Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Three weeks and lying to everyone until the wedding
‘I ’m almost grateful we weren’t presented at the beginning of the season now,’ Phoebe murmured, swirling her glass of steaming water. ‘All the primping and preening, and dos and don’ts, just for an Assembly Ball in honour of the new King George – it’s enough to give anyone the headache!’
‘Almost as much as the gossip in the Pump Room!’ Sophie added, gazing up at the statue of Beau Nash.
‘Or the mud water !’ Matilda interjected.
‘Or the goddess Minerva!’ Josephine added thoughtfully.
They all looked quizzically at their most bookish sister.
‘I read something about there being an ancient Temple to the Roman goddess in these parts,’ she clarified, ‘possibly even beneath our feet!’
‘You think the goddess Minerva is slowly poisoning us?’ Matilda scowled, staring into her cloudy glass. ‘Perhaps she disapproves of Phoebe’s wedding as well!’
‘Matilda!’ Sophie hushed, glancing around.
‘What? Harriet said the Roman goddesses loved blood sacrifices!’ Matilda protested.
‘That may be, but I’d hazard they also know what secret means!’ Sophie retorted.
‘Blood sacrifices apart, I’m very happy you’re here today.’ Phoebe smiled at Josephine, changing the subject. ‘We’d all but given up hope of you being allowed.’
‘Aunt gave me strict instructions not to cough!’ Josephine rolled her eyes. ‘Which is a lot trickier than it sounds.’
Phoebe nodded, eyeing her carefully. Josephine still hadn’t recovered fully, and she couldn’t help but wonder whether her sister should be out at all.
‘I’ll make you a honey tonic later,’ she promised.
‘When you’re a countess, you’ll be too important to make honey tonics!’ Josephine replied, her eyes bruised with exhaustion.
Phoebe smiled to cover a dart of fear; it was true: no one knew her sister’s affliction the way she did.
‘I’ll still have Sophie,’ Josephine soothed, as if she could read Phoebe’s mind, ‘and we can write down all your top-secret tonics and tinctures before you leave, so we’ll have plenty of remedies to try if we need them.’
‘Well, I’ll drink poisoned water to that,’ Phoebe rallied. ‘And who’s to say you won’t all be able to come and stay with me? I have it on excellent authority that the earl has several huge houses, and I think we should put them all to good use!’
‘He might not like that!’ Matilda mused. ‘But, as a countess you can probably do exactly as you please – perhaps even chop off people’s heads!’
‘Matilda!’ Sophie protested, while Phoebe and Josephine started to laugh.
‘Who’s losing their head? And for what crime?’ a jovial voice interrupted, making them all look up.
‘The earl – if he won’t have us to stay!’ Matilda returned, with a scowl.
‘How lovely to see you, Captain Elliot!’ Sophie exclaimed swiftly.
Phoebe looked at the captain in his spotless military uniform; his medals gleaming and his fair hair groomed into the latest fashion. He was a respected, upstanding officer – a veteran of Waterloo, no less – and yet he hid a secret that could change everything in a heartbeat. She might not know how two gentlemen could love one another, but a discreet enquiry had confirmed that the most severe penalty awaited, should such a relationship ever be discovered.
‘Captain Elliot!’ She smiled at him warmly.
He bent over her hand with his usual flourish, and yet she could sense a slight wariness, too. In a rush, she realised he must have heard Fred shout her name in the park, that he was wondering whether she knew his secret and would keep it, too. She met his gaze, certain there was a brief acknowledgement, before Matilda gasped.
‘Of course! The captain can shoot the earl in a duel if he refuses to let us stay!’ she exclaimed. ‘Captain, please shoot the earl, then we can all move in permanently – Phoebe can look after Josephine, Sophie can design pelisses, and I…’
They all waited, their expressions ranging from delight to abject horror.
‘And I can become a pirate!’ she finished, triumphantly. ‘Anyway, no one need be in the doldrums anymore because I have fixed it all!’
