The Mismatch of the Season

Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Two weeks and one royal presentation until the wedding

I t turned out that considering an Assembly Ball presentation, a betrothal announcement, a dawn phaeton race and an elopement to the Scottish border, all within the same twenty-four-hour period, was enough to give anyone the headache, let alone the least heroic of them all.

‘I have no idea why the captain should write to you, unless it was to offer his felicitations which, of course, I would understand as he is proper above all things.’ Sophie frowned over a luncheon of sandwiches and cake. Carefully, she sliced off the crust of her sandwich and popped it in her mouth. ‘I was the one to write the letter of urgency when Josephine had her excessively dramatic moment,’ she continued, ‘and I maintain, the only reason Dr Kapoor came so quickly – quite apart from his hippo… Hippo…’

‘Don’t recall a hippo?’ Matilda interjected through a mouthful of almond cake.

‘Hush, dear, don’t speak of hippos with your mouth full,’ Aunt Higglestone admonished.

‘Oh, Lord…’

‘Sophie!’ her aunt warned.

‘Don’t recall any of those, either,’ Matilda added, eye-spying her sister through a napkin ring.

‘I was just trying to think of that promise doctors make?’

‘The Hippocratic oath,’ their uncle supplied, behind an article about nectar-rich honeysuckle.

‘That’s it!’ Sophie exclaimed, stabbing another sandwich. ‘That’s what the captain called it. All doctors have to swear an oath, which obliges them to save lives, even in the middle of the night!’ She sliced another crust off her sandwich and popped it into her mouth.

‘How tiresome for doctors!’ Josephine chimed, her hollowed eyes dancing.

Phoebe smiled to cover her anxiety. The idea of leaving Josephine while she was still in recovery was only outweighed by the fact that the captain would be far more understanding than the earl, if she needed to return.

‘He wrote only to pass on his felicitations ahead of tonight’s announcement,’ she mumbled, over a pastry broken into so many pieces that no one noticed she hadn’t eaten a crumb.

Briefly, she imagined her betrothal announcement at the Ball and closed her eyes. All those congratulations to get through, all that scrutiny by ambitious mamas, only to sneak out at dawn for a race of honour, followed by an elopement scandal that Thomas would never forgive.

She still couldn’t believe she’d made up her mind to accept, and yet what real choice did she have? The captain and Dr Kapoor were in grave danger, and she would never forgive herself if something happened and she could have prevented it.

‘Is that all?’ Sophie jibed, prodding her sister in the ribs, before selecting a thin slice of fruit cake. ‘I was merely asking because I couldn’t see the letter when I looked in your dressing table.’

‘Sophie!’ Phoebe exclaimed, while Josephine and Matilda fell about laughing.

‘Sophie, dearest, it really isn’t polite to look for or read Phoebe’s letters without her permission,’ their aunt reprimanded, fanning herself. ‘And in truth, I’m sure both of you have a few other matters to consider just now, such as your formal presentation in a few hours? Oh, my dears, whatever would your dear mama and papa say if they were here? Your uncle and I are so proud of you!’

She beamed then, before turning her misty-eyed gaze on her husband, who grunted his assent, having moved onto a literary discussion on the benefits of hive-keeping.

Phoebe inhaled deeply, certain that whatever their dear parents might have said on the matter, would have been entirely retracted come morning.

* * *

Phoebe stared at her reflection in the Higglestone’s coach window, barely recalling the tree-climbing, adventure-bound girl she’d left behind in Devon.

Instead, she looked every inch a young society debutante on the cusp of marital success. Her dress was in the very latest fashion; an ivory gown with a silk net overlay and a satin trim embroidered with tiny trailing rosebuds, while its puffed sleeves and whole skirt had just the right amount of fullness.

It was altogether a very romantic affair and even she had to admit that with her hair twisted up in the cover-style of La Belle Assemblée , no one would think her the least bit capable of brandishing a parasol as a sword. She turned to Sophie, a Pre-Raphaelite vision in white, and sparkling at the prospect of having her own presentation brought forward by a year.

‘I suppose having an almost countess in the family brings its privileges,’ she whispered, adjusting one of Phoebe’s cascading ringlets. ‘You look beautiful this evening, Phoebs,’ she added, pulling her sister into a brief hug. ‘I’m so proud to call you my sister.’

Phoebe returned the gesture, blinking fiercely. This was the night that would change everything and set her on a path from which there would be no return. Once she left town in the company of Captain Elliot, she would be considered compromised by most of the polite world, and her marriage would merely save her sisters from similar ruin.

