Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Five weeks and still avoiding the viscount until the wedding
‘I t is all the more reason why you must have the best mask!’ Sophie insisted, tying the gold filigree mask around Phoebe’s hair, and taking care to pull her coiled ringlets free of the black velvet ribbon.
Phoebe stared at her reflection, hardly recognising herself. She’d buckled under pressure and let Sophie dress her hair, while her aunt had marched her to Madame Paragon’s a few days before.
‘For we can hardly have a future countess going to a private family dinner in a mud-stained dress, now can we?’
Phoebe thought the canal water stains on her picnic dress hardly noticeable at all, but knew better than to refuse, and if an evening gown of pale blue silk net, with silk embroidery and a silk, satin trim felt a little extravagant, especially after recent events, she consoled herself with the thought that at least no one was going to fight her for it.
‘And now you look like a real heroine!’ Sophie concluded, standing back to admire her handiwork.
Phoebe pulled a face, but even she could see Sophie had outdone herself. She’d twisted and curled most of Phoebe’s dark copper hair up into the latest fashion, as described in La Belle Assemblée , before carefully pulling a few strands free to accentuate her shapely face and neck. Her mask, Sophie’s most recent acquisition from Madame Paragon, was shaped like an elegant golden butterfly and set with a thousand tiny rhinestones, which sparkled in the candlelight.
‘You look most elegant, my dear,’ her aunt smiled from the doorway, ‘the earl should watch his step!’
‘Perhaps he would, if he could see his own feet,’ Phoebe muttered.
Sophie giggled as their aunt frowned enquiringly.
‘Phoebe was just saying how much she loves her new dress!’ Sophie covered, pulling on a pair of gloves to match her own new gown of cream satin, which Madame Paragon had edged in French lace.
Their aunt had spared no expense, overriding objections with the argument that their mama wouldn’t want them to attend looking like country bumpkins.
‘Bath society is much more relaxed than London, my dears, and of course, this is a private family dinner at the direct invitation of the captain, but you must behave with the utmost propriety. Do I make myself clear? We must give no rise for gossip!’
Phoebe felt Sophie eyeball her across the room, knowing full well she was thinking about the many different ways in which her behaviour had already given rise to so much gossip. She nodded as sincerely as she could, certain that while Sophie might try to use the dinner to further her acquaintance with Captain Elliot, she was equally as determined to find the quietest corner and remain there.
She had no desire to see either Lady Aurelia or the viscount, or listen to any talk of betrothals, or fuel his impression that she was a disruptive country nobody whom he should have left to moulder at the side of the road. Furthermore, while she was dreading marriage to the earl, she was even less willing to bring her aunt, uncle, or the Fairfax family name into any further disrepute.
All of which left her fully resolved that this night would be the least heroic of her whole miserable existence.
* * *
Damerel Place turned out to be a large family townhouse in the Royal Crescent, and only a stone’s throw from the Assembly Rooms.
‘Trust the viscount’s family to have one of the smartest houses in the row!’ Sophie chattered, shuffling forward in her seat to get a better look at the looming Georgian townhouse, lit by an extravagant number of copper lanterns.
‘Hush now, dear, it’s not de rigueur to speak in such a way. One must merely remark how very fine it is, and then flick open one’s fan like so, see?’ Aunt Higglestone demonstrated with a twinkle in her eye.
Sophie giggled, while Phoebe remained silent. Somehow, actually seeing the viscount’s townhouse brought back their last meeting as clearly as though it were yesterday. She could still see the derision in his eyes, still hear the contempt in his tone when he handed her into his chaise, and bid his driver deliver her home.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. He was altogether the most obnoxious person of her acquaintance, and while he might have considerable reason to think her touched in the head, she hadn’t invited him to be her hero. She tightened her mask, fixed her smile and followed her aunt and Sophie into the viscount’s home.
The first thing to strike her was that Sophie’s impression was quite accurate. Set over five floors with a cerulean ballroom, Bath-stone stairs and far too many mirrors and pillars to count, the viscount’s townhouse was more accurately a town manor house.
