Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
T he ball was organized in quite a slapdash manner, but even then, the servants of Cheshire had been accustomed to holding such lavish events that it prevented the whole affair from becoming anything close to a great failure. Even with the invitations sent out at such short notice, there was still a sizable turnout of guests, most of whom were Charles’ acquaintances from before he absconded to Wentworth Park. Phoebe was not mistaken when Daphne and Lady Townsend appeared, as well.
“How are you holding up, my dear?” her mother asked her, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek in greeting.
Phoebe smiled as she returned her mother’s greeting. “As well as can be expected, I suppose,” she sighed. “Charles insisted we hold the ball, and as you might be able to tell, I was vastly unprepared.”
Her sister offered her a slight smile. “Oh, believe me, Fi, I have attended worse socials than this one. You have done a wonderful job, considering the time constraints. No one will disdain you for this.”
“Yes, but they will disdain us for holding one so soon into the mourning period,” she muttered wryly.
“In truth, I was a touch surprised to receive the invitation from you,” Lady Townsend acknowledged. “I admit that it is highly unusual, given the timing.”
Unusual was not the word that Phoebe would have used, but Charles had been exceedingly adamant that this ball should push through. She watched from the corner of her eye as he talked to a Lord with graying hair at his temples, pausing to drink from his flask once more. She frowned when she glanced upon that scene. Shouldn’t Ambrose have taken his flask from him or at least advised him not to bring it to the ball?
“Your Grace.”
Phoebe was shaken out of her thoughts by the sound of an all-too-familiar voice. She frowned when she saw the oddly amused visage of Lord Scunthorpe beaming at her once more.
“Lord Scunthorpe.” She flashed him a polite smile, but her tone conveyed her unease in his presence. “I hope that you are enjoying the ball.”
“Oh, yes. Naturally.” His smile was equally polite, but with an unusual warmth that she was not quite sure was appropriate. She frowned a little at this and his eyes flashed in hurt, but he was a gentleman, and as such, did not pursue it further.
It is just as well, she thought inwardly to herself. In the agitated state that Charles is in, heaven only knows what he would think…
Phoebe caught her thoughts wondering and inwardly shook her head. Charles might be more suspicious than most, owing to his history of working for the Crown, but he was not the type to be impulsive.
Or was he?
At present, she could only do her best to avoid it. Ever since his father died and their subsequent return to the London social scene, he had been more subdued and temperamental.
“Your Grace, if you do need anything—” Lord Scunthorpe looked almost beseechingly at her, his gaze sliding nervously to Charles. He smiled weakly again. “Please do know that you may call upon me at any time. I am ever at your disposal.”
Thankfully, he said nothing more, and with an anxious bow, he left her to attend to her other guests. Phoebe pressed her fingers to her temples for a brief moment and sighed inwardly.
The ball was a mostly awkward affair with Phoebe and their guests caught treading the fine line between maintaining a respectfully somber attitude out of respect for the passing of the old Duke, while trying to maintain a genuine appearance of enjoyment.
“How are you holding up, sister dear?” Daphne later asked her softly when she had caught her alone.
Phoebe gave her youngest sister a smile that was more like a grimace. “Truthfully, I have never been in a more unpleasant situation in all my life. Even considering the tea party we attended a few weeks ago.”
Her younger sister shot her a wry smile of her own. “At least Miss Thomas and her cohorts are not in attendance on this occasion…” she began, before she leaned in a little closer, “although I honestly do not understand how Lord Scunthorpe managed to get his hands on an invitation.”
“Me neither,” Phoebe inhaled sharply as her gaze searched for the man amongst the throngs of guests.
Phoebe had been so certain that she had checked the names Charles had added to their guest list and the Baron was positively not one of them, for she would have undoubtedly remembered. However, once he appeared, she could hardly chase him out. It was bad enough that Charles had insisted on holding the ball so soon after the mourning period. Phoebe could not afford to make a scene and invite more consternation upon them, especially now that she was the vaunted Duchess of Cheshire.
“If it helps any, Mama told me to tell you that you are doing a wonderful job,” Daphne told her softly. “And that you need not be so stiff.”
The last part was uttered with a knowing smile and Phoebe could not help relaxing just the slightest bit more. Between the pressure of preparing for the ball and actually hosting it, she had all but forgotten that the mood of the guests vastly depended on their hostess as well.
If she wanted the ball to achieve a measure of success, then she ought to tamp down her own anxiety and assume the role of a gracious hostess.
“Thank you,” she finally managed a genuine smile. “And please tell Mama that I am perfectly fine.”
“Oh, she knows that you are,” Daphne smiled wryly. “She just likes to fuss over us as if we are all children still.”
The sisters both shared a knowing look, before bursting into subdued giggles.
