Chapter One #2
They were near their row of townhouses, just a side street to cross, and Phoebe quickened her pace. She was certain there would be something to eat at this family meeting, and even if it weren’t an orange, it would be better than the nothing filling her stomach now.
They rounded the corner in one of the narrow side streets, and as soon as they began to walk forward, two dark figures melted away from the shadows and stopped in their paths.
Men. Footpads.
She was shocked that they would be in danger, in the broad light of day in this part of London, but it was empty on this street, and it was likely no one would reach them in time even if they screamed.
Their maids were silent behind them, and Violet looked as if she might faint.
Then one of the men grabbed Violet’s arm.
Phoebe’s emotions took over her movements then. Her rage, her fury, driving her. There was not a spare moment for fear, not when she saw that brute’s hands on her friend.
‘Take your hands off of her!’ she shouted. ‘I do have a knife on my person, sir, and I will use it against you if you intend to be disreputable.’
‘Oh, my apologies,’ the man said, his tone ugly. But he released his hold on Violet and set her back. ‘I did not realise I needed your permission to relieve you of your purse.’
‘You may try,’ Phoebe said, reaching into the pocket she had sewn into the lining of her pelisse herself and taking hold of the small dagger she kept there, holding it out in front of her. ‘But you might acquire something you did not intend should you take one step closer.’
The men exchanged a look, and then one reached into his own pocket and took out a knife that made Phoebe’s courage falter.
She knew how to throw knives. Her father had taught her.
She had reasonably good aim, but she could only hit one of them, and she would have to choose.
The man with the visible weapon being the most likely target.
But then…whichever was the leader, that mattered.
If the leader was removed his soldier would likely fall back.
She hoped.
She stepped back as if in fear, while slowly positioning the knife into the proper position to throw it, when a shadow came around the corner.
‘Away from the ladies, or you will beg me to call the Bow Street Runners to save you.’
She knew that voice.
As well as any, perhaps as well as her own.
Her heart lifted with relief.
She heard the sound of a gun being cocked. Unmistakable. To her as well as the footpads.
‘It is not worth whatever meager amount you might get from their purses, I would not think. The pin money of a couple of girls barely out of leading strings is hardly worth losing your life.’
She finally looked away from the man with the knife, over his shoulder to where Levi, Duke of Rochester, stood, wearing a black top hat, a black coat, and holding a gun.
A very nice gun, too, Phoebe took note.
Phoebe held her knife out, taking a step toward the man. ‘He is not speaking in jest—he will shoot you. And then I will stab you.’
The dark rage that glittered in the man with the knife’s eyes nearly took her breath away.
‘I have no moral qualm with shooting you,’ Levi said, his tone hard. ‘And if you linger here, you will wish I had. She is sister to a duke, and if you are apprehended having harmed her in any way, you will bypass the cell and go straight to the gallows.’
It was the word duke that seemed to shake them. The men disappeared back into the shadows where they came from, and then Levi was moving toward them, his dark gaze full of fury and murder.
He took hold of Violet’s arm as if ascertaining her wholeness. ‘You are not hurt?’
‘No,’ she said, her voice shaking.
He turned to Phoebe and the full force of his rage nearly setting her off balance in a way the footpads themselves had not.
‘You can lower your knife, Phoebe,’ he said, his voice rough.
And she looked down and realised she did indeed still have it outstretched. And her hand was trembling.
She lowered it slowly and slipped her hand back into her pelisse, and put the knife into the pocket there.
He leaned forward, taking hold of her arms with both of his hands and…pressing her swiftly and firmly up and down. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, but he did not sound kind or tender.
She pulled back, her head suddenly dizzy. ‘I am well.’
He released his hold on her and stepped back, his eyes a storm, his mouth in a hard line. He was not clean-shaven. Dark whiskers covered his square jaw, and he smelled faintly of pipe smoke and whiskey.
He turned his focus to Hattie and Rosamund, their maids. ‘Ladies, you were not harmed?’
They shook their heads in tandem. ‘No, Your Grace.’
His gaze redirected to Phoebe.
‘Does Jasper know you have a knife?’ he asked, frowning.