She held Sophie a moment longer, knowing her plan was also going to create a rift that even time would struggle to heal. She was certain her sister’s real affections were not engaged for the captain, and yet she also knew her elopement to the border would feel a bitter disloyalty. She could only hope that, in time, Sophie would understand.

‘Now, then, my dears,’ their aunt began, seated opposite, ‘while this isn’t St James’s Palace, it is the Upper Assembly Ballroom, and from what I understand, King George likes to enjoy himself at these affairs. Your presentation is a little late in the season, but he has made an exception given Phoebe’s imminent marriage to the earl. He will likely say little during your actual presentation, but if he does, just smile and offer polite commentary about the local sights, or waters. And for goodness’ sake, let there be no mention of mud! If the conversation falters, you can always offer a short compliment about Brighton Pavilion.’

‘We’ve never been!’ Sophie objected.

‘Neither have we, my dear, and by all accounts, it’s quite monstrous, but you mustn’t say that to the king! Now, then, let us make haste. Your uncle is to wait with your brothers, and you are to be presented as soon as the Ball gets underway. You really are quite privileged, my dears.’

Phoebe followed their aunt through the Assembly Ball crush, which was no surprise given the imminent arrival of His Majesty, wondering how Sophie could look so serene. Briefly, she wondered if anyone would miss her if she escaped into one of the quieter rooms for a while, but every way she turned there was another ambitious mama and her dutiful daughter or son, wishing her well.

Finally, Thomas and Fred loomed into view in the corner of the ballroom, engaged in conversation with Uncle Higglestone. Thomas stepped forward to greet them, a smug smile pinned to his face, and her spirits sank even lower.

‘Ah, there she is, the young lady of the hour!’ he pronounced, holding a brandy glass aloft. ‘I must admit to having doubts you would ever know your duty, Phoebe, but tonight you exceed even my expectations. You look quite the dazzling debutante!’

He smiled then, his teeth glinting in the candlelight.

‘Like a countess to be!’ her uncle added in a rare moment of presence, taking two glasses of champagne from a passing footman.

‘Indeed she does, Mr Higglestone!’ Her aunt beamed, accepting one of the proffered glasses. ‘I was only saying so this morning – Phoebe has just the right fortitude and spirit for life as a countess. I’m sure her dear mama would have?—’

‘That’s the herald!’ Fred interrupted, flashing Phoebe a glance of intense sympathy. ‘I think His Majesty may have arrived!’

‘Oh, my dears, oh my dears,’ Aunt Higglestone mumbled, fanning herself with a new lilac broderie fan, purchased especially for the occasion.

Phoebe could never understand how anything with so many holes could provide any useful service, but forced a smile as Sophie slipped her arm through her own. She squeezed it momentarily, conscious this moment was as important to her sister, as it was doom-laden for her.

‘Viscount Damerel, Captain Elliot Damerel…’ proclaimed the Assembly Room announcer. ‘The Marchioness Carlisle and Lady Aurelia Carlisle.’

‘Witness the predators stalking their prey!’ Sophie whispered, beaming in the captain’s direction.

Fred smirked, but Phoebe’s thoughts were elsewhere entirely, consumed by the viscount’s glance through the crowds, his eyes dark, his face devoid of warmth, just as it had been at Prior Park. A dull flush crept across her cheeks as she pulled her gaze away, only to lock eyes with the captain, his usual carefree manner replaced with something far more sombre. He nodded briefly, before following his brother into the main Assembly Room.

‘No Doctor Kapoor?’ Sophie mumbled, confused by the captain’s brief acknowledgement. ‘Do you think he has been called up by his regiment? Perhaps the captain has received news, too…?’ Her voice trailed off uncertainly as the marchioness and Aurelia paused beside them.

‘Mrs Higglestaff, and the lively MissesFairfaxes!’ the marchioness pronounced, her vulturous gaze running over their debutante dresses. ‘How lovely it is to see you all, but then, one is rarely allowed to miss you… I see you’ve been keeping Madame Paragon busy, and French silk is always such a gamble. Do enjoy your evening!’

‘Thank you … it’s Higgle stone ,’ their aunt murmured faintly as the marchioness moved on.

‘I trust you’re in fine spirits, Miss Fairfax.’ Aurelia paused behind the marchioness, her china-doll eyes gleaming. ‘It could be a long night!’

‘Indeed, I am!’ Phoebe forced brightly. ‘There’s nothing I like so well as an evening of adventure, especially if it brings forth a victory.’

A strange smile played around Aurelia’s lips.