‘Does Miss Sophie have aspirations in the … er … ladies’ fashion industry?’ Captain Elliot enquired, eyes dancing.
‘Not yet, but she should!’ Matilda grinned, attracting the disapproval of several mamas whose own delicate offspring were behaving with the utmost propriety. ‘She is forever sketching the things, and Lord knows she talks about fashion enough!’
‘That is quite enough, Matilda!’ Aunt Higglestone exclaimed, bustling up next to them. ‘I do apologise, Captain Elliot. Matilda is a very spirited child, with a lot of spirited ideas.’
‘Not at all, Mrs Higglestone,’ the captain replied gamely. ‘A young lady with both spirit and ideas is very special indeed! Consider me at your disposal, General Matilda, your word is my command!’
Then he bowed as an unapologetic Matilda was whisked away, to endure one of Aunt Higglestone’s longer monologues on appropriate conversational topics in the Pump Room.
‘ One really should restrict oneself to the weather, and the health of the person with whom one is conversing ,’ Josephine parroted with a giggle.
‘Don’t you start, Josephine Fairfax!’ Sophie declared. ‘It’s bad enough the captain thinks we have one shameless villain in the family!’
‘I would be disappointed if there weren’t more!’ The captain winked, making Sophie flush.
‘It really is lovely to see you this morning, captain!’ Phoebe insisted, wondering again if she was doing her sister any favours by withholding the truth.
He’d clearly perfected the art of distraction, perhaps with too little consideration for the effect of his attentions. She could only hope his unit would be recalled soon, and his absence would prove a gentle let down.
‘How are you finding the waters?’ she added.
‘The waters, I confess, are the least of the attractions this morning,’ he smiled.
‘You’re such an incorrigible flatterer, Captain Elliot.’ Sophie giggled, tapping his forearm with her new French lace fan.
‘Oh, the captain is certainly a flatterer!’ a musical voice trilled. ‘A flatterer and a jester, are you not, sweet Captain Elliot, no matter what idle gossipers might say.’
Phoebe frowned as Aurelia paused next to the captain.
‘And Captain Elliot Damerel always keeps his admirers close to his heart, don’t you, dear captain?’ she added with a tinkling laugh. ‘All sorts of admirers.’
‘It is the best and most noble place to keep them!’ Phoebe injected swiftly, aware the captain had gone unusually quiet.
‘Indeed,’ he nodded gratefully. ‘A gentleman never divulges anyone’s confidence. It would be most … dishonourable.’ He bowed sombrely. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me.’
‘Lady Aurelia! How are you?’ Sophie muttered, as the captain took his leave.
‘Oh, I’m positively radiant!’ Aurelia smiled archly, lifting her hand in a way that invited everyone to admire the emerald stone on her engagement finger.
‘I am somewhat accustomed to the idea of being promised to the viscount, so our betrothal isn’t exactly news. And we aren’t to marry until my twenty-first birthday, of course, but he has been most attentive since the announcement.’ She turned to Phoebe. ‘Still, you know all about that, don’t you, Phoebe? Now that your own special announcement is on the horizon?’
Her voice had softened, but there was no mistaking the subtle crow.
‘Indeed,’ Phoebe replied coldly. ‘And I am most grateful I’ve not had to rely on the confidence of others to make it thus far.’
Aurelia stared for a second, before smiling slowly, showing her pearly white teeth.
‘What a strange creature you are,’ she murmured. ‘I do hope you revise your manners once you’re married, for the earl will surely expect his countess to behave better than a common actress!’
‘Indeed, well I hope you revise your tongue when you’re married, for a countess will surely expect a viscountess to show more respect!’ Phoebe retorted.
‘Phoebe,’ Sophie whispered as Aurelia whitened, before reaching for the arm of a gentleman in conversation behind her.
It was already too late when Phoebe realised it was the viscount.
‘Did you hear, Alexander?’ Aurelia quizzed. ‘Miss Fairfax believes I should curtsey and simper on account of her forthcoming nuptials . ’
The viscount stared briefly, before appearing to collect himself.
