Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Ten weeks and four shrinking walls until the wedding
‘L ord, Phoebs, you just never think things through!’ Sophie chuckled, rummaging through a drawer of stockings.
‘It’s one thing to try for London, but why you had to go drawing attention to yourself in such rambunctious style, I’ll never know. Ah, here it is!’
She pulled out her favourite pearl inlaid slide, and slid it neatly into her tumbling curls, before shaking them out àlamode.
Phoebe lay sprawled across her bed, watching her sister’s adept fingers, and knowing she too should try to be more content. But then Sophie didn’t have to live her whole life within ten, painfully short weeks.
‘Well, I think Phoebe was exceptionally brave when faced with excessive danger,’ Matilda pronounced, lunging forward with an old parasol, ‘and anyone would consider that exceedingly ?—’
‘Embarrassing?’ Josephine cut in from the corner of the room, her nose buried in a newly purchased novel entitled, Pride and Prejudice .
Matilda laughed, while Phoebe pulled a face.
‘What were you going to do once the director of the Covent Garden Theatre realised you were actually a girl, though?’ Sophie added, her pretty eyebrows darting northwards. ‘I mean, I think I would rather marry the crusty old earl, than live in a single room above a shop, counting my ha’pennies!’
‘Well, yes but that’s only because you don’t actually have to marry the crusty old earl,’ Phoebe returned crossly. ‘It’s different for you,’ she added, rolling over to eyeball the ceiling. ‘You’ve got time and choice on your side.’
Sophie started to frown.
‘More choice than me, at least,’ Phoebe amended. ‘And anyway, don’t you ever get fed up with it all? With the smallness of everything? Don’t you ever want to know why we’re supposed to be content with corsets, embroidery, and four shrinking walls, when our brothers get to do, and see, so much more? Take Thomas and Fred, they got to go to university, drink as much devil’s brew as they wanted and chase halfway across Europe, all on the pretext of studying ancient civilisations. Fred had never even heard of Herculaneum before last summer! And before that they got to race horses, climb trees, and rip whatever clothing they like, all because they were born with a?—’
‘Phoebe!’ Sophie gasped, shooting a look at Josephine and Matilda, both of whom suddenly wore an expression of avidinterest.
‘Well, it’s fact!’ Phoebe grinned with a shrug. ‘So, why shouldn’t we talk about it? Or our right to education beyond the cross-stitch and Fordyce’s sermons?!’
‘You forgot dancing – with two left feet!’ Matilda injected. ‘And what’s devil’s brew, anyway?’
‘Nothing you need worry about,’ Sophie closed hastily. ‘And you know that’s just the way things have always been, Phoebs,’ she added in her next breath. ‘Why should we expect things to be different for us?’
There was a brief pause while Phoebe rolled over to eyeball her sister.
‘Why shouldn’t we expect things to be different for us?’ she countered. ‘Who decided we had to live by a set of rules? Who invented reserve and meekness and virtue and said we had to observe them all?’
‘Phoebe…’ Sophie warned.
‘And why shouldn’t we have as many adventures as our brothers? I warrant we’d put the opportunities to far better use and emerge far greater heroines, if put to the test.’
‘Pray God we won’t be,’ Sophie muttered, closing her eyes.
‘Was that what you were trying to do?’ Josephine quizzed. ‘Be a heroine? Because it seems to me you don’t need to wear trousers, or fight a highwayman, to do that!’
There was a poignant silence while everyone turned to look at the greatest bookworm among them, still safely ensconced between the pages of Pride and Prejudice .
She shrugged.
‘Surely, if we feel we need to live up to some male idea of heroism, or even that depicted between the covers of a novel, then we’re probably missing the point altogether? The heroine in this book turns down a marriage proposal on the basis of the gentleman’s treatment of her sister,’ Josephine continued, tapping her page thoughtfully, ‘though to be honest, they have a few other issues, too… I just think heroism itself shouldn’t be defined by an act, or a type of behaviour, but rather the way we respond to things, as well as each other, of course.’
There was another protracted silence while everyone stared at Josephine in admiration.
Matilda was the first to find her voice.
‘Personally, I still think heroism is all about exceedingly extraordinary feats that no other girl will try without fainting – or crying – or some such namby-pamby thing!’
‘Matilda Fairfax!’ Sophie scolded indulgently.
‘You may be onto something, Jo,’ Phoebe conceded, gazing at the ceiling. ‘But I’m definitely not referring to romantic heroism, I haven’t the least interest in it. I’m talking about real, intrepid, battling the seven seas heroism!’
‘But that’s exactly my point!’ Josephine sniffed. ‘Isn’t it all one and the same? We can all be heroic in big and small ways, loud and quiet, if we so wish?’
‘We can…’ Phoebe frowned. ‘But right now I want the type of adventures our brothers have. The sort of adventure I can look back on and tell my grandchildren about, to prove I had spirit and wasn’t afraid to ride alone or travel to foreign shores…’
‘…or fight unimpressive highwaymen and nearly end up killing yourself,’ Sophie laughed, rolling her eyes. ‘But are you sure you aren’t in the least bit interested in romantic heroism, Phoebs?’ she quizzed, pulling a curl forward so it draped becomingly down her peachy neck. ‘I thought Viscount Damerel seemed quite the romantic – if slightly austere – hero … rescuing you, bringing you home, supplying a cover story… Plus, “Viscountess” has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?’
She paused to survey her handiwork, while Matilda feigned being sick.
‘Viscount Damerel is nothing more than a conceited, interfering dandy!’ Phoebe returned flatly, forcing the image of the viscount’s half-naked silhouette from her head. ‘I pity anyone who finds themselves married to a gentleman who thinks nothing of taking other people’s horses for his own purpose!’
She could feel Sophie’s scrutiny.