‘One can hardly be ignorant of your impending announcement, Miss Fairfax – and it’s such a relief your brother can finally consider your papa’s gambling debt settled, too!’

Phoebe paused, feeling as though the room had suddenly shrunk a little.

‘Oh! Don’t tell me you didn’t know ?’ Aurelia exclaimed artlessly. ‘I thought someone must have told you by now? After all, it has been an open secret among the ton these past twenty years…’

A dull pulse began to thud in Phoebe’s ears as Aurelia shook out her fan, and tittered.

‘I believe you were a stake in faro, or some such thing?’

‘That’s impossible!’ Sophie replied scornfully. ‘Papa didn’t gamble!’

‘Oh, I’m talking about long before you were born, when he and my mother were betrothed.’

This time both sisters paused.

‘La! Does no one tell you poor country mice anything?’ Aurelia purred. ‘Well, you see, your papa and my mother were quite the love match – quite unbelievable, isn’t it – until my grandparents put an end to it. And by all accounts, your papa was as much a gambling man as any, if not worse. He and the earl considered themselves true Corinthians , my mother says, living life to every excess including gambling for the highest stakes! It’s why your papa married an heiress and retired to the country – he had no choice. But not before he gambled away the hand of his first-born daughter to his best friend, the earl, should he ever choose to marry. Looks like the earl decided it was time to call in his oldest debt!’

There was a moment’s shocked silence, while Aurelia glittered with triumph. Then she swept away, leaving Phoebe to stare after her, entirely bereft of words.

‘Take no notice,’ Sophie whispered fiercely, ‘she’s provoking you ahead of the race, nothing more.’

Phoebe nodded, wanting to believe Sophie with all her heart and yet knowing, somehow , that every word Aurelia had spoken was true.

Apart from anything else, it made so much sense: Papa’s dying wish, Thomas’s insistence she honour it, the earl’s ease with the arrangement – he had owned her all her life, after all – and the looks of sympathy she’d detected among senior members of the ton, too, those old enough to recall the rash promise of a young gambling rake.

Nausea climbed into her throat as she acknowledged Papa’s will had contained not so much a dying wish, as an old gambling record. She was a debt recovered, no more.

Could anyone be any less heroic in their whole life?

‘He’s here, he’s here.’

A mutter of excitement filled the air as four footmen, clad in gold-embossed violet, entered the lobby. Phoebe swallowed, her scattered thoughts overwhelmed by the fuss around her.

‘It’s time, my dears.’ Aunt Higglestone bustled forward, entirely oblivious to the drama that had just played out.

‘Remember, heads up, eyes down, speak only when spoken to and no mention of mud!’

* * *

Phoebe soon discovered that being presented to the king was rather akin to having a tooth drawn. There was a great deal of agonised waiting, for a short consultation that delivered immediate relief once it was all over.

And King George IV was the most ostentatious person Phoebe had ever encountered in her life. Tall, rotund, and with his silver locks brushed into a style of which Beau Brummell himself would have been proud, he oozed charm, fine jewels and an old rakish demeanour that made Phoebe feel distinctly grateful for his short dialogue, which comprised four words only.

‘ Ah, the Fairfax girl!’

Which left her in no doubt whatsoever that the king was also aware of past events that had brought her whole sorry existence to this point. And it was this burning thought that ensured she escaped his interest as swiftly as possible, and watched Sophie’s far more graceful presentation from a quiet corner of the Upper Assembly Room.

‘You’re in luck today,’ a voice murmured behind her. ‘I’ve heard the king is still in a temper with Princess Caroline, and isn’t in the mood for long interviews.’

Phoebe inhaled silently, and kept her eyes trained forward.

‘He looks as though he’s in mourning,’ she managed, despite the twist in her core.

The viscount stepped out of the shadows, downing the rest of his brandy.

‘Those aren’t mourning clothes. Beau Brummell told him he looked better in dark colours, and he hasn’t worn anything else since. As I was saying, he detests Princess Caroline, offered her everything so she would stay out of the country. But she’s returned, anyway… One would hope marriage would result in a rather less fractious state of affairs.’

Phoebe’s eyes flickered up to meet the viscount’s intense stare.

‘I’m aware their marriage isn’t exactly a love match,’ she returned.

A small satirical smile played across his lips, gold flecks glinting in the low light.

‘Does such a thing exist within the confines of Almack’s and the Pump Room?’ he quizzed.

She stared at his unflinching expression before pulling her gaze back to Sophie, who was conversing quite comfortably with His Majesty. In the same breath, she caught sight of the Earl of Cumberland, clad in striped pantaloons, and a grotesque mustard waistcoat, on the opposite side of the room.

