Chapter 15 #2
Sebastian’s heart stuttered as he looked at the pale, lilac dress that Lady Phoebe wore, the paisley pattern catching the sunlight.
There was a small spencer jacket that hugged her upper arms with short sleeves, cinching to her waist as well. Next to her, Lady Genevieve wore an amber-colored dress, but his eyes drifted back to Lady Phoebe quickly.
Her hair was pulled back into elaborate braids that twisted up into one coil of ash-blonde hair.
Again, there was something about the curls and how because her hair was shorter than how most ladies wore it, many strands escaped their pins.
He rather liked it that way; the severe styles ladies often sported seemed too much, too pristine, and too perfect.
As Lady Phoebe and Lady Genevieve made their way in his direction, he recognized that neither of them had noticed him yet.
It had been so long… too long…since he had left Lady Phoebe standing in the garden. His lips stung at the memory of the kiss he ended far too soon.
If he had been given the option, Sebastian would have turned tail and stalked to the other side of the fair.
Now that he knew Lady Phoebe had attended this event, he would have given himself at least a quarter of an hour to compose his thoughts before seeking her out.
But he was not to be granted such concessions.
Verity was already waving her gloved hand high in the air, flagging down her friends and beckoning them to hurry. Lady Phoebe’s eyes looked around their group before stopping on Sebastian. He swore a blush came over her pale cheeks.
He smiled at her, the woman who had kept him awake at night, the woman who had distracted him from important work, and the woman who had haunted every thought.
“Lady Phoebe.” He bowed as she curtsied, her head dipping close to her decolletage, and he tried not to follow the line of sight too far down.
He was aware of the group having gone silent and watchful around them.
“Your Grace,” she answered softly. “I trust you are well?”
I am more well for finally seeing you again, rather than just being tormented by my thoughts.
“I am,” he said formally. “And yourself?”
“I am well enough, thank you. This is quite the affair, is it not?”
“Indeed. When the balloon launches, we all will be treated to a remarkable sight.”
He felt as though he didn’t know how to speak to her, not with so many eyes on them. His gaze flicked up to the refreshment tent, and he smiled to himself.
Around them, their friends began talking once more, and he met Lady Phoebe’s gaze, nodding to the tent that was teeming with sweets and cups of punch.
He brushed by her, his mouth dipping low but discreetly. “My sweet tooth is begging for relief. Would you care to accompany me so that I might indulge myself?”
Even though Sebastian had spoken in a quiet tone, meant for only Lady Phoebe’s ears, it was Lady Genevieve who answered his entreaty. “Oh, yes! Phoebe loves sweets. She was just telling me this morning that it had been an age since she had a luscious piece of chocolate gateau.”
“Were you having that conversation earlier?” Sebastian could not help but ask.
“No,” Lady Phoebe answered immediately. A split second later, Lady Genevieve responded in the affirmative.
Sebastian caught it when the cousins shared a long look. They seemed to be communicating only by eyeing one another and tipping their heads from one side to the other.
But then, Lady Genevieve broke the moment by urging her cousin. “Do go onto the refreshment tent with His Grace, Phoebe. I should very much like you to scout out the sweets and report back later.”
Lady Phoebe nodded as though she thought of this assignment as her own personal mission. “I shall let you know if there is any lemon cake to be had.”
“Splendid!” Lady Genevieve and Verity chorused. Both ladies were so jubilant that Sebastian had to suppress a groan.
“Shall we?” He offered Lady Phoebe his arm and this time she did not hesitate before accepting him.
Sebastian did not bother bidding a temporary farewell to his friends.
Instead, he just led Lady Phoebe into the tent, finding it mercifully empty.
The seller stood behind a wooden counter, and while Sebastian knew that this man would not approach either of them or invade upon their conversation, he wanted to spend a few moments alone with Lady Phoebe.
Flashing a winning smile, he walked over to the counter, pulling Lady Phoebe lightly along.
“I am terribly sorry, but I must bring you some awful news,” he said.
The seller looked up and gave Sebastian a stunned expression. “Your Grace?” he said loudly. “Is there a problem?”
Sebastian lifted his free hand and pointed to a spot in the distance.