The captain’s private dinner also seemed to be a vast understatement in itself, for there were more than thirty guests, a gaming room, a ladies’ retiring room, a dinner buffet that seemed to replenish itself and an impressive garden lit with a multitude of tiny candles.
‘Of course, a Damerel dinner wouldn’t just be dinner,’ their aunt muttered, wide-eyed as she wandered off in search of a sherry.
‘Oh, look! You’d think we were at an exotic palace!’ Sophie exclaimed as they reached a set of French doors that led out onto a wide, rolling lawn, which boasted crowing peacocks and a miniature maze among other ornamental decorations.
‘The peacocks?’ Phoebe murmured, scanning the garden carefully.
They’d left their aunt at a card table, and their uncle ensconced in a debate about the efficiencies of the new four-course crop-rotation system.
‘No, the pastries…’ Sophie glared. ‘Of course, the peacocks! Have you ever seen peacocks at a dinner party before?’
‘Oh, I’ve seen plenty of peacocks at a dinner party – peahens too, truth be known!’ A masked lady interrupted as she waltzed up to them with all the confidence of a debutante on the verge of notable marital success.
Phoebe scowled harder than she ever had in her life.
Aurelia could wear all the laced masks and violet taffeta she liked; but there was no mistaking her duplicitous china-doll eyes. She swayed as she paused, red wine in hand, and laughed while Phoebe stared, searching for any sign of the girl she’d glimpsed in the theatre box.
There was none.
‘I have nothing left to say to you, Aurelia,’ she said, taking Sophie’s arm.
It was the truth. She’d hidden the poultice inside a well-packed hat box, and dispatched it to Aurelia the following day.
‘Ah, well, yes, with regard to that,’ she smiled. ‘As it turned out, it wasn’t required after all, silly me!’
She paused to clamp a slim, gloved hand across her pretty mouth, her eyes dancing with mirth.
‘I was also curious to discover that you’d elected to leave the theatre early,’ she continued airily. ‘The viscount did seem unusually abrupt when he returned, but then I discovered you’d disclosed your identity and as he really can’t abide dishonourable behaviour of any kind…’
‘I wonder then at his marrying you!’ Sophie blazed protectively.
‘Captain Elliot!’ Phoebe greeted a newcomer forcefully. ‘I would recognise your immaculate uniform anywhere. How are you?’
‘Dearest Captain Elliot,’ Aurelia simpered instantly. ‘If you’ve come to claim my hand for a dance, you’ll be sadly disappointed for my card is full until the quadrille, which you may have I suppose, though I shall have to disappoint others.’
She fluttered her fan with practised ease.
‘There is dancing?’ Sophie exclaimed as the masked captain bent low over Aurelia’s hand. ‘I’m liking this dinner more and more!’
Phoebe studied them both carefully. Even if Aurelia had decided she was no longer with child, it didn’t mean the captain wasn’t originally involved. And yet her instincts told her he was no more involved than she.
‘Now that is a disappointment,’ he returned gallantly, ‘but perhaps one of the Misses Fairfax will oblige me with a waltz instead? For one can hardly attend a Damerel dinner dressed as a Romeo, and not hope for a dance with a Juliet after all.’
‘Indeed!’ Phoebe smiled, while Sophie positively beamed in his direction.
‘I’m sure there are many young ladies here who would like to claim that namesake. But alas, you seemed to have foiled our efforts this evening! Aren’t you at least supposed to pretend you don’t know us? Or are our masks entirely wasted?’
‘Not at all!’ He winked, before leaning forward conspiratorially. ‘Your aunt pointed you out, mostly out of sympathy for my nerves! Mama’s friends are forever trying to matchmake me with their prodigiously boring daughters…’
He pretended to shudder, his eyes alight with humour, and not for the first time Phoebe wondered at the twist of fate that had dealt two brothers such different personalities.
‘Well, I think Sophie would be most happy to help you in your hour of need,’ Phoebe smiled. ‘While I have promised Aurelia a swift turn about the gardens.’
With a sudden burst of purpose, she ignored her sister’s blushes, and propelled Aurelia out into the gardens.
