Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Four weeks, five days, and trying not to lie to anyone until the wedding
P hoebe could not rid herself of the notion that by the time she found herself at the top of an aisle, beside the onion-scented earl, she would consider any one of her Bath mishaps high adventure indeed.
‘Which only goes to prove that the perception of adventure is entirely defined by the bleakness of your life,’ she muttered, leaning forward to pat Bluebell’s damp neck.
She closed her eyes and inhaled her fresh scent, trying not to think of the fact that she’d disobeyed both Thomas and her aunt in order to take an early morning hack, entirely unaccompanied. And yet, she was feeling freer than she had in weeks, as well as sincerely grateful to Fred, who’d inadvertently distracted their aunt from her usual hawk-eyed vigilance.
She relaxed into Bluebell’s stride and allowed her mind to wander, aware that above all things, she’d reached a point when she couldn’t pretend anymore.
She’d pretended to Thomas, to Aurelia, to the viscount, to Sophie, to Fred – and worst of all, she’d even pretended to herself. She’d pretended the ticking clock wouldn’t matter if she had but a few heroic tales to take with her. But it had always mattered, as it continued to matter, and worst of all she’d proven to be the poorest heroine in the entire history of heroism: naive, ill-judged, and downright gullible.
She flushed as she recalled the unimpressive highwayman, the parasol duel, the near kiss with the mop-head, the fairy snuff, the disastrous picnic ride, and finally, the moment Sophie’s dress had ripped entirely in two, backstage at Bath’s Theatre Royal. Her sister still hadn’t forgiven her, while the disagreeable viscount thought her a foolish country bumpkin who not only possessed dubious morals, but also endangered the lives of children.
And now there was to be no more pretending, no more fighting, and no more fleeing. She was quite simply the Right Honourable Miss Phoebe Fairfax, awaiting the announcement of her betrothal to the Earl of Cumberland. It was a good match – the match of the season, they said.
Yet she’d never felt more like taking off through the sleeping city, and never looking back.
‘For surely, there is far more risk in marrying someone so violently purple, than there ever can be in riding you,’ Phoebe murmured, leaning forward to pat her dawn partner again.
She was headed to Bath’s Prior Park, long recommended by the captain, and this morning the entire city seemed to be hers. Phoebe exhaled slowly as she rode, savouring the quiet streets, the distinct toll of the hour by the Abbey Bell, the bleary-eyed baker and a barefoot boy pushing a barrel full of oranges. Instinctively, she pushed her hand into her riding skirt, and threw him the remainder of her coin, before encouraging Bluebell into a gentle trot. Soon enough, the air filled with the thud of hooves on dewy earth, a comforting sound that enveloped her thoughts until Prior Park’s entrance rose up to meet them.
She passed through the impressive, gated entrance quietly and took a moment to absorb her new surroundings. Prior Park was twice as beautiful as the captain had promised, and its vast carpet of wild garlic quite breathtaking. Carefully, she followed its undulating dance around a large, silent lake, holding Bluebell in check, before finally letting her have her head. Then, the carpet spun into an ivory blur and all the trying events of the past few weeks receded inside a few short, golden moments – only for her thoughts to return like shadows when they reached the elegant Palladian Bridge.
Phoebe exhaled as she slowed Bluebell to a trot. She still had no real idea why Aurelia had taken against her so vehemently, and now she and the viscount would marry. They deserved one another, as Sophie would say, and yet the thought disturbed her more than she could understand.
Sophie was another matter, altogether. Phoebe had never known her heart quite so openly engaged, yet she was equally certain the captain’s heart was not free.
Then there was the viscount himself. She clenched the reins briefly. How such an arrogant, opinionated gentleman who, despite having no desire to be either her guardian or brother , had managed to vex and thwart every adventure she’d attempted to have, was a mystery of epic proportions. He claimed she’d stolen his peace and that he was lost, yet he was the one who’d interfered in everything from the moment of their meeting at The Swan Inn. And finally there was the night of Florence’s attack when he couldn’t have been any clearer, so why then was her head determined to replay every look and word exchanged, until she no longer knew what to think?
She gazed thoughtfully at the bridge’s beautiful Venetian roof. It was serene and silent, and she would have been quite content to linger awhile, if it wasn’t for the sound of another rider, approaching from the lakeside. Cursing, she urged Bluebell on, well aware that the last thing she needed was for a report of this morning’s indiscretion to reach the ears of her aunt, or brother.
‘Miss Fairfax!’
