Chapter 12
“First, please let me express my sincerest joy that you are now part of my family. I am absolutely thrilled. But second—”
“Ow!” Phoebe cried as Ariadne began smacking her repeatedly on the arm. “Stop that! Why are you hitting me?”
“Why am I—?” Ariadne finally stopped with the swatting when Phoebe flailed enough to knock her out of reach. “I got back here to a letter that says, Please urgently tell me everything about your cousin, the Duke of Redcliff, with no additional information—”
“There was some additional information,” Phoebe argued. “Just, you know, not a lot of it.”
“And then,” Ariadne continued, “I dig further in my pile and what do I see? I see a summons from my brother telling me that you are getting married. To Aaron. Today.”
“Um,” said Phoebe. “Yes. I mean, I was there.”
Ariadne hit her again.
“Ow!” Phoebe protested.
“Why didn’t I hear from you, Phoebe? I mean, I know why I didn’t hear from Aaron—he was always secretive, even as a child.
Always watching. Lurking. He was absolutely brilliant at hiding games.
But,” she continued, “that is not the point. The point is that I am mad at you but also very, very happy.”
“Very clear,” Phoebe said.
“Do shut up,” Ariadne said, then hugged her. This put pressure against the sore spot where Ariadne had been hitting her, but Phoebe didn’t protest.
“So,” Ariadne said when she was finished with her embrace, pushing back to hold Phoebe by the shoulders, “what in God’s name happened here?”
“You,” Phoebe said, “left town. That will no longer be allowed, thank you very much.”
“Ha!” Side by side, the two women leaned against the wall to look out over the wedding breakfast. “That’s what you think. David and I went to a house party that was hosted by a gentleman with… expansive tastes. There was much to see. I think we got at least a dozen ideas for our next party.”
“Please enumerate none of them,” Phoebe said immediately. She had no moral qualms about the kind of parties that the Duke and Duchess of Wilds were famous for throwing, but that did not mean that she wanted to know the details of what her dear friend got up to with her husband.
Ariadne shot Phoebe a sly, sidelong glance.
“Oh, very well,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “I will spare your innocent ears. Although…” The look grew wicked and razor-sharp. “You’re a married woman now. Not so innocent for much longer, eh?”
“Ariadne Nightingale,” Phoebe said sternly. “Need I remind you how we met?”
Phoebe and Ariadne had encountered one another at a rather risqué theatrical performance in a seedier side of London than what most young ladies of their class frequented.
But Ariadne and Phoebe were not typical young ladies, having both been blessed with far more than their fair share of curiosity.
This had led Phoebe to explore daring dramas, scandalous soirees, and shocking salons.
She was always an observer while she gathered that Ariadne and David’s parties were rather more… interactive.
But still. That didn’t mean that she was an innocent.
“I’ve seen plenty of things,” she protested.
“All right, I will grant you that,” Ariadne allowed. “And I don’t mean to pull the experienced card—”
“There’s still time to stop yourself.”
“—but marriage does change a person,” Ariadne concluded, talking directly over Phoebe. Ah. Such familial affection. It was almost as though they’d been cousins all along, not just for the past hour or so.
Phoebe cast her friend a skeptical look. “You just told me about going on a research trip to plan your next bacchanal. You’re going to have to try a little harder to convince me that the legendary Duke of Wilds has given up his wayward lifestyle because he’s married.”
Ariadne waved a hand.
“No, not that. I wouldn’t want him to change that.
” She blushed at the mere thought. Good Lord.
“But there’s something… grounding about knowing that someone is by your side, no matter what.
It’s stabilizing. And I think that Aaron could use some stability like that. ” She paused. “As could you, I think.”
There were so many things to protest in this little assessment, but Phoebe chose the most material one.
“It’s not like that,” she said. “It’s not like you and David. The Duke and I—”
“Oh my God, do not call him ‘the Duke,’” Ariadne protested, horrified. “He’s my grouchy cousin and your new husband. Besides, in this family, if you say ‘the Duke,’ you’ll get about fourteen people responding. It’s absolutely ridiculous. Call him Aaron, I beg you.”
“Oh,” Phoebe said. “Right. Aaron.”
“Wow. That sounded like it hurt you.”
“Oh, shut up. Anyway. Things are not like that between me and Aaron. It’s a… mutually beneficial arrangement. He gets a wife, and I get to be a duchess. Everyone wins.”
It sounded thin. Phoebe knew it sounded thin. And she knew that Ariadne would never let her get away with such a thin, thin excuse.
“There are two things,” Ariadne said mildly, “that make that unconvincing.”
“Go ahead,” Phoebe said wearily.
“First is that there is no world—literally not one single version of the universe—in which you can convince me that you care about being a duchess,” Ariadne said.
“You have me there,” Phoebe agreed. “There are extenuating circumstances, but this isn’t really the place.”
“And second,” Ariadne said—she really was on the most remarkable tear of interruptions today, “because Aaron is staring at you as we speak.”
“He’s—?”
When she looked over to the place where Ariadne indicated—with glee that was simply not warranted in Phoebe’s opinion—Aaron was indeed staring back at her.
Or, rather, glowering.
And when he caught Phoebe’s eye, he began walking in her direction.
“Uh oh,” Ariadne said—again with a truly absurd level of glee. “Looks like your time is up. I hope you enjoyed your party while it lasted.”
“I’m not leaving,” she said, eyes darting between her friend and her—God help her—new husband. “The party’s not over!”
“I don’t think that matters to him, somehow,” Ariadne commented.
And then Aaron was before them.
“Cousin,” he said briskly.
“If you really think that that is going to be how we are going to play this, then you have really spent too long away from the Lightholders. We will be having words. Many, many, many words. But I am benevolent, so now, I shall allow you to abscond with your bride.”
Phoebe had to credit her new husband with having nerves of steel because he did not respond to this very obvious taunt.
“Good,” he just said. “Phoebe, let’s go.”
“What?” she said. “No. I—no! The party is still ongoing. It’s our party. We can’t just… leave.”
He gave her a considering look, turned his back on her, and called to the room.
“The festivities are at an end. Please return to your homes.”
Then he turned his back on the expressions of surprise and gave Phoebe a highly self-satisfied look.
“I told you,” Ariadne said in a sing-song undertone.
Phoebe shot her friend a dirty look, then gave one to her husband, too, for good measure.
“You can’t just do that,” she protested.
“It would seem that I can,” he said with infuriating calm.
“That was not part of our arrangement,” Phoebe hissed at him.
“Ooh, a secret arrangement?” Ariadne cooed. “Those never go awry. Never ever.”
This time, Aaron was the one giving dirty looks.
Ariadne was no more affected by the glare from her cousin than she had been from Phoebe.
“Well, I know where I’m not wanted,” she said, sounding enormously entertained. “I’ll just fetch my husband and leave, shall I?”
She gave Phoebe a wink and blew a kiss in the air in the general direction of her cheek before heading away. She’d only made it a few paces when she paused and turned back toward them.
“Oh, and Aaron?”
“Yes?” he asked, sounding as though this little bit of politeness cost him a great deal.
Ariadne sent her cousin her brightest smile.
“Just wanted to let you know that Xander wrote to Clio, too. She’s extraordinarily cross with you. Good luck with that!”
And then she left with a positive skip in her step.
Phoebe looked up at her husband.
“Who is Clio?”