Chapter 12 #2
“It would seem His Grace kept his word and dealt with Lord Brightwood,” she informed briskly “The rumours have gone quiet entirely. I have attended two events this past week and I did not hear a single unpleasant word. Whatever the duke did, it worked.”
Anna did not seem overjoyed by it. Relieved perhaps, but she appeared to have made peace with her past, as well as what it cost her and Phoebe was saddened by the fact that there was only so much, she could do for her sister.
If she was able to, she would have healed Anna’s heart completely.
She deserved a fresh start, away from the actions of that monster.
“He has a great deal of influence,” Phoebe nodded carefully.
“And apparently a willingness to use it.” Anna stared at her with slight curiosity in her gaze.
“I heard something more as well – about the earl himself.
That he was discovered in rather a compromising position with the daughter of a powerful man and that her father and brothers were involved in what followed.
I don't know the details and I don't especially want them. But I find I am not at all sorry.”
“Nor am I,” Phoebe nodded, lifting her tea cup in silent toast.
There was a beat of silence, the gentle kind that hovered while they smiled at each other. And then the conversation continued.
“Good riddance,” Anna stated simply, clearly being influenced by Rowland and his mannerisms. “Now. Tell me about the duke. What is it like being married?”
Phoebe peered at her tea, looking for answers she knew would not be available to her.
“We’re – fine. Everything is fine.”
Anna frowned, folding her arms with a petulant pout she never seemed to outgrow.
“What on earth does that mean? Do you both spend time together? What was it like? That first night?”
Heat rushed to Phoebe’s cheeks as she recalled waking up in her bed alone a few days ago, the feeling of her husband’s gentle hand on her hair contrasting greatly against the soreness between her legs.
Her thoughts about him had not stopped swirling, had not calmed in the slightest and it was all she could do not to be drowned by it.
“I need you to simply trust me when I say that everything is going well. We are getting along swimmingly.”
“I do not know if I can believe you, when you are doing all you can to spare the details,” Anna narrowed her eyes at her in accusation. “Give me something! What is he like? Has he been good to you?”
“He is – calm,” phoebe said, after a moment.
“Composed. He knows his own mind and he is not apologetic about it, but he is not unkind. He is respected by his household. The staff regard him well. He is – he keeps to himself a great deal but he is not... bad company. And yes, he has been good to me.”
Anna was silent while she spoke and for few moments afterwards, then her eyes narrowed even further purposefully.
“You like him,” Anna accused.
Phoebe’s heart skipped a beat fearfully. She had not even imagined such a concept, could not imagine that she could, not with what had laid the groundwork of their relationship.
It was simply impossible.
“I am married to him,” she pointed out to her younger sister, hoping that Anna would hear her and for once, listen.
“That is not the same thing, as we both know perfectly well.”
“I think he is a good man,” Phoebe said, which was the truest thing she could offer and the most she was willing to give. “He has been – fair. More than fair, in some aspects.”
“And?”
“And I do not know him well enough yet to say more than that.”
Anna studied her for a moment longer, then seemed to decide this was as much as she was going to extract, and moved on. “Well. That is something, at least. Better than I feared when you first told me about the arrangement. I am glad that you are well, sister.”
Phoebe smiled, wide and genuine, pleased warmth flooding through her chest. “Thank you, Anna. That means a lot to me.”
“Of course.” Anna refilled both their cups. “Now. You mentioned in your letter that you wished to buy new dresses. Where should we go?”
The modiste's shop was a narrow, well-lit place on a street Phoebe had walked past many times without ever entering.
It had always looked so distinguished, with an elite clientele that served as a sign of prestige.
Phoebe would have preferred to go elsewhere but since the duke had taken the initiative to make an appointment on her behalf, she could hardly refuse.
Before she left the estate, she had been given a heavy coin purse by her husband and all he had said was,
“Spend it as you desire.”
What was inside appeared more than enough for a few years worth of dresses, and Phoebe felt as nervous as she was eager to get a few nice things for her sister too.