‘Really, Phoebe! I am promised for the next few dances as I said?—’
‘And I won’t keep you from them,’ Phoebe interrupted, the moment they were out of earshot. ‘But I will say my piece and then we will be done.’
She turned to face Aurelia, never more serious in her life.
‘We made a deal and I expect you to honour it! I thought we could be friends,’ she continued, ‘even had moments when I thought I could understand you – feel empathy for you. But real friends don’t try to expose or undermine one another, especially those who have little enough control as it is.’
Aurelia waited, a gleam creeping into her eyes.
‘You said once that we weren’t that different, and I disagreed. Well, I take that back because you were right.’ Phoebe scowled. ‘We’re both pawns in a gentlemen’s game. Yet, unlike you, I don’t trade my friends for a fallible king! So, I say again, we made a deal and I expect you to keep to it. Stay away from me and stay away from my sisters. I hope you understand that, if nothing else.’
There was a brief pause while Aurelia paled with anger.
‘I never lied!’ she retorted, her lips white. I thought I was with child, and now I find I am not. And we were never the same – you think that because you grew up fighting with brothers and falling out of trees, you have some greater claim to the notion of equality? This fight has been raging a lot longer than you or I, and at least I don’t have double standards. I know all about the earl and trust me, I can’t wait for that little event to unfold!’
Phoebe stared, wondering why she ever tried to help.
‘ Why are you like this?’ she challenged after a beat. ‘And who told you about the earl?’
Aurelia laughed again, but this time there was a definite edge.
‘You country bumpkins are so ignorant! You wear such a ridiculous, hunted expression, anyone would guess at it. And besides, Viscount Damerel tells me everything . How we laughed when he relayed your duel with the highwayman, and your reluctance to return home to your brother…
‘Tut-tut, Phoebe, I’d keep your expectations to yourself if I were you, unless you wish the whole of Bath to know how particularly you tried to escape your own situation !’
Then she turned and swept back inside, leaving Phoebe alone with the curious peacocks, and the distant strain of the violins, warming up to the waltz.
‘What are you looking at?’ Phoebe threw at the nearest bird, before picking up her skirts and heading out into the garden.
It wasn’t long before the sweet-scented roses and climbing wisteria began to reach inside Phoebe’s unsettled thoughts. Damerel Place was tiny compared to Knightswood, or even the viscount’s country estate, but it had a soothing magic of its own, and soon she was far enough away from the house to think more clearly.
She already knew Aurelia didn’t care for her, but to believe she’d taken against her because of her notions on equality? That the viscount had told her about the duel and Thomas’s dressing down? What else may he have told her?
A strange and uncomfortable prickle reached up the back of her neck.
And why had Aurelia sought so hard to expose her when they both felt exactly the same frustrations, and were so blatantly fighting for the same thing?
She reached the southern-most garden wall, beyond the miniature maze and twinkling lanterns, before she allowed herself to pause. The spring night was scented with thyme and fresh honeysuckle, and she inhaled deeply, missing Knightswood more than ever. Which was when she noticed the swing, concealed inside an old magnolia tree, and far enough away for the sound of music to be almost drowned out by the churr of a dusk nightjar.
‘Perfect,’ she muttered, ducking beneath the low branches to reach the wide wooden seat.
Moments later, she was being lulled by its gentle rhythm and if it seemed unusual for a bachelor of the ton to possess such a distraction, her curiosity was swiftly replaced with a brief escape into memories of Knightswood and rides with Misty.
‘It’s been a few years since anyone has used it.’
Instantly, Phoebe executed a dismount that would have rivalled any of the village boys caught in the cider barn before harvest was done.
She spun, scanning the darkness, wondering if she’d finally taken leave of her senses.
‘A dismount worthy of a circus acrobat, Miss Fairfax!’ the voice came again. ‘Not that I’m surprised. I suppose I should be grateful we aren’t near a sword – or a canal – or a stage!’
This time the voice was accompanied by the dusky figure of a masked highwayman, emerging from the aged and dense branches behind the swing.
Phoebe inhaled to steady herself. It wouldn't matter how many masquerade outfits he wore, she would know his sculpted cheekbones anywhere. She stared at his careless Corinthian locks, and lips already parted as though in readiness for their next caustic set down.
