Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
C harles took his time to stir the sugar in his tea, watching as Lord and Lady Townsend took their seats. Miss Phoebe had already taken the seat opposite him, but this time, she did not duck her head, nor did she avert her gaze from his.
No, she looked right at him instead.
Her eyes were naturally round, and clear and inquisitive, as if she was genuinely curious about him. Charles had been so used to studying the world around him, always on the lookout for aberrations of any sort, that he found it both novel and discomfiting to be the object of study himself.
“We apologize for making you wait overlong, Lord Wentworth,” Lord Townsend told him. His voice had taken on a softer tone. More resigned, it would seem. “You must understand—this has all come as a sort of a shock to us.”
Charles merely shrugged. “On the contrary, it is to be expected somewhat.”
Lady Townsend frowned. “What do you mean by that, my Lord?”
He looked over at Miss Phoebe, whose brow had furrowed a little in confusion. It was quite adorable, really, how she seemed to be waiting for an explanation. Very well, he was going to appease her curiosity in the matter.
“Miss Phoebe is a beautiful young lady, objectively speaking,” he explained. “It is only natural that someone would wish to damage her reputation in such an insidious manner to… shall we say, remove her as an obstacle.”
At that moment, he was treated to the very hilarious sight of Miss Phoebe spewing her tea back into her cup and he could not resist a small smile. Yes, she was indeed a rather fascinating creature.
“You do realize that I am a spinster , my Lord?” she remarked with a dubious tone. “That should mean that I am hardly anyone’s obstacle, as far as marriage-seeking goes.”
“Nonsense.” Charles remained unperturbed by her claim.
A spinster, indeed. It would seem that all of London had gone blind since he withdrew from the social scene. Either that, or Society’s standards had fallen so low. Or exceedingly bizarre.
Lady Townsend smiled at him. “My Lord, I am grateful that you are more appreciative of my daughter’s qualities, but I am afraid that she is right—she is a spinster, in every sense of the word.”
Charles looked at the young lady across from him. She could not have been older than two and a half decades and from what he had observed, her temperament was not something one might complain about.
Indeed, many women had found him extremely peculiar themselves. Yet, he could not sense any peculiarity in her nature.
“It is no matter,” he told them, clearly unruffled by their declaration. “I am determined to do right by Miss Phoebe and will marry her as soon as possible.”
“You mean that you would forgo the three weeks it would take to read the banns?” she asked him in surprise.
“It should not be too much trouble to obtain a special license,” he told her with a small smile. “I have my ways.”
Of course, she did not need to know right now precisely what sort of ways he had at his disposal. Perhaps it would be better to let her think that he had some sway over the Archbishop of Canterbury. Or his father did.
After all, he was the son of a Duke. It should not be too difficult for him to obtain one.
He saw Lord and Lady Townsend share a look between them. Charles had heard that married couples who shared a bond often moved in perfect synchrony without noticing it, but he had never seen it himself. How fascinating.
“Do you mean to say that you wish for this to be a rushed marriage, my Lord?” Lady Townsend asked him carefully.
“Well, I suppose that it would be for the best,” her husband relented. “After all, this has already caused quite an uproar in the ton . If the marriage is to be conducted posthaste, then that would put to rest most of these nasty rumors.”
“You do have a point there, my dear…”
“Besides, I do not think I want my wedding to be made into some sort of spectacle for the rest of Society to poke their noses into,” Phoebe remarked with a wrinkle of her nose. “Heaven only knows the sort of things they would say about it if they were all to descend upon the event, which is what would happen if we were to wait three more weeks.”
“Then, it is settled. I shall obtain a special license, and Miss Phoebe and I can marry at the soonest possible time.” He stood up and bowed before them. “I shall take my leave now, Lord and Lady Townsend, Miss Phoebe.”
As he turned to her, he could not help but let her name linger on his lips a little longer.
Phoebe . The name suited her well, for she shone golden like the sun itself on a clear summer’s day.
“Oh… will you not at least stay a little longer, my Lord?” Lady Townsend asked him.
Charles shook his head. “I am afraid I cannot, Lady Townsend. I have other business to attend to.”