She caught her breath as his voice reached through the chill of the morning, certain her mind had to be playing tricks.
No one human being could have as much terrible timing.
‘Or should I address you as Mrs Mary Smith at this hour of the morning?’
Phoebe slowed as the viscount emerged from the lakeside path and trotted up to the bridge. He was astride a spirited chestnut, and his proud demeanour gave no indication as to his thoughts. She exhaled raggedly, conscious of a pained mix of emotions that seemed neither joy nor dread, and yet both simultaneously.
What were the chances of his choosing this place to ride at this hour of the day? She swallowed hard and yet, some tiny unheroic part of her, deep down inside, was unreasonably happy to see him, too.
‘My name is Phoebe Fairfax, sir,’ she returned coldly, gathering her reins. ‘As you well know. Now, if you will excuse me?—’
‘Why do you ride at this hour? Without a chaperone? It is not safe.’
She paused.
Was the infuriating viscount, who made a lover’s proclamation right before threatening to call the constable and becoming engaged to another, really assuming the right to question her decisions, again?
She shifted in her saddle, trying to maintain some semblance of calm.
‘Truly, sir, save your attentions for your fiancée, who I’m sure will welcome them. I am well used to taking care of myself, and my wellbeing has never been your charge…’
‘I beg to differ!’ he returned, unflinchingly. ‘Time after time, I have found myself in a position where ignoring your wellbeing would have put you at risk of considerable peril.’
Phoebe eyed the glowering viscount, certain she was starting to glower herself.
‘On the contrary, sir, I can handle myself and always have done,’ she reiterated stiffly.
The viscount urged his chestnut forward and paused only when they were face to face.
‘Your assertions might bear some credence at Knightswood,’ he challenged, ‘but on the common road, at the Royal Theatre, in a public park , your ability to find yourself in the most ridiculous and reprehensible of situations is beyond?—’
‘Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for reasons known only to myself and my sisters! Private reasons!’ Phoebe interrupted furiously. ‘I never asked for your interference, and I’m absolutely certain these last few weeks have been curtailed further by it, sir! Now if you have quite finished advising me on the improper nature of my behaviour, might I suggest you turn your attentions to your own, which I might hazard to suggest has been less than virtuous for a gentleman on the verge of marriage!’
They regarded each other furiously. The viscount’s face was shuttered, the flinching muscle in his cheek his only visible movement, and the air between them so laden with confused thoughts, Phoebe was unsure if they were fighting anymore.
‘Thank you … for your observations. I am quite aware my behaviour has been vastly less than what it ought to have been.’
He spoke quite deliberately, his eyes so narrow she could barely make out their colour at all.
‘I assure you, I intend … wish to … make reparations.’
‘Good, well, do excuse me if I don’t stand by and watch!’
Without waiting, Phoebe urged Bluebell into a sprint up the rolling park lawn, and into a peaceful woodland glade beyond. She could barely think straight, let alone understand why he felt it necessary to tell her how he planned to make reparations to Aurelia. Well, he could do as he wished, but she didn’t have to know. That much she could control.
She galloped until the woodland glade surrounded them and then finally, slowed to a walk. Thankfully, there was no sound of pursuit, and exhaling heavily, she let Bluebell choose her own path among the closely knitted trees surrounded by buttercups and more wild garlic. The spring woodland was an instant balm to her furious thoughts, and she rode in the tranquil morning light until her chest stopped hammering, and her breath calmed. It was only when she began pondering whether she ought to start making her way back, that she heard the voices.
Low, urgent voices.
Frowning, she slid from Bluebell’s back and climbed a small bank to spy the ivy-clad roof of an old summer house through the branches of a thick peony bush.
‘You know how careful we’ve always been, but there are whispers – and they’re not the sort to just disappear, especially with you know who around…’
‘But surely she wouldn’t wish to marry into scandal?’ a softer voice returned.
‘Perhaps not, but she might seek control through it – I’m certain she wants Florence and me out of the way when she moves in, for a start.’
Phoebe caught her breath in disbelief.
‘Has anyone said anything, Elliot?’ the softer voice came again. ‘Might you be imagining some of the suspicion? You know how I feel, I love you and won’t give you up on a maybe…’
Everything went quiet, and Phoebe felt a strange prickling heat spread upwards from the nape of her neck. She was certain it was the captain and Dr Kapoor, and she would hazard a guess she knew who they were talking about, too.
Was this the real reason she’d run into the viscount? Was he actually looking for his brother?