A little while later, the Dowager Countess of Winthrop approached Phoebe. The older woman was known amongst the ton for being the crotchety sort and was hardly satisfied with anyone or anything.
“You have done well for yourself, Your Grace,” she remarked with a reluctant smile. “When last I saw you, I could not have imagined you would be capable of restraining that husband of yours.”
She was certainly more forthright than other members of Society, who were used to speaking in riddles so as not to seem rude.
“Thank you, My Lady—I think,” Phoebe replied politely.
“It was intended as a compliment, young lady,” Lady Winthrop affirmed. “I have had the privilege of knowing Cheshire as a child and I am very well familiar with that temperament of his. Do not tell anyone,” she lowered her voice in a confiding manner as she leaned into Phoebe, “but that young man has needed someone like you for as long as I have known him.”
“That is very kind of you to say, my lady.”
“I did not say it to be kind!” The older lady looked rather affronted at the insinuation before she walked off with a slight shake of her head.
Phoebe could only look on haplessly. Older people were certainly much harder to deal with, but once in a while, they did speak out some kind and genuine thoughts.
Phoebe had just begun to enjoy the ball herself and wanted to go over to Charles to check up on him. The last time she had seen him, he was talking to a group of older gentlemen who were his father’s acquaintances. She craned her neck to peer over to the other side of the ballroom, but to her surprise, she could not find him there.
She asked a passing footman with a tray if he had seen the Duke and the man replied that he had seen Charles just outside of the ballroom.
“His Grace appears to be in a discussion with one of the guests, Your Grace,” he informed her politely.
“Thank you,” she murmured quietly, before hurrying outside to see if Charles needed the company.
She had just turned the corner into the corridor when she heard the sound of two distinctly male voices in the midst of a heated argument. Phoebe sighed inwardly as she prepared to mediate between the two parties. Disagreements between gentlemen were common enough, she had noticed. If one stepped in before tempers got more heated, a catastrophe may be avoided.
She put on her best conciliatory smile as she squared her shoulders and walked towards them. “Gentlemen, please—” she began, only to be shocked that one of the men happened to be Charles.
And he looked to be the angrier one at that.
Fortunately, the other gentleman proved to be a more agreeable sort than her husband as he stepped back and nodded at Phoebe politely.
“Your Grace,” he murmured in clipped tones.
She smiled genially at him. “Lord Bennington, I am so glad to have found you. Sir Warren has been searching all over the place for you.”
Lord Bennington seemed to stiffen a little, before he excused himself and trod away from the both of them.
“Charles, is something amiss?” she asked him, frustration creeping into her tone. “You have been acting strangely ever since we arrived in London. Perhaps we should return to—”
“Absolutely not , Phoebe,” he cut in, his eyes blazing.
“Then, can you at least please tell me how I can help you?” she pleaded with him. “This is not like you at all!”
The glare which he directed at her was one that chilled her to her very bones. She had never seen him look like that at her, even when he was at his angriest.
“You do not know me, Phoebe,” he said coldly. “And I will not countenance you poking your nose into my business.”
Shock coursed through her and she felt as if she might sway on her feet—if she had not placed a steadying hand upon an ornate table in the hallway at least.
“You are right,” she said quietly, tears beginning to sting at her eyes. “I do not know you as much as even our servants do. I was only trying to help you, Charles.”
She turned away from him and began to walk back to the ballroom, her steps becoming steadier the farther she got away from her husband. The music swelled into a crescendo as she neared the entrance. Tamping down her emotions and the tears that glistened in her eyes, she forcibly put on a pleasant smile as she made her way back inside.
She dared not look back at Charles.
Charles inwardly cursed himself as he watched Phoebe march away from him, the hurt visible in her eyes. She had only meant to help him, but how could she? He didn’t even know how to help himself.
In the time since he had returned to London, the nightmares that had plagued him for years had returned with a vengeance. In the daytime, he could hardly focus as his lack of sleep finally wore his patience thin. The only thing that brought him any kind of solace, that anchored him to reality, was that special draught that O’Malley had prepared for him, the one that he always kept on hand in his flask.
He reached for his flask and drank the remaining draught inside it, resisting the urge to hurl it at the wall when he found it incredibly insufficient. His hand curled into a fist at his side as he pressed the bridge of his nose with two fingers.
He and Phoebe should have never left Wentworth Park.
Coming back to London had been a mistake. Staying any longer would be a far greater one.
After I finish my work here, I shall take her back to Wentworth with me , he told himself.
Maybe there, with his mind calmer, he could begin to make amends to his beautiful wife. He sighed as he closed his eyes and ambled back to the ballroom.
He only hoped that Phoebe could find it in her heart to forgive him despite everything he was putting her through.