‘Viscount Damerel tells me everything. How we laughed when he relayed your duel with the highwayman, and your reluctance to return home to your brother…’
A flare of fury tore through her.
‘Thank you,’ she forced, ‘for your assistance at the theatre. I was meeting someone backstage and your … intervention was appreciated.’
The muscle in the viscount’s cheek twitched, and for some inexplicable reason Phoebe caught her breath.
‘You are most welcome,’ he returned, taking a couple of steps forward and stilling the swing. ‘It was fortuitous that I am a trustee of the theatre. But I must own to being somewhat perplexed as to why either a debutante – or even the widowed cousin of a famous actress – would be fighting over her own dress in her petticoats? I suppose I might have further questions about kissing officers in a private Assembly Room,’ he continued, ‘though I persuade myself I might understand the interest there…’
There was a strained silence during which Phoebe wondered what the etiquette was when it came to landing the host of your first private dinner, another leveller.
Instead, she eyed him with contempt.
‘Tell me,’ she challenged after a beat. ‘Do you enjoy other people’s discomfort, or are you singling me out because you are labouring under some misguided notion that I actually need your help? I assure you, I have managed things quite well by myself for eighteen years. And, even though it is no business of yours, I kissed no one!’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ he replied evenly, the muscle in his cheek twitching again. ‘On both counts.’
Phoebe clenched her fingers tightly. How could a man who’d done nothing but interfere and infuriate affect her so? It made no sense that she wished him a thousand miles away while nowhere else at all, and could only conclude that he vexed her to the edge of insanity.
‘Who I kiss – whether I kiss – is entirely my business alone, as was my behaviour at the theatre, and at every other incident you’ve witnessed with extremely suspect timing. There were reasons, and they remain my reasons.’
He stepped forward then, soft shafts of moonlight falling across his face which, to her further annoyance, was clad in the best highwayman mask she’d ever seen, putting the sackcloth fraudster she’d sparred with to dire shame. She clamped her mouth closed lest it drop open. He really was the most irritatingly handsome man she’d ever set eyes upon.
‘A highwayman?’ she said scornfully to cover her hammering chest. ‘I thought it was a masked dinner party, not a game of charades!’
There was a poignant silence while he leaned against the wizened trunk.
‘Isn’t it always a game of charades?’ he returned languidly. ‘And I suppose you could say I was somewhat inspired by experience .’
Phoebe bit her lip, a bubble of laughter threatening everything.
‘Speaking of which, I trust you are fully recovered from your injury now?’
She gazed at him, recalling the moment he’d arrived at the roadside, like an incoming hero from one of Josephine’s novels. Even then, his appearance had both infuriated and intrigued her, despite everything. Her stomach lurched, and suddenly she was back in the library again, with his fingers brushing the cotton bodice of her nightgown, his breath warm on her skin. A strange shiver stole through her as she forced herself to meet his gaze. His eyelids had slunk lazily, but his gold-flecked eyes had never gleamed brighter across the small clearing between them. She swallowed, certain he was recalling exactly the same moment.
Yet this man had all but insulted her in every way possible, before recounting the whole to a person who’d made it their sole business to undermine and discredit her.
‘Quite recovered, thank you,’ she returned, gathering her scattered thoughts. ‘Now, if you’ll––’
‘Why are you out here?’
She paused as he sank down onto the swing seat, and for the first time she noticed his unsettled air.
‘I … miss home,’ she faltered, wondering how he’d react if she were to tell him the truth about his fiancée. ‘…I can’t breathe here.’
His gaze roamed from the top of her fashionably ringleted head to her silver-slippered feet, the air between them intensifying.
‘I feel the same way,’ he murmured, loosening his cravat. ‘And for the record, I much prefer your … understated look.’
He muttered the last words in a way that conjured memories of all the moments he’d berated her in less than suitable attire – a borrowed nightgown, a soaked picnic dress, corset and petticoats – and this time there was no denying her flush.
She swallowed, searching for something to say.
‘That is a highly improper thing to say,’ she muttered finally.
‘Since when did you care a jot about propriety?’
