Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
“How lucky are we? To think that we both have somehow charmed Their Graces to have the honor of being invited to the Duchess of Whitestone’s musicale!” Genevieve sighed. There was a dreamy smile on her face as they got out of their carriage.
Before them, Whitestone Hall was alight with flickering candles in the windows, and Phoebe could barely hold onto Genevieve, for her cousin was hastily making her way to the white, marble steps.
“You are certain she also meant for me to accompany you?” Phoebe worried aloud.
She knew that Genevieve and the Duchess of Whitestone—Verity, she reminded herself, recalling the Duchess’s laughter when she insisted that she wished to be known by her given name—had met more than once, unlike Phoebe and Verity.
Genevieve had also informed her that the invitation to the musicale was not the only time they had corresponded with one another. That comment had been rather boastful, and Phoebe laughed at her friend’s pride.
“I am most certain. She specified you by name! You have intrigued her, as I have, and it seems that her husband is also encouraging this acquaintance. Verity joked in one of her letters that he often worries she is not social enough outside of her family, so I think he is happy that she has found us.”
Found us. As if they were a treasure for a Duchess, when it ought to be the other way around.
Phoebe’s arm tightened on Genevieve’s. “Then, I am most fortunate that my cousin is also my best friend. I have a balance of both.”
Genevieve giggled. “Indeed, we have gotten the best of both worlds. However, to call ourselves friends of a Duchess, and one as well-respected as Verity Duncombe does feel rather nice.” Her cheeks were flushed with excitement as they joined the greeting line.
Phoebe just shook her head, amused. “You and your chase for social status.”
“I am a lady,” Genevieve insisted. “If I do not strive to better my social standing, then how should I fill my empty hours until I am married? The more popular I am, the more I shall attract better suitors.”
“You know, from anybody else, that outlook would sound incredibly shallow,” Phoebe snorted. “Yet you make it sound… sincere, simple, and very real.”
“Exactly.” Genevieve smiled smugly. “You might have the skill with words, dear Phoebe, but I have a way with the vocal delivery of them.”
Phoebe only nudged her playfully as they wound their way up the stairs, following the queue into the entrance hall. Her head tipped back as she gazed upwards at the high walls, trying to make out the little patterns pressed into the domed ceiling above.
“Cupids.”
At the voice behind her, Phoebe froze. Slowly, she turned around with Genevieve, to come face-to-face with the Duke of Talwyn. He was watching her with a cool, distant smile, but he pointed upwards.
This evening, the Duke of Talwyn was attired in a maroon waistcoat with fitted black breeches and a pair of shiny Wellingtons.
His rusty red and brown tresses were combed neatly and mostly concealed underneath a tall silk top hat.
A cranberry hued ribbon wrapped around the hat, and Phoebe noticed how the color nearly matched his coat, but not precisely.
A simple, happy clump of daisies poked out of the buttonhole in His Grace’s lapel and Phoebe took a moment to smile at the sweet nosegay before returning her gaze to the ceiling.
“Up there,” the Duke explained, “they are little cupids. Quite a sentimental choice, if you want my opinion, but I was not consulted on the matter. Verity began the renovation as soon as she finally dragged Percy out here for the first time. That man is more attached to his townhouse than a drunk is to his tankard.”
Genevieve laughed at that, but Phoebe was too busy visually taking in the handsome Duke before her whose voice still wrapped around her as surely as it had the night they had met.
“You do not like the cupids, Your Grace?” Genevieve prompted.
“Pah,” the Duke scoffed. “Cupid, or Eros to those in our company who might prefer Greek mythology, represents irrational, unreasonable love.”
He finally lowered his chin and met Genevieve’s gaze before locking his glittering eyes onto Phoebe.
“I prefer to think that human beings are capable of so much more than behaving like lovesick animals,” he said.
“You have no regard for passionate pursuits then, Your Grace?” Genevieve countered while giving the Duke an impish grin. “You do not believe we are capable of being swept away by our feelings?”
“On the contrary,” the Duke drawled slowly as he peeled his eyes off of Phoebe momentarily so that he might address Genevieve properly. “I have a great deal of respect for the feelings of others. So much so that I do not think one can be simply pierced by Cupid’s arrow and fall in love.”
“No?” Genevieve’s eyelashes fluttered vivaciously.
“A man may truly fall in love with a woman when he finds the missing piece of his soul. His lady must represent all the things he has been searching for and has never been able to find within himself.”