‘It would appear not.’ She exhaled. ‘One can hardly blame Princess Caroline for pursuing some happiness of her own.’

‘And what of your happiness, Miss Fairfax?’

She glanced up and it was there, weighing the air between them, a draw so strong she wanted nothing more than to ignore the world and everyone else in it.

But what good were brief, fractured thoughts that couldn’t be expressed or acted upon? They meant nothing, trapped in time forever, like his fevered declaration beneath the magnolia tree.

Was he thinking about that, too?

‘I’ve been meaning to apologise,’ he muttered in a low voice, ‘for my behaviour… It was unforgivable.’

Phoebe stared, wondering for which part he was apologising.

‘I wouldn’t call it—’ she started.

‘It was unforgivable,’ he repeated. ‘Dr Kapoor has made it abundantly clear that you saved Florence’s life that night, and I should have thanked you – wholeheartedly – not berated you. By some small way of recompense, I have offered to fund his research into Asthma Therapy, if the army will agree to a period of leave.’

‘I… Thank you!’ Phoebe flushed in genuine shock. ‘That means a great deal, and I’m sure Dr Kapoor is honoured,’ she added, wondering if the viscount was also aware of the rumours about the doctor and his brother.

‘If I may be permitted any defence, Miss Fairfax, it is only that I am somewhat coloured by experience. We have come close to losing Florence through lung afflictions so many times, I have become somewhat overprotective. But then it is in my nature, you see. When I care, I care too much.’

Phoebe nodded, a strange sensation threading through her tense limbs.

Of course she understood, didn’t she have the same instinctive fire when Matilda slipped into the canal at Sydney Park, when Josephine was struggling to breathe, or even when she herself was preparing to bruise Sophie’s heart?

It was love – wrongly guided at times – but love all the same.

‘So, I mean it when I say I am indebted to you, Miss Fairfax. And while I will not plague you with unwanted attentions again, my services remain yours to call upon – whenever they are needed.’

She caught her breath and all at once they were back in the garden, gold flecks burning, lips shaping words she longed to believe with all her heart.

And yet she was bound by the reckless promise of a dead man, and he to the most duplicitous girl of her aquaintance. He was in no position to offer anything, and suddenly she could no longer bite her tongue.

‘How can I believe anything you say? One moment you’re making the wildest proclamations, the next you’re treating me like a common criminal! You interfere, judge, tell me I’m all manner of disrespectful things and then claim I’ve stolen your peace? And all before behaving as though we’re veritable strangers again! You are the most confusing person I’ve ever known!’

‘I found you in your corset and petticoats, backstage at the Theatre Royal! With a powdered wig upon your head!’ the viscount returned, tautly.

‘That was my hair!’

‘Really! What of fighting a highwayman in your brother’s breeches? Dangling after one of Elliot’s unit? Riding under the influence of noxious substances or engaging in a common brawl with a bevy of actresses – all while secretly engaged to the Earl of Cumberland! – and I’m the confusing one? I may not have always behaved perfectly, Miss Fairfax, but I hope I have, at least, behaved with honour!’

His face was etched in shadows, as though his words were costing him deeply. Phoebe drew a deep breath, her head swimming with the many times in which the viscount’s behaviour hadn’t been in the least bit honourable and furious that she couldn’t even begin to defend her own.

‘I thank you for your offer, sir,’ she returned in a clipped tone, forcing her gaze across the room at the ridiculous earl. ‘But I find myself quite content.’

It was, without any doubt, the biggest untruth she’d ever told.

He scowled then, the muscle in his cheek working overtime, just as they were interrupted.

‘There you are!’ Aurelia exclaimed with a rehearsed giggle, slipping her arm through his.

It was a gesture that conveyed everything, and the viscount’s face shuttered instantly.

‘Congratulations, Miss Fairfax, on finally being able to attend balls and soirées, without fear of forcible ejection by the society mamas,’ Aurelia tittered. ‘Though I do suspect you enjoy all the drama!’

She took a sip of her sweet-scented negus, before wobbling slightly.

‘Are you feeling quite well, Lady Carlisle?’ Phoebe returned pointedly.

‘Oh, I’ve never felt better.’ She giggled again, leaning into the viscount who straightened instantly. ‘And I’m sure Alexander will escort me for some air in a moment. We’ve set our wedding date, have you heard?’

Phoebe shot a glance at the viscount’s heavily veiled eyes and, while she knew it to be inevitable, an unexpected dart buried itself somewhere between her corset and bones.

