Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Eleven weeks and one concocted fairytale until the wedding
T he journey back to Knightswood was conducted in silences and scowls.
Mrs Higgins, the viscount’s kindly housekeeper, who Phoebe latterly discovered was the owner of the suspiciously frilly nightgown, had also produced a distinctly unfrilly niece. Tilly was small, unsmiling, and had a head full of enviable corkscrew curls; but she was also the right age to be a plausible lady’s maid, and had agreed to accompany them back to Knightswood, on the promise of three sugared mice and a new ribbon.
Unfortunately, Tilly had none of her aunt’s bustling kindliness, and had looked askance at Phoebe more than once since leaving Ebcott Place, the viscount’s home, giving her the distinct impression that she thought her every bit as objectionable as her employer.
‘You were travelling to Taunton with your lady’s maid when your chaise and four were set upon by the Somerset Highwaymen, who forced you to hand over your belongings at sword-point,’ the viscount repeated, as though Phoebe were a child who’d failed to learn her basic letters. ‘That was when the accident occurred, resulting in your current injury. It was not long afterwards that I came upon the pair of you and, upon perceiving your injury, escorted you back to Ebcott Place, where my staff tended to you. Then, once you were fit to move, I delivered you back to your brother’s care,’ he finished, returning his stare to the rolling Devon countryside.
‘Did they also steal my clothes?’ Phoebe asked.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I was simply curious as to whether you’d wish me to say the highwaymen stole my clothes, because that would also answer the question of my lack of female apparel,’ she explained. ‘We’ll have every potential angle covered,’ she added, over-brightly.
He glowered then in a way that took her back to the moment in the library when she thought he was going to strangle her.
‘I don’t think that angle is necessary at all,’ he growled, returning his attention to the window.
‘Then I believe I am fully conversant with your fictional account of my situation, thank you, my lord,’ Phoebe returned, conscious Tilly was scrutinising them both.
She lay back her head and closed her eyes, contemplating the last few days. Her wound had made a speedy recovery under Mrs Higgins’s excellent care, and once letters had been exchanged with Thomas outlining a very generous version of the actual truth, Phoebe had little to do except wait and think about all the choice words her brother would lay at her door the moment she arrived back at Knightswood. It was inevitable in the end, of course, but she’d rather hoped she might have a heroic tale or two to tell by then.
Instead, she had only a debacle of a duel with the most disappointing highwayman in all England, involving an épée with a distinct mind of its own. In fact, she had the sneaking suspicion that her abysmal performance would barely even warrant a mention in any of the windswept, heroic novels she and Josephine loved so much.
If only she hadn’t drunk the cider, if only she hadn’t tried to best the highwayman, if only she hadn’t been injured … what then?
She inhaled deeply, trying not to wonder what may have transpired had the viscount not come into her life, before she recalled the ringer she landed to his jaw. Her thoughts darkened with satisfaction. She may have lost her only chance of freedom and adventure, but at least he wasn’t in any doubt as to how she felt about it.
‘I don’t pretend to know the details of your private life, Miss Fairfax, but you might do better to embrace the fortunate position into which you were born, rather than regret one that exists only between the covers of a novel,’ he offered suddenly. ‘There are plenty of young ladies who would happily trade their own position with yours, as I’m sure you’re aware.’
Phoebe could feel Tilly measuring her reaction with interest, while she wrestled every pithy retort about the viscount keeping his perfect aquiline nose out of her business, from the tip of her tongue. It didn’t help that he had a point. She was fortunate in many ways, of course, but none of it compensated for an entire lifetime lost to a gout-ridden, onion-scented earl without one truly noble adventure to show for it. And this sorry escapade most certainly did not count.
Briefly, her thoughts flitted back to the night she was alone in the viscount’s library, to the way his fingers had brushed over the thin cotton of her nightie. It was so fleeting, and yet had somehow burned itself into her memory. She drew a shallow breath. She’d never been touched in such a way, and the memory caused as many conflicted feelings as the event itself.
Were these the moments that passed between a man and a wife when they were wed? One of the moments married women whispered about?
The thought of such a moment ever passing between herself and the earl was suddenly more repugnant than she could put into words. She suppressed a rise of nausea as she pictured his clammy, purple fingers reaching for her, his beady eyes undressing her, and yet still she was uncertain whether she was more afraid of being left alone with the earl, or never experiencing such a moment in her life again.
