There seems to be nothing but music all day long at the Abingdon town house.”
Now the rapture changed to an excited curiosity. “Oh, why is that?”
“Let us play.” Lady Huxley had finished gossiping with Lady Fitzhugh about the Middlewich scandal and was impatient. “Shuffle the cards, Lady Phoebe, so Lady Fitzhugh can deal them out.”
It had begun. Phoebe must concentrate on losing.
It was harder than she had thought it would be. Lady Huxley was a very good player. And Phoebe did not want to fail so spectacularly that she drew attention to herself.
A very fine line to walk, indeed. And she was so wrung out.