‘Let alone his complete disregard for anything but his own lofty self-importance!’
A memory of the viscount shrugging himself into a fresh shirt, skittered through her mind. She closed her eyes and drew a breath.
‘And if it’s a fancy title you’re after,’ she finished, ‘you could have embraced the opportunity to become a countess in my absence!’
At this Sophie became suddenly, and intensely, embroiled with an uncooperative curl.
‘ Balestra! ’ Matilda interjected, lunging forward with one of Sophie’s favourite parasols.
‘Keep your guard close until you lunge, then bend and stretch,’ Phoebe corrected as her youngest sister paused to re-tie the stocking around her forehead.
‘Don’t encourage her!’ Sophie scolded, retrieving both her stocking and parasol in one deft move. ‘It’s bad enough you think you’re Boudicca, without filling Matty’s head too!’
There was a brief pause while the elder sisters contemplated each other frankly.
‘Lord, Phoebs, I agree we deserve to have as many adventures as our brothers,’ Sophie exhaled, finally pinning down the errant curl, ‘but there are some things within our ability to change, and some that aren’t. Whatever his reasons, Papa left an instruction in his will for his eldest daughter to wed the earl when of marriageable age and – while I don’t envy you – that is you! I’m not even out for another year, and we both know Mama wouldn’t have approved of my taking your place, for any reason. Besides, isn’t a last wish kind of … binding?’
Phoebe gazed around at the bedchamber she’d shared with Sophie when they were children. She was absolutely right, of course, Mama had always been such a stickler for manners and etiquette, and would have taken to her bed for nothing less than a week over Phoebe’s latest escapade. Quite how she’d have handled the notion of her prettiest daughter having to take Phoebe’s place didn’t even bear thinking about.
‘At least Mama would have let me have a season,’ Phoebe muttered, tracing the shadow of the afternoon sun across Sophie’s embroidered coverlet.
She couldn’t recall a time when they hadn’t gathered in this room to play, fight or dream up their latest theatrical adventure and she wondered despondently, how many of these cosy afternoons she had left with her sisters.
Tilly, the decoy maid, had been duly dispatched after a week, and apart from a stiff enquiry after the health of her wound, Thomas had avoided Phoebe’s company. She wasn’t entirely surprised – it was his way – but his absence of conversation about the earl and the wedding was making her nervous. It would be just like him to spring it on her when she was least expecting it.
‘I don’t see why you don’t just tell Thomas you’re too injured to marry soon,’ Matilda frowned, hoisting herself up onto the window seat. ‘That’s what I’d do… And then I’d light a beacon on Exmouth cliff, and wait for a pirate ship to come and find me!’
Everyone paused to look at Matilda, who was busy reaching out of the latticed window to grasp a large ivory magnolia petal.
‘Well … the first part has merit,’ Sophie considered. ‘Don’t lean out that far, dearest!’ she added sharply, ‘not unless you want to land in one of the groundsman’s barrows!’
Matilda laughed, and hooked a foot under the ledge.
‘It’s not such an untruth, anyway, is it?’ she grinned, ‘I heard you tell one of the grooms your shoulder was aching like the d––’
‘Yes, yes, dearest, it does ache a little,’ Phoebe interrupted, side-eyeing Sophie who was glaring intently.
‘I suppose it’s worth a shot though, isn’t it?’ Sophie mused after a beat. ‘I mean, even the earl couldn’t object to a period of convalescence after such a terrible fall from a horse.’ She rolled her eyes at the additional story Thomas had invented for the earl and remainder of their small Devon social circle. ‘Perhaps we could even badger Thomas for a trip away, somewhere?’
‘Mama would insist on Bath,’ Josephine muttered, still buried in her book, ‘and that Phoebe took the waters – like an old maid.’
They all started to laugh.
‘Well, it’s not exactly duelling with highwaymen or sailing the seven seas,’ Sophie managed, when she’d recovered, ‘but you wouldn’t be counting down the days at Knightswood, either.’
She reached to tuck a lock of tumbling hair from her sister’s face.
‘And you never know, Bath might actually prove to be unexpectedly adventurous? Just with less swords … and onions…’
Phoebe caught Sophie’s hand.
‘You know, I wouldn’t have expected you to take my place with the earl, not for all the tea in China,’ she muttered protectively.
‘It’s my duty, and…’
‘Maybe,’ Sophie returned, her eyes dancing with mischief, ‘but not quite yet! Why don’t we ask dear old Harriet to recommend a convalescence stay with Aunt and Uncle Higglestone, in Bath? Thomas could hardly refuse if it comes from Mama’s lady’s maid. She is the final arbiter on all things polite and proper, after all!’
Phoebe stared at Sophie, a glimmer of hope in her indigo eyes. Miss Harriet Godminster had retired after Mama’s death, and now lived in the local village, but she still held the kind of power afforded to all domestic staff who’d watched their charges grow out of breeches and petticoats.
Even Thomas was afraid of her.
‘I do believe dear Harriet would be happy to vouch for us,’ Phoebe returned with a slow smile, ‘especially since she considers I should be bed-bound with a lavender compress, anyway.’
‘Then it’s a plan!’ Sophie grinned. ‘And I shall persuade her we all need to accompany you – just to ensure you don’t over-excite yourself!’
‘In Bath? In March?!’ Phoebe remonstrated, yet even she had to admit to the new pulse of excitement seeping through her veins.
It wasn’t London or the Grand Tour, but it wasn’t Devon either, and who knew what could happen in ten whole weeks?! It was more than enough time for an adventure or two – perhaps even enough time to do something a little heroic…
‘What’s the plan? What’s devil’s brew?’ Matilda scowled, interrupting Phoebe’s daydream. ‘And why won’t anyone tell me what gentlemen are born with?!’