‘I am sure there are many who would agree, my lord,’ she returned coolly, ‘though, as you say yourself, the details of my private life are exactly that.’
Then she watched Tilly’s jaw drop with satisfaction, before swinging her gaze back to the window, certain her victory would be woefully short-lived.
* * *
‘You must understand the gravity of this situation, Phoebe?’ Thomas ranted from behind Papa’s gold inlaid walnut desk. ‘If Damerel here hadn’t been prepared to intercede, and help concoct a … fairytale , your escapade would have very likely ruined us all!’
He’d ushered them into the library for the meeting, which was warning enough in itself as Thomas rarely used the room, except to share news of deaths or betrothals.
‘We would kiss goodbye to any favourable matches, let alone with the Earl of Cumberland, which would, in turn, endanger the chances of all your sisters! Really, Phoebe, this folly of yours is beyond any kind of comprehension! Do you understand the disquiet you’ve caused? I have burned the midnight oil trying to fathom how to tell the earl that his betrothed has seen fit to run away on the common stage, dressed in her brother’s clothes!’
Phoebe felt the viscount’s eyes flicker towards her at the last, though she kept her eyes trained forward. Thomas had at least spared her the indignity of a chastisement in front of Tilly – let the viscount think what he liked.
‘Did you fathom it – in the end?’ she asked, hardly daring to hope for such a lucky twist of fate.
Thomas eyeballed her furiously.
‘No, I did not!’ he bellowed. ‘And you have Sophie to thank for that foresight! If she hadn’t persuaded me that Fred would know exactly where you were, I’d have been forced to ask if the earl wouldn’t take your sister, instead, though the Lord knows if he’d have been minded! He could have his pick of any of the debutantes this season. Do you understand that? He’s an earl!’
A million uncharitable thoughts about double-crossing sisters hurtled through Phoebe’s head, while Thomas nodded abruptly at the viscount.
‘Apologies, Damerel, this is one of those damned domestic affairs that needn’t trouble you,’ Thomas snapped. Do stay the night, though. You can put me in a better temper while I consider how best to correct ignorant, ungrateful wards who haven’t the least clue about the world, or their good fortune in it!’
There was a moment’s silence as Phoebe dropped her gaze, certain the viscount had to be enjoying her dressing down immensely.
‘Alas, I thank you for the invitation, Fairfax, but I have more pressing engagements this evening,’ he returned in an oddly curt tone.
‘I’ll send the carriage for Tilly in a few days, just to lend the story a little more credence and stem servants’ gossip,’ the viscount continued. ‘You could say her aunt missed her, or some such thing?’
Thomas stood up and rounded the desk to shake the viscount’s hand.
‘Thank you for your assistance with this trouble, Damerel. I am damned indebted to you … damned indebted, indeed. I’ve a suitable retribution to consider now, but I shan’t forget it, you have my word on that.’
Phoebe looked up as the viscount nodded, and wondered briefly at a world that elevated a rake’s fictional story above her own dismal truth.
She watched as he made his way to the library door, before turning back.
‘I think, if I were in your situation, Fairfax, I might consider a not inconsiderable injury retribution enough,’ he offered quietly. ‘It is also worth mentioning that, while the whole escapade was reprehensible, to say the least, Miss Fairfax’s courage, when faced with the Somerset Highwaymen, was something to behold indeed. Some may even have called it … heroic . Good day to you. Miss Fairfax.’
There was a strange silence as the door closed, and for a moment, neither Phoebe nor her brother moved. The last thing she expected was an appeal for clemency on her behalf, let alone the most curious compliment she’d ever received. An odd charge suffused her veins as she lowered her gaze. He was an insufferable snob, a dangerous rake, and a backhanded compliment at the eleventh hour changed nothing – yet she was perversely sorry to see him go.
‘You’re damned lucky you ran into such a decent fellow, Phoebe, or this could have ended very differently indeed!’
Thomas’s tone was caustic, yet she could tell even he was slightly mystified by the viscount’s parting comment.
‘Kindly remove yourself to your bedchamber and remain there until I send word that you may do otherwise. If you’re in need of a diversion, I suggest you distract yourself with your embroidery or the Bible!’
And for once in her life, Phoebe was most happy to oblige.