“There are some children not too far from your tent. I do believe they were trying to scheme a little. As we approached, I heard them whisper that they were planning to make a ‘sweet escape’. I might have misunderstood, but I think the rascals mean to nick something from your stall. They ought to be chased away before they make off with a handful of your absolutely splendid assortment of treats.”
There were no children, but Sebastian needed the seller to leave, so that he might be alone with Lady Phoebe.
“I shall watch the stall if you wish to close it for a few moments,” Sebastian continued.
“I am the Duke of Talwyn, so your tent will be safe under my watchful eyes. If anybody attempts to enter, I shall tell them that you have paused for lunch. Although, I do hear there is an excellent pie tent not far across the field, if you did wish to stop for luncheon. After all, the day has barely begun, and it will likely prove to be long and successful. You would not want to greet the rush of customers on an empty stomach, surely?”
His words were woven carefully, persuasively, and he kept up his encouraging smile. The seller, an older man that had not yet gone fully gray, considered his argument.
Slowly, he nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace. You are most considerate. Many people would simply expect a vendor to work on their feet endlessly with no break, so I am most grateful for the respite. But first, you said the children were not far from here?”
“Not far at all. Barely one hundred yards that way.” He nodded to the tent wall behind the counter.
In an instant, the vendor had disappeared, and Sebastian dropped Lady Phoebe’s arm so that he could dart to the front of the tent and pull closed the flaps.
“Well,” she huffed. “If you wished to speak to me privately, Your Grace, you only needed to say as much.” She waved her hand at the enclosed space. “It was not necessary to chase the seller from his shop.”
Sebastian arched an eyebrow sardonically as he strode across the divide and stopped right in front of the lady who had been haunting his dreams.
“We both know that getting a moment alone with you would have been rather difficult.” The sound of footsteps outside the tent drew his attention for a moment. When they receded continued, “I would have done almost anything, Lady Phoebe, to secure this bit of privacy for us.”
Her blue eyes stared into his and when she spoke, he noticed the slight trembling of her lower lip. “So, we are utterly alone?”
“At last,” he said boldly, stepping closer to her.
“You are a schemer,” she whispered. “I am surrounded by cunning individuals who will stop at nothing to achieve their own aims.”
Sebastian frowned.
She does not know just how closely she has come to hitting the mark. Her parents… Lord Birchwood… they are all conniving and despicable.
Then, he replayed her words in his head and did not particularly enjoy being lumped in with such nefarious company.
“I am clever,” he said softly. “I will give you that much. And I do occasionally spin a yarn so that I might have my wishes granted, but…”
“Just like Genevieve.” Phoebe shook her head gently. “My cousin will say almost anything so long as she gets what she wants in the end.”
“Is that such a bad thing, my lady?”
Phoebe rocked back on her heels, separating them slightly. “Yes.”
He was surprised and did not bother to hide it. “Why do you say that?”
“Because even though I love Genevieve dearly, she is rarely honest with herself or others. She, like you, tells one story after another.”
“I thought you were the storyteller here,” he interjected and she hushed immediately.
When he saw pops of pink embarrassment highlight her pretty cheekbones, Sebastian lowered his voice to a whisper and said, “You did not happen to bring any of your writing with you, did you, my lady? After our last encounter, I was very much hoping to read one of your stories aloud.”
She lowered her head as her whole face blushed a deep crimson. “I did not bring my journal here, Your Grace.”
“Lady Phoebe,” his voice lowered and became quite serious.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
He frowned. “I should like it very much if you broke with tradition and stopped calling me Your Grace. I am me. I am Sebastian. Use my Christian name when we have these private moments together.”
“Very well… Sebastian,” she breathed, hesitant, as if trying it out.
“Yes,” he affirmed. “Sebastian. And Phoebe, if that pleases you.”
“That is perfectly fine,” she answered. “If anything, being Lady Phoebe only makes me think about—” She cut herself off, shaking her head, but Sebastian was intrigued.
“Go on,” he encouraged.
“It only makes me think of my terrible debut experience. When I think of that first dreadful Season, I feel awful. Every time someone addresses me formally and I am reminded of how I have never been acknowledged for my own worth. I am merely the daughter of the Earl of Tripleton. Back then and even today am not me; No one knows who I really am, they only see the obedient woman my father and mother wish me to be.”
“How are you different from the young lady your father and mother have determined you should be?” Sebastian prompted. He earnestly wanted to know.