Chapter 7 #2
He did not look convinced, and the line shuffled as Phoebe fought her own shame of being outspoken.
Who am I to question a Duke?
His gaze lingered on her for several moments. She knew he was staring at her, even though she couldn’t quite meet his eye.
“There is nothing to forgive, Lady Phoebe. Though, I imagine your life is rather exciting. You have events to attend. Secrets to share. And let us not forget, you have a wedding to plan.”
Phoebe laughed humorlessly, shaking her head. “You are mistaken, Your Grace. My socializing mercifully narrows down to Lady Genevieve here. She alone takes pity on me and drags me out to events such as these.”
Phoebe reached over and patted Genevieve’s arm.
“I take no pity on her, Your Grace,” Genevieve piped up. “Phoebe receives enough invitations of her own. And she might even be tempted to accept some of them, too, if my dreadful aunt and uncle did not keep her locked away all the time.”
“Genevieve!” Phoebe exclaimed while shooting an exasperated look at her cousin.
“What?” Genevieve returned, matching Phoebe’s stare with a vexed look of her own. “You know I am only speaking the truth. Your parents are forcing you to marry that dowdy, repugnant Birchwood, so we cannot even find joy in planning your impending wedding ceremony.”
Phoebe huffed in disappointment. She could not disagree with a single word Genevieve had just said; however, she would have appreciated it if her cousin had not got carried away and rattled off all her complaints right in front of the Duke of Talwyn.
“Genevieve, you know that my situation is… decided,” Phoebe said through gritted teeth. “I am grateful to receive invitations to balls and other events, but I cannot always accept the offers. It would be improper for me, an engaged lady, to step out and make a spectacle of myself.”
“Grateful?” The Duke frowned. “Surely, a lady would have enjoyed the attention prior to her… engagement.” Something sharp entered his voice when he acknowledged that.
“It is no matter,” she answered quickly, and, thankfully, she realized that she was next to greet the Duke and Duchess of Whitestone.
Verity’s voice had been ringing through the entrance hall the entire time, musical and light, while the Duke’s voice had scarcely joined the echoes.
“I must... we must greet our hosts,” Phoebe said.
“Indeed.” The Duke of Talwyn gave her a strange smile she could not understand. “Then I am certain I shall see you sometime through the evening, then. Enjoy the musicale, Lady Phoebe. Lady Genevieve.”
As the pair of friends stepped forward, Phoebe could feel the Duke hovering there, right behind them. He was quiet and she could once again feel his stare boring into her. Phoebe realized he was waiting to see how she would greet the Duke, and her nerves swam in her stomach.
Once she came to the front of the greeting line, she curtsied deeply.
“Lady Genevieve!” Verity cried happily. “You came! And you brought Lady Phoebe along, as I requested.”
Phoebe lowered her lashes dutifully, smiling softly. “Verity.”
She inclined her head, hoping it overrode the disrespect she felt by greeting her so informally, but Verity’s beaming smile told her she need not worry.
“You remembered,” Verity laughed. “And yet I used your own title.”
“At least ours contain our names,” Genevieve giggled.
“Indeed, it does,” Verity answered. “And, once again, this is my husband.”
“It is an honor to be in your beautiful home, Percy,” Phoebe said, her voice shaking as she spoke his name.
From behind her, there was a snigger and Phoebe just knew that the Duke of Talwyn was enjoying this scene tremendously.
Phoebe watched, wide-eyed, as Percy, the Duke of Whitestone, composed himself. It was clear that he was startled, just as the Duke of Talwyn had predicted and promised he would be, but then the surprise softened into contentment.
“You are most welcome, Phoebe,” he countered, a smirk dancing on his mouth.
Verity giggled next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I do believe I saw Sebastian speaking with our friends here while they waited in line to be greeted,” she said. “Perhaps you ought to speak to him about his little arrangements with ladies who might be persuaded into pranking you.”
“Indeed, I will,” he laughed. “Nonetheless, welcome to our home, Lady Phoebe, Lady Genevieve.”
They both curtsied once more in gratitude.
“It really is a stunning home,” Genevieve gushed as they stepped nearer to the Duchess. “I have heard, though, that you do not spend a great deal of time here?”
“We do not,” Verity huffed indignantly. “But if I could, I would spend every single day here. However, Percy prefers the bustle of the city. Old habits die hard, I suppose.”