“Oh…” Genevieve exhaled in sigh so deep, it seemed for a moment as though she might swoon.
Because it was clear her cousin could not ask further questions because the Duke had already rendered her speechless, Phoebe seized the moment.
“And what are you searching for, Your Grace? What does your soul cry out to know better?”
The Duke of Talwyn’s face broke into a devilish grin. “You wish to know my secrets then, Lady Phoebe?”
Now that the full force of his stare and words was directed at her. Phoebe fell under his spell, just as Genevieve had done.
She could produce little more than a squeak when she spoke. “Yes…Yes, Your Grace.”
He laughed lightly. “The pair of you nearly had me convinced.”
Phoebe blinked as his words pulled her out of her trance. “What do you mean? You will not tell us your thoughts?”
“When I find a lady who makes my soul complete, I shall tell the whole world my secrets.” He leaned forward, closing the distance between them slightly.
Phoebe exhaled deeply and caught a quick whiff of the posies in his buttonhole.
“Until then, let us agree that Cupid is a cheery, yet misplaced, fixture in this household.”
Phoebe was stymied. She had nearly forgotten that Cupid had featured at all in any part of their conversation. She stood there for a long moment staring at the Duke, allowing him to see the way his words bewildered her.
Does he speak to everyone so glibly or is he only so relaxed in my presence because of what we shared during Lord Spencer’s Masquerade?
She did not dare ask him, especially not so publicly, and even if they were alone, she could not reveal that she had been at the party. No doubt he would deny his presence at it, too. A distinguished and respected Duke of his stature would not be seen in such an environment.
Genevieve dug her elbow into Phoebe’s side subtly, clearing her throat. “I believe His Grace is speaking to you, Phoebe.”
The Duke chuckled politely. “It is quite all right. Perhaps something else caught your eye behind me?”
He was giving her an excuse, and Phoebe silently nodded; her tongue suddenly stuck to the roof of her mouth. “Y-yes… yes, I was. I thought I saw somebody I recognized and got distracted.”
I listened to every word you said, even as I drowned in your eyes.
She mustered a smile and finally remembered to curtsy.
You know I was looking right at you.
When she straightened, the Duke took her hand and kissed it lightly as he had the last time. On this occasion, Phoebe could not stop her thoughts from wandering to the little story she had written the night before, not when the Duke’s mouth was warm on her skin.
He did not linger this time, but after he did the same to Genevieve, his eyes went back to Phoebe.
“Earlier, when you first mentioned the renovations, you said something about Verity dragging His Grace out to see this estate?”
“Oh, he will not mind you calling him Percy in conversation,” the Duke told her, a crooked grin on his face. “In fact, please do greet him as such; it will bring me great amusement.”
“I cannot!” Genevieve protested, her mouth falling.
“Then you should.” The Duke’s eyes cut to Phoebe, his grin turning challenging and mischievous. “We ought to have some fun tonight.”
“I also cannot,” Phoebe laughed nervously. “You know it would be impolite for the pair of us to address His Grace so informally.” Her upper lip curved slightly, indicating her own amusement. “You will get us into trouble, Your Grace.”
“With Percy?” he snorted. “Heavens, that man needs a startle now and then. His life used to be so exciting before he married Verity. Now I must find small ways to surprise him. Please do this for me, one of you, will you?”
“Used to be?” Genevieve leaned in, sniffing gossip.
As for Phoebe, she was too busy noticing how the Duke of Talwyn’s cravat contrasted with his hair color handsomely, and how she wished to brush her fingers over the velvet, to see if it was as soft as it looked.
“Oh, yes. You are an inquisitive one, Lady Genevieve. First, you seek to know my secrets. Now, you pry into Percy’s affairs.
” The Duke shook his head, chuckling again.
“I am afraid, I cannot give you stories, but Percy, Vincent and I used to lead rather exhilarating lives. Before he met his wife that is.”
“And yours no longer is?” The question flew from Phoebe’s lips before she could hold it back.
She was not normally one to be nosey, but when this man with his sultry voice was nearby, she kept asking questions just for the sake of hearing him answer.
She blinked at herself, lifting her hand halfway to cover her mouth, as if she could take back the question.
The Duke cocked his head toward her. “You certainly are eager to learn more about my past, Lady Phoebe. What have I done to bring on such an inquisition?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I mean nothing. Forgive me.”