Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
When Phoebe returned from her trip to see Genevieve, she glided into Tripleton House as if she were carried by a breath of fresh air.
Everything smelled sweeter somehow. The vase of roses that sat in the hall looked fresh and lovely. Their scented fragrance wafted toward Phoebe and tickled her nostrils.
When she turned the corner and headed toward the drawing room, she caught a whiff of her father’s cologne. It was spicy, like cinnamon, and while it had never appealed to her before, she did not think it smelt so bad today.
Without really thinking through what she was doing, Phoebe drifted into the drawing room, sat comfortably on the divan, and picked up a book that was on top of the stack which was situated on an end table.
She did not care what she would read today, for her mind would only be filled with good thoughts… good thoughts pertaining to her beloved, the Duke of Talwyn.
“Where have you been?” The shrillness of her mother’s tone snapped Phoebe right out of her cozy reverie.
“Mama?” Phoebe lowered her book onto her lap and peered at her mother with wide eyes.
Today, the Countess looked as if she had spent the night pacing the floorboards. Her hair was slung into a messy chignon, and she wore a morning dress that Phoebe had never seen before.
It was plain and unadorned, certainly the type of frock that one might wear in the privacy of their own bed chamber, but something the Countess of Tripleton would never dream of donning outside of her boudoir.
“Answer your mother,” Phoebe’s father added his own displeasure to the mix.
She looked up to see her father standing near the fireplace. He held a small stack of invitations cards in one hand and a fire poker in the other. Reflexively, Phoebe shrank away from him and burrowed further into the couch cushion.
Phoebe’s mother stood slowly and crossed the divide between them. She towered over Phoebe, using her height as yet another intimidation factor.
“First, you disappeared last night at the ball. Your father and I forgave that impertinence because we could see you were distraught and we did not wish for you to re-enter the room and cause a scene.” She lifted her hand to her head and massaged her temples.
“But then, we I awakened, I sent for you and do you know what I was told?”
Phoebe clamped her lips closed, knowing there was no reason to answer the rhetorical question.
“My maid said that you left the house before dawn.” The Countess leaned forward. “Where did you go this morning, Phoebe?”
“I was with Genevieve. I… I went to speak with her.”
“Why?” Phoebe’s mother demanded.
“I had news to share… good news, Mama.”
“The kind that could not wait until a decent hour?” Her father scoffed, showcasing his displeasure easily.
Phoebe shook her head. “Last night was most eventful and…”
“I should say it was,” her mother interjected. “Our family was freed from Lord Birchwood’s suffocating grip, and we managed to snag the attention of several eligible bachelors. I should not be surprised if one were to offer you his hand tonight.”
Phoebe was stunned. She knew what her parents said the night before. She had not forgotten their words. But, once the Duke asked her to be his wife, she simply figured that her parents’ threats were diminished. All she had to do was tell them her good news and then…
“Ring the bell,” Phoebe’s mother said as she tossed a look of annoyance at Lord Tripleton. “We must hurry if we wish to be ready in time to attend the supper Lady Brennan means to host this evening.”
“But… but…” Phoebe spluttered. “We are going somewhere…this evening? I…”
“The ton does not hold its breath or wait for you,” her mother snapped waspishly. She nodded at her husband who waved one of the small white cards at them. “Our family has been invited to dine tonight with Lord and Lady Brennan. We shan’t arrive late.”
Lady Tripleton pivoted slightly and stalked toward the door.
Phoebe jumped to her feet. “Must I go with you?”
Her mother turned and gave her a murderous glare. “You must.”
Lord Tripleton propped the fire poker next to the hearth and crossed the room so that he stood at his wife’s elbow.
“There will be at least two gentlemen there tonight who have expressed an interest in getting to know you better. You will smile, simper, and do anything they ask of you. Is that clear, Daughter?”
Phoebe cringed. She wanted to tell them that she would not kowtow to any man…not now. Not anymore. She was to be the Duchess of Talwyn and her Duke, her Sebastian, would save her from ever feeling so belittled ever again.
But she could not summon the words.
While Sebastian had asked her to be his wife and he had promised that they would be together soon, she had known that, for now, other than sharing the blessed good news with Genevieve, she could shout her joy from the rooftops.
There were plans to be made, conversations to be had, and eventually, the Duke meant to approach her father and ask for her hand in a proper manner.
Phoebe felt as if her hands were tied. She wanted to defy her parents, to run straight into Sebastian’s arms and linger there, but she also knew that doing as much would cause people to whisper.
While she did not want to go to any banquet and be paraded in front of all the eligible suitors the ton had to offer, she also would not embarrass herself, her family, or the Duke by stepping out of line.
“I understand,” Phoebe said as she nodded dutifully. “I will do all I can to make you proud this evening.”
The dining hall of Lord and Lady Brennan’s was filled with soft candlelight and the clink of utensils.
Around Phoebe, conversations mingled, wordless with their overlapping.
The words whispered by others created a hum of noise.
Phoebe could not even snag a specific part of conversation to ground herself with or attempt to join.
Situated between her parents, always sandwiched between them, as if they thought she would need pinning between them should she try to make an escape, Phoebe traced an idle finger down the stem of her wine glass, keeping her eyes downcast.
Lord Birchwood’s absence was keenly noted by her father, his mutterings incessant as he spoke with another lord. Phoebe knew that, given the public spectacle, too many eyes kept flitting her way.
Finally, she felt a nudge from her mother, whose voice was the only thing that rang out clearly enough for her to properly process the words.
“I am most certain that Lady Phoebe will be more than willing to attend afternoon tea with Lady Monique later in the week! My daughter is thrilled to hear all about Lady Monique’s travels.