Phoebe swallowed. She knew she was intruding, but the intensity of their discussion was intoxicating. She’d guessed the captain and Dr Kapoor were more than friends, but that they considered themselves in love ? And yet it made so much sense, too. It even explained Aurelia’s reaction when she’d asked if the captain could be responsible for her situation . She knew, too. And the captain knew she knew.
Silently, Phoebe peered closer through the branches and suddenly they were there, beneath the open facade of the summerhouse, a kiss finishing their conversation. A rush of blood stole through her. She knew she shouldn’t linger, but somehow it took her back to the magnolia tree, to the moment the viscount had almost kissed her – to the way she’d so wanted him to .
‘Phoebe!’
A third voice suddenly split the still of the woodland, driving the two men apart, while Phoebe spun in a panic. She was astride Bluebell in a heartbeat, and then cantering through the trees until they melted into wide grassy lawns, where finally, she started to laugh. So much for a quiet dawn ride. Prior Park appeared to be almost as popular as a Sydney Gardens picnic.
‘Phoebe!’
Her name rang out again, and this time it was accompanied by an approaching figure on horseback that filled her heart with misgiving. Muttering pithily about a universe that refused to give her any peace, Phoebe drew a deep breath and slowed to a walk.
‘What in the devil’s name do you think you’re doing?’ Fred demanded as he caught up, his fine bay making light work of the distance between them. ‘I saw you leave this morning and thought I might have to call the constable!’
‘Join the queue!’ Phoebe replied.
‘What do you mean?! What are you doing here, Phoebs?’ he ploughed on without waiting for an answer. ‘It’s risky even for you. And riding, too? Isn’t that against the rules? I swear if I hadn’t seen a barrel-boy on the way, I’d be at Bath races by now and have washed my hands of you!’
She gazed at her happy, carefree brother, and never felt more envious.
‘What’s it like, Fred?’ she asked after a beat. ‘To be able to choose what you do, and when and with whom you do it?’
He stared at her suspiciously.
‘Well, it’s not quite…’ he began before tailing off and exhaling. ‘Lord, Phoebs, I know this arrangement with the earl isn’t what you dreamed of when we were younger, but this marriage will mean your security. It’s how things work for you girls. Plus, if you don’t marry the earl, Thomas will feel he’s failed both our father and our sisters. Your marriage sets the bar for you all!’
‘I’m sure Thomas isn’t averse to having a countess in the family, either,’ Phoebe muttered as she encouraged Bluebell back towards the bridge.
‘No, but it was one of Papa’s last wishes, and as I understand it, you’ve not shown any inclination elsewhere?’
‘I’ve not had the chance,’ she protested. ‘I haven’t even had a season! Though if a season means Sophie endlessly ringleting my hair, I suppose even a purple earl can hold appeal!’ she added, rolling her eyes.
Fred chuckled.
‘I can’t imagine you ever enjoying a regular season, either!’ He grinned. ‘All that primping and parading, you’d be bored by the end of the first waltz – and jumping into the nearest canal!’
‘It wasn’t quite like that,’ Phoebe returned indignantly.
‘So I understand. And it sounds like Matilda was lucky you were there,’ he conceded. ‘Clearly, we owe Viscount Damerel a debt of thanks, too.’
Briefly, she closed her eyes and pictured the viscount standing on the canal side: hair soaked, shirt glued to his chest, perfect eyebrows forked in disdain. It was chased by another image of him beneath the magnolia, standing so close she could feel every beat of his heart; before that, too, morphed into a darker image, his face shadowed by anger, accusing her of endangering his little sister. Finally, there was his admission on the bridge, that he was seeking reparations with Aurelia, that everything he’d said and done beneath the magnolia had been less than virtuous behaviour, nothing more.
Something twisted deep inside.
‘We owe the viscount nothing!’ she forced. ‘Any debt has been more than settled, and he has more pressing matters on his mind, now that he is betrothed.’
She caught her breath, aware Fred was perplexed.
‘Lord, Phoebs … at least you know your fate could be worse – imagine marrying someone you really disliked, like the viscount? Now there’s an adventure you wouldn’t want!’
He tailed off into nervous laughter, while Phoebe tried to empty her thoughts of the viscount’s dark silhouette: schooled face, gold-flecked eyes gleaming with intent. Fred knew her better than anyone, but even he would be scandalised if he knew the full extent of what had passed between them.
‘What a fate, indeed!’ she exhaled, urging Bluebell to a gallop.