Chapter 4
“And here was I thinking you had no sense of humor,” Percival Kingman, Duke of Wright leaned back in his chair as he surveyed Theodore over the top of his whiskey glass.
They were sitting in the study of Theodore’s estate the day after his encounter with Lady Harriet. He tried not to think of the way her green eyes had widened at his proposal.
As soon as she had revealed who she was, Theodore knew his plans had to change.
She was an earl’s daughter, hardly minor nobility.
Inconveniently charming, clearly passionate.
Someone like her would no doubt have suitors, no matter how she denied such a thing.
It would be only a matter of time before someone swooped in and stole her away.
His chest tightened as he imagined some strange man proposing, feeling something thick and ugly spread through him. I cannot let that happen. The strength of his reaction caught him by surprise.
It is Phoebe, that is all. It made him think of Lady Harriet, of the way she had stood in front of him, eyes wide, shifting from foot to foot as though she were a school child being told off. It made no sense.
I wish I could control this. He could control so much else, why could he not do the same with this?
Another point of failure. If he had managed to control such a thing, perhaps he could have made her understand.
Lady Harriet was inconveniently charming, and that meant he needed to change tack. Plans had to change.
He shook his head, forcing himself back to the present. Rumination would get him nowhere.
“I fail to see what is so amusing about this.” Theodore arched an eyebrow at Percival.
“You just told me you intend to get married.” Percival grinned. “You almost had me convinced; you looked so serious.”
“I am serious, Wright. I mean to marry Lady Harriet Montrose.” Theodore’s brow furrowed as he saw the grin slip from Percival’s face.
“You were speaking in earnest?” Percival leaned forwards. “You really mean to marry the woman?”
“Yes.” Theodore shrugged and sipped his whiskey.
“I always assumed that if you started courting someone seriously enough to marry, that you would tell me.” Percival folded his arms across his chest. Despite Percival’s nonchalance, Theodore caught sight of a wounded expression on his friend’s face. “How long has this been going on?”
“Must I tell you all the intimate details of my life?” Theodore shook his head, a corner of his lip quirking upwards. “Peace, man, I did not deceive you. There was no courtship. It was unnecessary to the arrangement.”
“You make the whole thing sound like a business venture, not a marriage.” Percival smiled, leaning back in his chair.
“It is. I am not looking for a love match.”
“What about your intended? Is this what she wants?”
The question caught him off guard. Was she looking for such a thing? He tried to picture her face when they had spoken of marriage, surely if she had been waiting for a love match, she would have refused him outright.
“Would such a match be so bad?” Percival surveyed him over the rim of his glass.
The hackles on the back of his neck rose, and he ran his fingers against his left breast pocket absently. “That is out of the question. This match is for Phoebe, not me.”
“Rather unusual to promise your niece to another woman.” Percival flashed him a grin.
Theodore gave him a deadpan look, repressing his sigh with difficulty. “Must you be so juvenile?”
“One of us needs to have fun, and it is clear it will not be you.” Percival’s expression sobered as he leaned forwards resting his elbows on his knees. “How long will the engagement last? A year?”
“No.” The word came out more emphatic than he intended and he cleared his throat. “I cannot allow her to slip from my fingers, not when I am this close.”
“Then you mean to apply for a special license?” Percival frowned, his lips pursed.
“We will do this traditionally, as is proper. The reading of the banns will allow time for me to unearth any unpleasant secrets, though I doubt there will be anything like that to unearth.” And there is very little I could discover that would change my mind.
He could bury most scandal and he knew it – as long as Phoebe was cared for, that was what mattered.
The image of Harriet’s chin tilted towards him, the brief flash of anger in her eyes when he had asked her to prove her identity. There was a bit of fire behind those summer-green eyes, but clearly there was control too.
“You have not already done so? That is most unlike you.” Percival’s words brought him back to the present.
“I have not had time, we only met yesterday,” Theodore admitted just as Percival took a drink.
“What?” Percival choked, spluttering through his whiskey. “That makes no sense. You never rush into anything. Much less something like this. What would possess you to do such a thing?”
“I have been trying to find her for a year.” He dug his fingertips into the arm of his chair.
“She is your mystery artist then?” Percival’s eyes widened.
“Yes.”
Percival was on his feet now, running his hands through his hair as he paced. “Then commission some art, do not marry the woman.”
Theodore watched his friend pacing, slipping a mat beneath his glass to prevent it damaging the wood. “That is not enough. Phoebe needs more than drawings. She needs someone who is here with her, someone who can bring her out into the world.”
“And you think this Lady Harriet can do that?” Percival gripped the back of a chair, shifting between one foot and another, his agitation palpable.
“Phoebe smiled at her, Wright. She smiled at her, and her smile grew stronger when Lady Harriet smiled back.” He stood, feeling his shoulders relax as he moved to the window, looking out into the gardens where he knew he would find his niece. “I did not know she could smile like that.”
She looked so like Rose. His heart twisted but he pushed it away. “In a matter of seconds, Lady Harriet did what a host of others have failed at for years.”
“But why marriage – why not hire her as a governess? Most governesses are the daughters of minor nobility after all. That was your plan, was it not?” Percival had a stubborn set to his jaw. A familiar, stubborn set. Theodore sighed.
“It was when I did not know the station of the artist. She might have been a merchant’s daughter for all I knew, or even a servant.
Even a baron’s daughter would not have been an appropriate match, but the daughter of an earl?
That is a different proposition entirely.