‘Yes,’ Phoebe said. ‘He knows I have a knife, and you should be thankful I do.’
‘You would have done little more than anger him with that.’
‘I was going to throw it through his throat, if you must know.’
One brow lifted a fraction. ‘It almost makes me wish I had been a few moments later.’
‘I am glad you arrived when you did,’ Violet said, breathless.
‘Come, let’s go to the house. We will have Gates send word to the Bow Street Runners there are footpads on this street. Though I imagine they will not be back, having been threatened with your brother’s fury.’
‘And yours,’ Phoebe said.
He had not announced himself as a duke, she’d noticed.
But of all of the men, Levi seemed the least comfortable with his position. Or perhaps that was the wrong word. He wasn’t a duke in any traditional sense. He was a man who earned a wage, which was shocking for someone of his status. He didn’t simply manage an estate, but a fleet of ships.
His packet ships were contracted by the government to deliver mail to New York, and they took passengers as well. Sometimes he captained the ship—which was truly eccentric of him.
Levi was a fascination. He was a man, which meant that he—of course—had the agency to choose how he wanted to live.
Her brother lived as a man of his station was expected to—and why not?
Devlin did much the same. They had all had the responsibility of taking charge of their younger siblings, along with Kate March, when their parents had died.
Kate and Levi were the two who seemed to buck expectation. Kate, still unmarried after four Seasons, and Levi…a duke with a profession and a gun, who thought nothing of starting a fight in the streets if need be.
She’d known them all for her entire life, and while they were very much who they’d always been at their core, she did wonder how much having to take control of the families, of their siblings, had shaped them into sharper, harder versions of themselves.
‘Let’s go,’ Levi said. He turned and led the way out of the alley and onto the main row, where the four townhouses their families occupied for the Season were set, nearly one after the other.
The first was her family residence. The home they’d all been in when they’d been informed of their parents’ deaths, and later, when they’d been informed that miraculously, Devlin had been one of the survivors, and was now the Duke of Stanhope.
The house was filled with their family history, with the pain of that day, and the joy of countless others, and Phoebe doubted she would ever be able to walk inside of it without enduring the crush of those feelings, all mingled together.
It was a grand house with vines crawling up the white brick exterior and a smart black fence acting as a border to keep out any unwanted visitors.
She shivered as she thought of what had just happened in the alley, and wondered if she would be adding…fear to her list of feelings.
She rather hoped not. But she was relieved when Gates opened the door and admitted them to the entrance hall, all the same.
Levi relayed the events to Gates.
‘The meeting,’ Phoebe said, ready to move past all this unpleasantness. They were common footpads, and they would not be back. They would not want this household, or the households joined to it, as their enemies.
For all the sadness that had come from the loss of their parents, the one good thing was the strength of the alliance they’d all forged.
This was a loss they’d borne together. It was Levi, Jasper, and Kate who’d had to bring them together and tell them all. Violet and Phoebe had clung to each other during the memorial for their parents. No bodies had ever been recovered.
They were lost.
And it had felt very much like all the children were lost too.
But they’d made a way.
They still did, every day.
Phoebe felt like she had to live every day as honestly and truthfully to herself as she could, in memory of her father, who had loved her spirit.
That thought was like clouds over the sky.
What would her father say now if he knew how terrified she was of the upcoming Season?
Levi went ahead of them while their maids divested them of their pelisses, bonnets, and parasols, and Phoebe nearly asked the maid to pause and give her the knife, but she let out a slow breath and determined not to worry.
She and Phoebe hurried down the hall and pushed open the heavy, mahogany study door to reveal a library that was stacked, floor to ceiling, with books.
The floor was a heavy, dark wood with Aubusson rugs positioned about, covered with intricate floral designs. In the corner was a round table laden with a full tea service and dark purple chairs positioned around it.
The chairs were, at present, more than half occupied by three dukes and a lady.
‘I call this meeting to order.’
They walked into the study just as Katherine March, mostly called Kate, was raising a cup of tea as if it were a glass of champagne.
Phoebe remembered suddenly how badly she wanted an orange.
Her stomach growled.