Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Six weeks, six days, and avoiding the viscount until the wedding
‘O h, my goodness! What did you say?’ Sophie breathed, her eyes as round as saucers as they stared up at the semi-ellipse of grand houses on the Royal Crescent.
‘I told him he was neither my guardian nor my brother, and how I spent my time was of no concern to him … which only made it a hundred times worse,’ Phoebe replied, her cheeks reddening at the memory of the previous disastrous evening. ‘I think we can safely say the viscount considers me the oddest, adventure-seeking harlot alive, with frogs’ eggs for brains.’
Sophie started to gurgle with laughter.
‘Well, odd adventure seeker I’ll allow, but harlot and frogs’ eggs is definitely a stretch!’
She eyed her sister curiously.
‘But he must have said something else? Before he put you in his carriage?’ She suppressed another laugh, likely at the thought of the infuriated viscount handing Phoebe into his crested carriage, clutching two halves of a dress and a widow’s cap.
Phoebe closed her eyes and shuddered.
‘He was in every way most solicitous,’ she muttered.
‘Oh well, I suppose that’s good…’ her sister began doubtfully.
‘No! Not good!’ Phoebe hissed. ‘He is the most arrogant, condescending, obnoxious person I’ve ever met! His eyes…’
‘Yes?’ Sophie waited, watching Josephine and Matilda run down the crescent green, bonnet ribbons streaming.
‘His eyes made every personal judgement it is possible to make! He followed me backstage, just waiting for an opportunity to confront me! How much he must have enjoyed extricating me, in my petticoats, from a dress fight… He even called me Mrs Smith …’
‘He put two and two together when he saw you with Aurelia in the Carlisle box,’ Sophie guessed, her eyes widening.
‘He must have,’ Phoebe groaned, wishing for the umpteenth time that morning that the ground would actually open up and swallow her whole.
‘You should tell him the truth, then.’ Sophie frowned. ‘That you were there for Aurelia!’
‘What? I may have frogs’ eggs for brains, but I am no betrothal wrecker! … No, I must avoid him, at all costs – forever.’
Phoebe stared after Matilda and Josephine, trying to ignore the violent twist of emotions in her core. So much for adventures – all they’d brought was ignominy and embarrassment. Perhaps the most heroic thing she could do now was to get married, and spare her sisters any further possible disgrace.
‘But there’s still the Damerel dinner,’ Sophie murmured. ‘Thomas has given Aunt his permission for us to attend, on account of it being in Bath and a private family affair.’
Phoebe nodded, the viscount’s parting words echoing in her head as the twist tightened.
‘ It’s time you left, lest I do something we all regret.’
‘And Aunt says she feels obliged to go,’ Sophie continued ‘on account of the viscount rescuing Matilda – and refusing a new suit…’
‘Then we will go to the dinner, and I will behave just as I ought,’ Phoebe returned, forcing a smile. ‘And that will be the end of our obligations.’
‘Do take care, Josephine, dear!’ Aunt Higglestone called, waving a kerchief from where she stood just a few paces behind Phoebe and Sophie. ‘We don’t wish to be calling Dr Cox this evening!’
‘A little light exertion will do her good, Aunt,’ Sophie reassured, watching her younger sisters startle a flock of pigeons before continuing their chase. ‘She’s been bedridden long enough.’
‘Oh, I do hope so,’ her aunt agreed fervently. ‘Speaking of health, Phoebe, dear, Thomas made an enquiry about your recuperation today. He also shared a few more details about your forthcoming nuptials!’
Sophie shot her silent sister a concerned glance.
‘He has received another visit from the earl, and they’ve settled on a wedding at the end of May. Just think, dearest, you’ll be a countess before the summer, and with all the fine dresses, jewels and horses any young lady could wish for. It is a triumph, indeed, and I know your dear Mama would have been so delighted for you! As I understand it, and on account of his age and health, the earl is going to request permission to wed quietly, and your brother has entrusted me with your honeymoon attire because…’
Their aunt rattled on, but Phoebe heard nothing past the end of May . Even by her own dazed calculations, that left little more than five weeks before her life was entirely over.
‘Oh, look, Aunt. Josephine has dropped her shawl!’ Sophie interjected suddenly. ‘We’ll go and retrieve it for her.’
She grabbed Phoebe’s arm and pulled her over the lawn towards their carefree younger sisters.
‘Look, I know it’s not what you want, Phoebs,’ she rushed as soon as they were out of earshot of their well-meaning relative. ‘And Lord knows, it’s not what you deserve. But all your efforts towards heroic adventures only seem to land you in trouble: duels, canals, mop-heads, acting debuts…’
Phoebe listened to her chatter on, wondering how to tell her that her terrible attempts at heroism were all that stood between her and the rest of her pitiful existence. That just as Sophie’s life was beginning, hers was ending, and she’d never felt so suffocated.
She opened her mouth, but it felt as though the canal weeds had wound their fronds around her words too.
‘Oh, look, Matilda has got her bonnet stuck in the tree!’ Sophie sighed in exasperation. ‘Honestly, you’d think they were still in the nursery!’
‘I’m fine,’ Phoebe managed finally, as they picked up their pace. ‘None of it is a surprise after all, and we both know Thomas won’t be content until his Monstrous Marriage Master Plan is well and truly underway. My only consolation is that at least you, Jo and Matty will have more say.’
‘Perhaps,’ Sophie qualified, frowning. ‘Though how much real choice any of us have with Thomas, is debatable. At least we know Lady Aurelia and the viscount are perfectly matched!’ she added, with a rueful smile. ‘They can be perfectly obnoxious together!’
Phoebe nodded as they reached the younger girls, who were attempting to dislodge the bonnet with old pine cones, but her thoughts were full of a disagreeable viscount, his fingers raking his perfect hair, staring at her as though she were a mud monster that had crawled out from the murky canal.
She closed her eyes and pulled off her own bonnet before handing it to Sophie.
‘Here, hold this,’ she instructed.
‘What? No wait! Phoebe!’ Sophie implored, but her sister was already swinging herself up into the lower branches.
‘Five weeks,’ Phoebe called. ‘I need to rescue all the stuck bonnets I can find!’
‘Yes! But not with half of Bath watching!’ Sophie wailed, while their younger sisters danced with excitement.
But Phoebe was a million miles away. Viscount Damerel was the most infuriating, interfering gentleman, and he clearly thought her behaviour so reprehensible as to warrant the highest censure.
So, why did the thought of his marrying Aurelia make her feel so woefully bereft?
With a final effort, her fingers closed around the offending bonnet and, forcing a smile, she turned to wave it at the small crowd of nosy matrons and their delighted offspring at the bottom of the tree.
She could barely understand it at all.