‘Those are the rules, Aurelia,’ he replied abruptly. ‘I understand we will be addressing you as Countess before the month is out, Miss Fairfax. May I offer you my felicitations.’ He nodded, avoiding her gaze. ‘And now, if you will excuse me…’
Phoebe nodded, her chest hollowing as the viscount bowed and walked away, as indifferent as the day they met.
‘These notorious rakes of the haute ton!’ Aurelia sighed. ‘It is such a skill to retain their attention – thankfully that is a role for which I’ve been preparing my whole life.’
Phoebe wondered if she was imagining the relief in her voice.
‘What a sad prospect,’ she replied, after a beat. ‘For a girl to be prepared for life solely on the basis of the husband she will attract and marry? Far better she is prepared to think for herself, for the gentlemen I know rarely think beyond their own situation.’
‘Oh, I am all in favour of thinking for oneself, as I’m sure you’ll agree!’ Aurelia retorted. ‘But I’m also a realist. Society works a certain way, and we cannot change it. Any talk or behaviour to the contrary just makes a man vexed and, as we know, a vexed man is … unforgiving.’
She levelled her gaze straight at Phoebe, triumph in her eyes.
‘I do not accept that the only way forward is deception,’ Phoebe returned sharply. ‘If we do not try to influence things for the better, how can we look for change? We will go on living this same meaningless existence?—’
‘It isn’t meaningless if we’re exactly where we wish to be, living exactly how we wish to live! Have I not explained this already?’
‘All you have explained is a willingness to expose others to ridicule and danger!’ Phoebe replied, her anger flaring. ‘Because the hard, inescapable truth is, you’re as trapped as the rest of us!’
She watched Aurelia’s smile die with satisfaction.
‘From the moment we met, you’ve done nothing but scheme and deride and undermine, and while I may not understand the extent of your disdain, I do know this – the one thing you long for, the thing that evades you during the day, and keeps you awake through the night, is the same for you as it is for all of us – your freedom!’
‘No!’ Aurelia hissed, making several mamas in the vicinity look up with interest. ‘I’ve never wanted anything more than my birthright,’ she defended furiously. ‘In exchange, I will do those things that are required of a society wife – and in between, I will live my life exactly how I choose.
I fail to see how I could be freer!’
‘Playing dubious parlour games? Spooking horses? Relying on strangers to help you with spots of bother ?’ Phoebe challenged, shrugging off Sophie’s warning hand. ‘Oh, yes, I can see why those adventures would capture any heroine’s imagination! Tell me, when was the last time you made a real decision?’
‘I have as much freedom as I want!’ Aurelia fired back. ‘If I wish to … race phaetons at dawn, I can and I will!’
‘Done!’ Phoebe glowered.
‘Phoebe?’ Sophie enquired nervously.
‘Name the day!’ Aurelia growled.
‘A race to the death!’ Josephine nodded approvingly, her eyes shining.
‘Phoebe, I really think…’ Sophie tried again.
‘Sunday. Name the route!’ Phoebe demanded.
‘Pulteney Bridge, Great Pulteney Street, Sydney Gardens – finish at the Sydney Hotel,’ Aurelia reeled off without drawing breath. ‘A dawn meet and a fifty-pound stake, unless you wish to apologise! You forget, there is more than one way to win!’
Then she swept away, leaving Phoebe to Sophie’s wide-eyed despair.
‘Oh, Phoebe.’ She shook her head. ‘What if Thomas hears of it? Or the earl?!’
‘They won’t,’ Phoebe seethed, lifting her chin. ‘Besides, you heard Aurelia: it’s a matter of honour now. She issued a challenge, and I can’t not meet it.’
‘When will you see that you don’t have to act like a man, to know you are as courageous as one?’ Sophie despaired. ‘Especially when the stakes are so high? Aurelia’s parents are members of the haute ton, with connections enough to hush anything up. But you? If this comes out, Thomas will cut you off – or worse! You’re risking everything for someone who could fit all they know about heroism into a snuffbox! You must apologise, before it’s too late.’