The woman herself – Madame Fournier, came forward from behind a bolt of silk when they entered, and her expression went through a few changes upon Phoebe brief introduction.
It was almost embarrassing, having to refer to herself as the duchess of Montford, without feeling as though she was bragging, but rather than shame, she felt unworthy of the title.
“Your Grace.” A woman exclaimed with a quick, elegant bow. “We are very honoured to have you in our humble establishment.”
Phoebe had been the daughter of a viscount – then a sister of one – her entire life and had never once received that particular tone. The discomfort came from being unsure of whether the woman’s glee was genuine or fabricated.
Madame Fournier was efficient and extremely opinionated – evident in the very clear ideas about what a Duchess of Montford ought to be wearing.
She brought bolt after bolt of fabrics – deep jewel tones, embroidered silks, a ludicrously elaborate evening gown with a bodice that involved what appeared to be an entire garden's worth of beadwork – and spoke about them with the cheerful authority of someone whose opinion could not be ignored.
Phoebe looked at the prices written in the small cards on each bolt and struggled to keep her expression neutral at the absurdity of it all.
“This one,” Anna exclaimed firmly, holding up a length of deep green silk against Phoebe's shoulder. “Look. It is exactly right.”
“Anna, it is –” Phoebe glanced at the card and said a prayer to the heavens. “Quite expensive.”
“You are a duchess.”
“I am very aware of that.”
“Then perhaps, it is time to start dressing like one.”
“Your sister is absolutely right, Your Grace. In that fabric, with any style, you would be the belle of the ball,” Madame Fournier promised, her thick French accent audibly noticeable.
She continued on about the history of the fabric and why it was suitable for the duchess’s skin, while Phoebe studied the green silk, recalling the colour of her husband’s eyes suddenly.
Then she shifted her focus to a second one – a deep blue, which Madame Fournier said would be magnificent for an evening event – and thought of the event she was expected to make an appearance at soon.
With a deep sigh, she resigned to her fate and bought both.
Anna had also gotten a dress, a soft pink colour that Phoebe knew would make her ethereal, and although her husband’s money had paid for it then, she resolved to continue to do what she could to provide for her sister.
After they left the shop, Anna kissed her on the cheek and declared the morning an unmitigated success and Phoebe hugged her tightly as she whispered,
“I love you. I will see you soon.”
Anna smiled sweetly and echoed the sentiment and the warmth of her embrace lingered with Phoebe as she watched her sister climb into a carriage that rolled out of sight moments later.
With the day’s main event over, Phoebe put her cloak over her head and made her way through the streets, cutting through one of her least used routes in a bid to avoid suspicion as headed to her destination.
It only took her slightly longer time than expected to arrive at the newspaper house, slipping through the back door stealthily as she made her way to Mr Lambert’s office.
He was without company this time, and he beckoned her over with a wave of his hand.
“Miss Danvers! Just who I wanted to see! I was concerned the affairs you had mentioned would prove to be a hindrance to your work.
Phoebe shook her head and retrieved the papers she had stashed in the pockets she had sewn into the inner lining of her cloak.
“Certainly not, Mr Lambert. Everything has been sorted now,” she assured as she handed the papers over to him.
He unwrapped them with efficient hands and studied the pages closely, nodding with approval almost immediately.
“Your work continues to be excellent,” he commended proudly. “How do you manage to continue to yield such good results?”
“I am quite motivated,” Phoebe replied pleasantly.
It was the truth. She was doing this for her siblings, for Rowland to not have to burden himself with trying to ensure that he could provide not just for their household but also for the requirements of Anna’s first season.
She did it for Anna too, to ensure that she was comfortable going to events without feeling less than worthy when compared to the other ladies.
While Phoebe had been married, she still needed to continue to support her family. She might have been able to get Anna a dress using the money her husband had given her, but that was not to be a regular occurrence.
Mr Lambert nodded, finding her response acceptable. “Are you ready for the next task?”
Without a shred of hesitation, Phoebe responded with determination,
“I am, sir. And I can guarantee excellent results, as always.”