She did not elaborate, but Phoebe detected this was yet another hint about the life the Duke of Whitestone had once had.
What unpleasant habits did he and the Duke of Talwyn share?
Phoebe’s curiosity was piqued, but she held her tongue.
“Either way, I am certain both of your homes are lovely,” Genevieve said. “Wherever you base yourselves.”
Verity grinned brightly. “Thank you. I hope you enjoy our musical evening.”
For a moment, Phoebe worried she had said or done something wrong to be clearly dismissed, but then she remembered how long the line was behind her.
As she turned to glance at the long line, the Duke of Talwyn moved forward. He grasped Verity’s hands first and smiled sweetly at her.
“It is always a pleasure to see you,” he whispered before lowering his head and planting a soft kiss on each of Her Grace’s gloved hands. Then, the Duke clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder and added, “You are looking quite becoming in that coat, Percy. Who is your tailor?”
Phoebe and Genevieve took their leave, but right as they headed towards the music room, the Duke of Talwyn fell into step alongside them. He squeezed his way between the two ladies and offered each one his elbow to clutch.
“So, how did it go?” he teased.
“I am certain you know exactly how it went,” Phoebe replied, giving him a shy half-smile as she looked up. He looked entirely too smug as he strolled next to her. “He was surprised for a moment but then countered with my own lack of title.”
The Duke chuckled under his breath as Phoebe wound her fingers around his elbow and allowed him to tow her further into the room.
“Of course he did.” Phoebe only gave a huff of laughter, aware of Geneieve trying not to look at them obviously. “So, what performers are you most looking forward to seeing tonight?”
“I…” Phoebe blushed, unable to admit that she had not actually viewed the line-up, even though Genevieve had provided a copy of the embossed, elegant leaflet along with her invitation.
“I do hope you have come to see me,” the Duke of Talwyn said with a wink.
“Wha—” she began asking.
“If you will excuse me, ladies.” The Duke took a step forward and gently shook off their grips. “I know I just joined your party, and some might say it is abominably rude for me to offer to be your escort, then disappear like this, but I am needed…elsewhere.”
The Duke doffed his top hat at them, then spun abruptly on his heel and marched away so fast that Phoebe could not track him once he entered the most crowded part of the house.
She stared after his figure for perhaps a beat too long. When she finally acknowledged that he was gone and it was clear he would not be returning any time soon, Phoebe ignored the knowing look Genevieve was trying to give her, and she pushed aside her wonderings of what the Duke would perform.
“Well…” Phoebe said slowly as she allowed her eyes to float over the rest of the guests. “What should we do now?”
On one side of the room, there was a collection of instruments.
A pianoforte featured most prominently toward the front and center of the room.
The staff had obviously polished the instrument earlier in the day because both the white and black keys glimmered in the candlelight.
To the right of the pianoforte, there stood a glorious harp.
Phoebe knew little of the instrument, but she often thought the sounds it produced were soothing and lovely. On the other side of the piano, Phoebe spotted what looked like a harpsichord, but again, possessing no musical talent of her own, she could not be entirely sure of that fact.
As she glanced around the room, a quartet entered.
Each person carried with them an instrument of their choice.
She saw a pair of violins, a cello, and a viola.
The musicians sat upon spindly legged chairs and set to work on tuning their instruments.
Immediately, the soft strains of discord filled the air, causing Phoebe to step closer to her cousin so she might hear her response.
“We could help ourselves to some punch.” Genevieve swept her hand wide and indicated the refreshment table that was tucked neatly into one corner of the room. “Or…oh! Over there I see Lady Macintosh. Let us go and join Charlotte. I have not spoken to her in an age and—”
Genevieve grabbed ahold of Phoebe’s hand and started tugging her toward the front of the room where Lady Charlotte Macintosh was perched on a chair.
The Viscountess had made her debut years before when both Phoebe and Genevieve had first entered Society, but since then, she and her husband had spent their time at their country estate.
Yes, occasionally it was rumored that the couple turned up in London because the Viscount could not neglect his duties in the House of Lords, but when they were not required to be in town, they dwelt elsewhere.
Phoebe felt a special kinship with Lady Macintosh because until recently, she too had lived in the countryside and only lately rejoined Society.
“Lady Genevieve,” Lady Macintosh said sweetly as they approached her.