Chapter Three #3
Phoebe caught Aunt Fanny’s smile of triumph as the countess pulled Phoebe’s hand through her arm and, with the obedient Julia following behind, bore her away.
Feeling as though she’d been kidnapped, Phoebe could do nothing to protest, and if she had would have met with only disapproval from Aunt Fanny, who no doubt thought a dance with an earl’s heir was better than a dance with the younger son of a duke.
Well, she could always tread hard on his feet.
Although that didn’t seem to have put Lord Gabriel off. Thank goodness.
Looking back over her shoulder, for a moment only, in case she stumbled, she saw him now talking to Mattie.
So that was the end of that. Now he’d met her beautiful cousin he would quite forget her.
Perhaps she’d better resign herself to not seeing him again.
Although…if he were indeed to fall head over heels in love with Mattie, and then marry her, she would have to see him frequently, and that would be terrible.
Worse than him going off with some young lady she didn’t know. Much worse.
Her only consolation was that Aunt Fanny had declared Mattie pretty enough to attract a duke, so a second son might not be good enough.
Not that there were many dukes about of marriageable age, what with Lord Gabriel’s brother already being spoken for.
In fact, the only unmarried duke she and Mattie had happened upon in their pre-ball discussion seemed to be the Duke of Hexham who was over fifty and a widower.
Mattie had declared with determination that she was not marrying an old man even if he was a duke and it would please her mama.
She looked ahead of herself again and nearly tripped over her skirts. As her captor showed no signs of surprise, no doubt Aunt Fanny had informed her of her ward’s affliction.
Viscount Evesham, whom they’d left so short a time ago with Miss Hollingshead, was now chatting to a couple of gentlemen and a woman.
He was standing in the center, holding court, with a younger man to his left and to his right a tall gentleman whose ruddy cheeks gave away the fact that he’d already drunk a fair amount.
He had his arm around the waist of the lady by his side in a most proprietorial manner.
He might not have been so open in his affections had he not been so inebriated.
Evesham stepped forwards. “Mama, Julia, and I see you’ve brought the delightful Lady Phoebe back to me.
How kind of you.” He swept a low bow. “Mama, you look quite charming. Julia too. You both know my friends.” He waved a vague hand at them before returning his gaze to Phoebe.
“Lady Phoebe, allow me to introduce you. Lord Rupert Trenwith, up from darkest Cornwall where I believe everyone lives in a hut in the middle of a bog. And of course, you’ve met Ambrose’s younger brother already.
Here is the elder—Ambrose Wycliff, Marquis of Buckland. ” The two gentlemen bowed.
“And of course, I should not forget Lady Matcham.” He grinned, but it was not a nice grin. “How could anyone forget the sublime Lady Matcham?”
Lady Matcham, a lady of mature years but undeniable and well-preserved beauty, bestowed a slight curtsy and a knowing smile on Phoebe and Lady Mandeville. If she wasn’t Ambrose’s wife, who could she be? She seemed very familiar with him.
Lady Mandeville’s mouth had formed a pursed bow. That she was unimpressed by her son’s behavior, his rather flamboyant introductions, and probably his acquaintance with this lady seemed obvious. Even Phoebe could see that. It appeared Lady Matcham was not a lady she approved of. How intriguing.
“My friends,” Evesham went on, oblivious to his mother’s glare, “this is Lady Phoebe Nicholson, heir to the Downham’s fortune.” Had he been drinking heavily since she’d seen him barely a few minutes ago? He seemed quite different. “I intend to make her my wife.”
Unsure quite how to react to this statement, which she thought she should have been asked about first, Phoebe dipped into a wobbly curtsy as Lord Evesham swept her yet another bow.
“And these are my friends, Ambrose Wycliff and Lord Rupert Trenwith. Oh no. I’ve already told you that.
Never mind. Damn, forgot Lady Matcham again.
” He nodded to his sister. “My friends, this is the Lady Julia Mowbray, my younger sister.”
Whatever was wrong with him? He sounded as though he was drunk, but how he could have got so in such a short space of time she had no idea.
She’d seen men who were the worse for drink on several occasions.
Papa and Uncle Robert several times, one of the grooms at Coakham, and a couple of the farm workers.
Lord Evesham looked and sounded drunk, in her opinion, but how could he have been?
Julia supplied the answer. She leaned in close to Phoebe. “He’s taken opium. Come away with me. We’ll get no sense out of him when he’s like this. Mama will be furious with him.” And she pulled Phoebe away from the three young men.
Phoebe was more than happy to go. She was seeing a side to society dances she’d never have dreamed existed and it was only making her more certain of her dislike of them.