She looked up sharply and found his eyes had darkened in a way that wasn’t in the least bit apologetic.
‘You see, that is what intrigues me most about you,’ he continued. ‘You dress like a boy, you’ve more courage than most, you put the life of your sister before your own, and then you hide at a social dinner I would have thought you’d relish … given your impending nuptials.’
Phoebe flinched, her mind racing.
‘That’s really why you’re here, isn’t it?’ he asked, standing abruptly and removing his mask. ‘And it explains all the scrapes and adventuring, too. Because no matter how fearless you pretend to be, deep down … you’re terrified.’
Phoebe stared into his accusing eyes, feeling as exposed as she had the night of the library.
Which meant what now? More ridiculing? Something else to tell Aurelia?
She caught her breath.
‘I’ve said it before, but my behaviour is no business of yours!’ she scowled. ‘And just because there are some things I don’t yet…’
Phoebe tailed off as the viscount stepped towards her, his eyes glinting in the lowlight.
And suddenly it was there, the very same draw she felt the first night; a visceral heat that reached between them, intensifying the closer they drew, fading out every sound and fogging every thought except this moment. It was intoxicating and breathtaking and addictive all at once.
‘Why society mothers don’t tell their daughters more, I will never understand,’ he whispered when he reached her, picking a stray magnolia petal from her hair. ‘There are so many things I would like to tell you … to show you … given the chance.’
He spoke huskily, as though caught in the slew of a dream as his fingers dropped to the top of her bodice, and gently lingered across her warm, exposed skin as he pressed closer, until she could feel every hard line of his taut body.
Briefly she closed her eyes, listening to the thump of his chest, before summoning the willpower to pull away, reminding herself he was the same arrogant, promised viscount that had riled and thwarted her from the day they met.
She drew a ragged breath.
‘Yes, I’m sure that would be most entertaining ,’ she flared in a way that left him in no doubt as to whom she was referring.
His expression hardened abruptly.
‘I have never betrayed your confidence,’ he blazed, ‘except in frank admiration of a young woman who appeared unafraid of anything. If I spoke too freely, it’s because I’ve never met anyone quite like you!’
For a moment there was a poignant silence, when all Phoebe could hear were the evening crickets echoing the thump of her heart.
‘You must know,’ he added, his voice dropping again, ‘that ever since that night in my library you have … plagued me. You have stolen my peace in ways I cannot explain… I thought I had known every feeling there is to know, that no one could surprise me, but … I cannot help but believe that deep down, you know I am lost.’
His tone was more accusing than that of a lover, and yet it felt as though every blossom-strewn branch stilled to listen. Phoebe hardly dared breathe, so aware that she must be dreaming, that the most vexing man of her existence couldn’t be standing before her now, saying these things. And yet, it was his dark face that inclined towards her, and his lips that chased tiny, burning kisses down her neck in a way that made the glade spin like a top.
‘Tell me,’ he whispered hoarsely, when he came up for air, ‘tell me that you feel the same way? Tell me you think of nothing else? You must know, from the past few weeks, that I cannot stay away from you.’
Phoebe exhaled raggedly, every chance meeting and scathing judgement suddenly taking on new meaning. Could it really have been masking something else entirely?
He was so close she could count each of his eyelashes, while his eyes lingered on hers, almost as though he was scared to look away. She inhaled unsteadily, conscious of the oddest fluttering in the pit of her stomach, and suddenly she realised she was so close to tipping point – that it was happening again – whatever happened in his library.
Phoebe fought to order her thoughts. The viscount had been nothing but arrogant and interfering since the day they’d met, but he also made her feel more alive than anyone else she knew. And right now, if she didn’t do something, she would do everything , and that would be the biggest scandal of all her born days.
She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to think of Aurelia.
‘I suspect you are being missed,’ she forced coldly, turning before she could change her mind.
‘Wait!’ he entreated hoarsely, his warm breath on her neck as he slid his hands around her waist, drawing her back. ‘Don’t leave, say something…’
She inhaled, every disloyal limb burning to stay and yet somehow, she found the will to tear away and pelt across the dusky gardens towards the lights of Damerel Place.