” Theodore watched as Mrs. Morton gestured to Phoebe and then to a plant, but his niece seemed disinterested.
“Even if it was not beneath her station and she accepted such a position, eventually someone will ask for her hand and that man will expect her to be at his side. She will leave.” Theodore’s heart twisted and he shook his head. “In truth, I am surprised someone like her is yet unwed.”
“Perhaps there is a reason for that.” Percival gave him a meaningful look.
A prickle of irritation ran through Theodore, and he frowned. “I do not care for your implication, Wright. You were not here, you did not see what I saw.”
“Indeed? What did you see, oh great observer?”
“She is well mannered and polite. Clearly intelligent, though perhaps a little impulsive.” Theodore shrugged. “A skilled artist – Phoebe is drawn to it like nothing else.”
Theodore remembered the way she had stood, putting herself between him and Phoebe as though to protect the child.
A part of him had been offended, but the greater part had been impressed.
“She was prepared to defend Phoebe, to stand between her and any potential harm even though she had known her only moments. How many women would do that?”
“You sound like you rather admire her,” Percival said.
“I do,” Theodore admitted. “Lady Harriet knew what to do with Phoebe as if it were the simplest, most obvious thing in the world. She is no fool, though perhaps more impulsive than is ideal. She will offer Phoebe… something that she needs.” She can do what I cannot.
There was a moment of silence and when Theodore looked at Percival, he saw a curiously thoughtful expression on his friend’s face. “For someone who sees this only as a means to an end, Irondale, you seem to have rather a lot to say about the woman.”
Theodore stiffened. “Just because I appreciate her, does not mean I wish for this to be anything other than it is. Our match is about securing a future for my niece – she needs a motherly figure and I think Lady Harriet will fill the role well. It is as simple as that.”
“If you say so.” Percival shrugged and stood up, glancing towards the door. “But I cannot help but wonder if Phoebe is not the only reason for your haste.”
“If this is a poorly veiled attempt to get me to change my mind, it will not work.” Theodore folded his arms across his chest.
“I would not dream of such a thing, Irondale.” Percival squeezed his shoulder as he moved past Theodore to don his coat. “You know best after all. I just want to make sure you are thinking with your head.”
“I am not a man controlled by such base instincts.” Theodore’s voice was so cold it would have frozen water.
“I know.” Percival hesitated at the door. “I was speaking of the heart.”
He left without another word, leaving Theodore to mull on what his friend had said. “Ridiculous.”
Unconsciously, his fingers stroked the pocket where Lady Harriet’s drawing lay folded neatly. Percival is letting his imagination run away with him.
* * *
“That is a very pretty flower, Lady Phoebe.” The high, bright voice of Lucy Morton, Mrs. Morton’s daughter and Phoebe’s maid, floated towards Theodore as he walked through the hall.
He had spent the afternoon pondering his exchange with Percival. It had unnerved him more than he would like to admit. After all, he would not usually rush into something like this.
Perhaps waiting would be best. And what if someone else asks for her hand? He pictured some faceless man walking arm in arm with Lady Harriet and clenched his hands into fists. No.
The vehemence of his response concerned him. It is probably fear for Phoebe. Though what if he had misread her interaction with the woman? It would not be the first time he had misunderstood his niece.
“Phoebe?” he knocked on the doorway to get her attention, suppressing a wince at the way his voice cut through the silence in the room.
“Your Grace.” Lucy curtseyed, her smile bright. “I did not expect to see you. Lady Phoebe was just showing me some of her drawings.”
“I would like to see them.” Theodore took a step into the room.
Phoebe looked from him to Lucy, but she did not move away. He took this as a good sign, and moved closer, watching her for even the slightest sign of discomfort. She remained where she was, her eyes fixed on him.
He looked at the drawing of a rose that Phoebe was half-way through. He recognized it as a copy of one of Lady Harriet’s drawings, though he could not see the original anywhere.
“Did you do this from memory?” Theodore asked.
Phoebe tapped her fingers on the table and glanced at Lucy, who said, “She wanted to see if she could.”
Theodore could feel Phoebe’s eyes on him, and suspected she was waiting for something. He looked down at the drawing, thinking of something to say. It was an impressive attempt, though she had not quite managed to capture Lady Harriet’s style.
“The smudge in the corner could be avoided by being more mindful of the position of your hand.” He gestured to the blot on the otherwise impressive drawing. “To do this from memory shows dedication and an attention to detail that you could apply to your other subjects.”
He saw the light dim from Phoebe’s eyes. Despite his best efforts, this had not been the right thing to say. His niece looked from him to the drawing and pushed herself away from the table, moving to a corner where she continued to work on the sketch.
He swallowed, feeling as though the walls were pressing in around him. “What did you think of Lady Harriet? The woman who gave you that sketch?”
Phoebe looked up at once, her head tilted to one side. He watched her feel around in a pocket and pull out the sketch with his note on it. She held it up, biting her lip.
“Yes, that is the one.” Theodore felt his heart speed up. “Did you like her? Lady Harriet?”
Phoebe nodded, and Theodore thought he saw a flicker of emotion in her eyes. “Would you like to see her again?”
Phoebe clutched the sketch to her chest, and that was all the answer Theodore needed. He inclined his head to her and swept from the room.
“I will speak to her in the morning and formally ask for her hand.” Theodore muttered to himself. “Our union must happen, for Phoebe. She has waited long enough for this, I cannot allow her to wait a moment longer.”
This was about his niece and her future, and he would do whatever it took to give her what she needed.