After all, she has been speaking at length about integrating herself further into society, have you not, darling? ”
Phoebe bristled at how nice her mother sounded in public, versus how cruel she could be behind closed doors.
“Have you not, dear?” Her mother demanded again, her pretty veneer threatening to break when Phoebe did not answer straight away.
She looked past her mother to see Lady Langerton, the woman who had hosted the ball where Lord Birchwood had been arrested. She mustered a smile, nodding.
“Of course,” she answered, knowing she ought to speak and accept the invitation. “It will be lovely to meet your niece.”
“My cousin,” Lady Langerton corrected gently.
“She is coming from France where she lives with my sister and her husband until she makes her official debut here in London. I shall be sponsoring her. Perhaps you… you could guide her into the social scene, Lady Phoebe? I know you have had a—” She paused, her smile light and delicate. “Troubling time yourself.”
“Only because she was ever so popular upon her debut,” Phoebe’s mother cut in quickly, laughing with an edge of nerves to it.
To anybody else, it wouldn’t have been noticeable, but Phoebe knew how her mother sounded when she thought she was not winning a certain situation.
“Lord Tripleton and I were overwhelmed and inundated with the proposals and requests; we simply could not choose for her.”
“So, you picked Lord Birchwood in the end?” Lady Langerton asked, sipping her wine.
Phoebe turned her face away, trying to hide the twitch of her mouth at the slight judgement in the Countess’s tone.
“He was a solid choice, everyone said so,” her mother said. “At the time, of course, we were all beguiled by his manners and graces. We did not know about all the… discrepancies.”
“That is one word for his behavior.” The snicker came from a younger lady opposite Phoebe, who had been giggling behind her hand all evening while leaning in to gossip with her mother next to her.
“Heavens, Lady Phoebe, you must feel ashamed. If I were you, I would not even feel comfortable showing my face after such a spectacle. And for your fiancé’s arrest to be so public! ”
“Lady Francesca,” Lady Brennan said sharply, “that is quite enough. I expect all my guests to treat one another with courtesy. And if they cannot, then the offending party shall be asked to leave.”
The slight did not go unnoticed, and several conversations around the table went quieter. Phoebe’s mother cleared her throat.
“It was my decision to accept Lady Brennan’s invitation tonight,” she spoke up loudly. “My family does not bury itself in the sand when things go wrong.”
“And yet you sent Lady Phoebe away after her debut?” Lady Francesca’s mother, the Viscountess of Fletchley, mused. “If one did not know better, they might think that you were trying to get her away from the ton. Perhaps to stave off shame? And now this has happened…”
Viscountess Fletchley shook her head slightly, making it clear that she disapproved of both Phoebe and the Countess of Tripleton.
Phoebe’s face burned, her shoulders pulled in. Her eyes briefly closed, and she reached for her newest grounding vision: a low-light library, a sitting booth separated by a wall, and a Pyramus that had made her feel noticed for the first time in her life.
When she opened her eyes, she caught the movement of a tall, brown-haired man who she would recognize anywhere.
Her cheeks warmed, and she hastily sipped her drink in case she was asked why she was so flushed.
“Good evening, Your Grace!” Phoebe’s father called out. “Here, you must come and join us!”
Behind Sebastian, Verity, Vincent, the Duke of Ravenwood, and Percy all followed. The Duke and Duchess of Whitestone linked arms while Vincent assessed the room.
Then, his eyes fell on Phoebe. He nodded once to her, an unreadable smile on his face. Phoebe smiled back politely, drinking more wine.
Then, Sebastian’s eyes met hers, and Phoebe bounced giddily in her seat.
He is here. I did not dream he would be invited to such an event. But my fiancé has come!
She produced a genuine smile. “Your Grace,” she greeted as he took up several empty seats for his group.
They all dominated the room effortlessly, with Sebastian casually bracing an elbow on the back of the chair next to him as he looked around the table. More than once, his eyes flicked toward hers, and she was filled with exuberance.
“Where is Lady Genevieve?” Verity asked Phoebe. They sat near one another now and so Verity did not need to raise her voice to ask the question. “I was hoping the three of us could get together after dinner and have a bit of a chat.”
“Ah, she was sitting down there.” Phoebe nodded to the vacant seat next to the one her cousin had been occupying all night. She’d spoken with her on and off, but ultimately the two had been separated. “Perhaps my cousin excused herself without attracting much notice?”
“Indeed. Sometimes wine does not agree with one.”
“Speaking from experience?” Percy chuckled at Verity’s side, and their normalcy, the fact that all their masks seemed to be off, even considering this was a ton event, relaxed Phoebe further.
Still, she felt her mother’s heated scowl on the back of her neck, and she quickly turned her attention away.
Moments later, Genevieve returned, her face flushed, eyes slightly red, but took her seat quietly. Phoebe tried to catch her eye, but her cousin only mustered a small smile and motioned with her hand.
Later.
Her mother’s face lowered to Phoebe’s ear, and she hissed, “I will see you speak with other ladies and gentlemen before the end of the night. You will not spend all your time chatting with your cousin or the Duchess of Whitestone. I do not trust that group at all. They are… too open with their feelings and the Duke and Duchess are constantly pawing at one another.” Her upper lips curled in disdain.
“No, a friendship with the Duke and Duchess of Whitestone is not one I wish to see you cultivate. I will have you speaking with Lord Robyn, perhaps? He is a fine, upstanding second son of the Marquess of Thrumberg. We need all the good connections we can get right now after your friend publicly dragged us into that arrest.”
Phoebe’s face burned in humiliation, yet all the while, she felt Sebastian’s steady gaze trained on her. She hoped that her mother might ease up a bit so that she could slip away and spend a moment alone with the Duke, but she feared that her mother would be relentless throughout the evening.