‘Miss Fairfax, is that you scaring the peacocks?’
Phoebe slowed as two figures loomed out of the darkness – the captain with one of his friends, a stockier soldier with a long moustache, coiled dark hair and gentle eyes.
She inhaled shakily, genuinely relieved to see a friendly face, and tried to assemble her scattered thoughts.
‘Miss Phoebe Fairfax, please may I present to you Lieutenant Kapoor of the East India Company: a friend, a crack shot, and one of the best physicians I know.’
The captain threw his arm around his friend, who shrugged him off with a swift glance. Phoebe smiled politely, pretending not to notice.
‘Captain Elliot, Lieutenant Kapoor, it’s a pleasure to meet you,’ she nodded, bobbing a swift curtsey.
‘As it is you, Miss Fairfax, a delight!’ Lieutenant Kapoor returned, bowing low.
She liked him instantly.
‘Are you in Bath for long?’ she rushed, conscious of the silence behind her.
‘I’m fortunate enough to be staying here at Damerel Place, at the viscount’s invitation,’ Lieutenant Kapoor replied. ‘Until the regiment moves on, that is. Then where the regiment goes, I go, too.’
He looked across at the captain and smiled, and for some reason, he looked faintly apologetic.
Phoebe nodded, conscious her pulse was still racing.
‘And from whom do you run, Miss Fairfax?’ Captain Elliot grinned.
‘Surely no adversary is too great for our intrepid, pirating adventurer?’ He turned to warn off the darkness with dramatic flourish and was rewarded with a screech from the nearest peacock, making them all laugh.
‘I wish I had half the fortitude you imagine,’ Phoebe exhaled.
The captain threw her a brief, quizzical look just as two more silhouettes loomed out of the darkness towards them.
‘Oh, there you are! I’ve been looking everywhere!’ Sophie began to remonstrate before she spied her sister’s company.
‘Oh! Captain Elliot, do excuse me for interrupting,’ she exclaimed, flushing prettily. ‘I did so enjoy our dance earlier.
‘Phoebe, where have you been? Aunt is going frantic trying to find you! I tried the buffet and card rooms but you were nowhere to be seen, so I thought?—’
‘The Earl of Cumberland is here, Miss Fairfax!’
Phoebe started as Aurelia emerged from the semi-gloom, a triumphant expression on her face.
‘He’s talking to your delightful aunt, who has just launched into quite the explanation for your attendance here this evening. Of course, the earl is an old family friend of the Damerels, so his attendance at a private family dinner is hardly a surprise,’ she added, her eyes glittering.
‘And, I do believe he’s mentioned a dance…?’
She paused to tinkle with laughter, as everyone turned to Phoebe. Phoebe forced a smile, though a strange chill was reaching through her.
The earl shunned the season and socialising – it was his reason for a no-fuss wedding – so why would he choose to be here tonight? And why was the universe insistent on moving in such tiny circles?
She swallowed, inordinately grateful for both her mask and the night.
‘Now, I must return,’ Aurelia added, bestowing her most dazzling smile on the captain, ‘for I’m promised to the viscount for a dance, and in truth, we make such a handsome couple – do we not?’
‘Indeed, you do!’ the captain replied, though his tone was noticeably cooler.
Satisfied, Aurelia spun on her satin heels, and disappeared back towards the lilting music, leaving Phoebe to stare after her, suppressing a rise of emotion she couldn’t even begin to understand.
‘So modest,’ Sophie muttered beneath her breath.
‘Are you feeling quite well, Miss Fairfax?’ the captain added with a slight frown. ‘Do you wish to sit down? Or shall I procure a glass of water, perhaps?’
‘How kind you are, Captain Damerel!’ Sophie beamed, ‘but you should know my sister has the constitution of an ox! Do let’s hurry, dearest,’ she added, slipping her arm through Phoebe’s, who’d fallen as silent as the night around them. ‘Aunt bid me not to keep the earl waiting.’
‘Then we must bid you both adieu,’ the captain returned gallantly, ‘and assure you of our service, whenever it may be of assistance!’
Phoebe nodded, with the faintest of smiles, before heading towards the house.