“Oh… then, perhaps I should at least accompany you to the door,” Miss Phoebe volunteered.
Etiquette would dictate that it was only right to treat him well as their guest. It was only natural that she would at least accompany him to the door. They were to be married, after all. They should engage with each other a touch more…
But the short journey from the parlor to the front door of Townsend House was fraught with silence. Miss Phoebe did not see fit to fill the space between them with needless chatter and Charles appreciated her all the more for it. He was not exceptionally fond of small talk himself.
It was only when they were at the door that she broke her silence.
“Thank you so much, my Lord,” she told him. “Not just for marrying me, but—oh, I think you already know.”
No, he did not know . But she was already blushing and in a state of discomfiture. He saw no reason to prolong her awkward agony and his as well.
“I am only doing what is right, Miss Phoebe,” he told her as he put on his hat. “And I hope you manage to put a leash on your feline by the time you move into Wentworth Park.”
He could not help but smile at the look of shock on her face as he tipped his hat stiffly at her and walked through the open door and into his carriage.
Charles Montgomery, the fifth Marquess of Wentworth, generally did not feel good about anything, but he was feeling surprisingly optimistic about marrying Miss Phoebe Townsend.
He hoped he would not live to regret it.
Phoebe remained staring at the front door far longer than she should have and for much longer after the Marquess had already left. Her mind was all in a whirl that she did not notice her two sisters approaching her.
“I trust that the Marquess did not blame our family for the scandal?” Minerva asked her. “Mama and Papa do not seem to be in a state of distress.”
“Nor did they say anything about moving to the country,” Daphne added. She peered at her eldest sister. “Phoebe? Are you all right?”
Phoebe could only nod mechanically, before turning to her younger sisters.
“I am perfectly fine,” she told them. “The discussion was far more rational than any one of us could hope for.”
Her youngest sister let out a sigh of relief. She smiled at Phoebe as she reached out for her hand to squeeze it in reassurance.
“Well, at least the Marquess was not so difficult to deal with. I suppose Mama and Papa have come up with a solution to our woes, then.”
“On the contrary, it was Lord Wentworth who did.”
Minerva blinked owlishly. “He did?”
Phoebe nodded. “He proposed we get married. As soon as possible.”
Both her younger sisters sucked in a deep breath each, both pairs of eyes wide.
“Lord Wentworth, our neighbor… proposed marriage to you?”
Phoebe pursed her lips. “Come now, Daphne. You do not have to sound so incredulous about it.”
The youngest of the Townsend siblings flushed slightly. “I did not mean it to be so disparaging, Fi. It was just unexpected, his offer.”
“It would solve a lot of our problems, though,” Minerva remarked. She peered up at her older sister. “You are amenable to marrying the Marquess, then, are you?”
Do I have a choice? Phoebe wanted to scream. But her sister was right—marrying Lord Wentworth would solve a lot of their problems.
Besides, he was extremely handsome, if a little cold and intimidating. And what was that about him only drinking his tea after she started drinking hers?
Phoebe supposed that everyone had their peculiarities. She was already so socially awkward that she was hardly in the position to judge Lord Wentworth and his puzzling behavior.
“Our Phoebe, a Marchioness!” Daphne sighed dreamily. “That should teach everyone not to make fun of you for being a spinster—especially that horrid Miss Thomas.”
“Well, to be fair, Miss Thomas did not treat me horribly because I am a spinster,” she pointed out. “She just did not like me pointing out the inconsistencies of her unfounded accusations against Lord Wentworth.”
“And now, you are marrying him,” Minerva teased her. “And Miss Thomas will still be a vile and horrid person.”
Phoebe bit her lower lip. After all, her sisters were yet unaware of the very great possibility that it was Miss Thomas herself who had handed over her most private diary to the papers. Otherwise, they could not have gotten such detailed information with which to spin their scandalous stories.
But with her being currently engaged to Lord Wentworth, she did not really need to return to the weekly meetings at Cartwright Hall. After all, she was officially not a spinster anymore. She would miss their company, though. With the exception of Miss Thomas, all of them were some of the finest companions a lady in Society could hope for.
Phoebe sighed inwardly to herself. Who would have thought that her life could change in the course of a single day?