‘My congratulations to you both, I’m sure you will complement each other exceptionally well,’ she managed, before executing the briefest of curtsies. ‘Do excuse me.’

It turned out that negus was excellent at taking the edge off everything, which was just as well as the earl chose to claim her hand for the next two dances. He was already alarmingly purple, and just when she thought several of his gold filigree, waistcoat buttons must forcibly eject themselves from his straining person, a voice intervened with all the timing of a real hero.

‘Excuse me, sir, but I do believe Miss Fairfax promised the waltz to me. I humbly beg your pardon for depriving you of such a fair partner, but if rumours are correct you will have a great many dances to look forward to, while I shall likely die alone in my barracks, with only the rats for company.’

‘Poppycock!’ the earl huffed, before passing Phoebe’s hand over, and making for the nearest tray of brandy.

The captain executed one of his most flamboyant bows, while Phoebe smiled with gratitude. He really was the most amiable, ridiculous gentleman, and she hoped her nerves weren’t as visible as they felt.

‘Good evening, Miss Fairfax,’ Captain Elliot murmured, raising her hand to his lips. ‘Might I be so bold as to venture that you look quite enchanting tonight – I do believe I may be forced to elope with you.’

His last words were uttered so faintly that only Phoebe could hear them as he led her through the lilting music. She swallowed, a faint flush spilling across her cheeks.

‘Appearances can be quite deceptive, sir,’ she murmured, ‘you might learn to regret such a rash action.’

‘And yet my instincts tell me otherwise,’ he returned, raising his eyebrows in a way that reminded her only of the viscount.

She caught her breath, just as she became aware of Sophie’s stare across the floor. It was a look that reached into her bones, and silently she berated herself, willing the musicians to finish. It was enough that she was stealing away with the captain at dawn, the last thing she wanted was to create any memories that rubbed salt in the wound.

As they waltzed through the steps, Phoebe thought briefly of the letters she’d written and entrusted to Josephine’s care earlier, begging her confidence until the appointed hour the following day. Thomas, her aunt and uncle, Sophie, Matilda, and even the earl had one. Each charted a very swift love affair with Captain Elliot that had proven impossible to resist, despite her approaching nuptials. Each entreated the recipient to forgive her, and to know she’d acted as rationally as love had allowed. They were the only words she could find to explain what she already knew to be inexplicable, and in the end there was only one person remaining.

Papa .

She could tell herself there was honour in saving the captain and Dr Kapoor, even that her sisters would understand in time, but there was no escaping the damage to Papa’s memory. A debt was a matter of honour, and a debt unpaid was a scandal that could affect them all.

Yet the captain hadn’t exaggerated about the growing rumours, either. She’d already noticed the stares and whispers of a particular group of society mamas. They were the patrons and rule makers, the matrons who could make or break a debutante in a breath, while their husbands ran the banks, the army, and the courts. There would be little mercy for someone like the captain, despite his family name, and Phoebe was sure Aurelia had helped stir suspicions.

‘Oh, the captain is certainly a flatterer! A flatterer and a jester, are you not, sweet Captain Elliot, no matter what idle gossipers might say.’

It would be just like Aurelia to think she could get rid of family members she disliked, particularly if they knew too much about her own misdoings.

Phoebe inhaled deeply, the captain’s only hope was to convince the gossips that theirs was a true love match, while hers was that they would be forgiven – in the end.

Finally, the waltz slowed, and the room hushed as the king got to his feet.

‘Much as I dislike to interrupt merriment of any kind.’ He paused to acknowledge some polite laughter. ‘It falls to me to share some celebratory news with you all.’

Phoebe glanced up at the captain, whose face shuttered as he bowed and offered his arm. She took it, and let him escort her back to Thomas, with dread coiling in the pit of her stomach.

‘It pleases me greatly to announce there is to be a wedding – at last – in the House of Cumberland!’ King George continued.

He paused to raise his glass, as the earl rose from his seat.

‘It is not every day that such an old ’—he paused for laughter—‘and distinguished house chooses to venture into the state of matrimony – and while it has taken you far too long, Clarence, I’m sure everyone here will join me in wishing you great joy and many offspring!’

The room erupted into a blur of spontaneous clapping, while Phoebe accepted the felicitations of those nearest with a dazed nod.

Clarence ? Why, above all things, was she surprised that this was how she’d hear the earl’s first name? And why wasn’t she surprised that it suited his purple face so very well?

‘Where was your name?’ Sophie demanded, in thinly veiled annoyance.

Her words echoed as Phoebe glimpsed her entire life reflected in the sea of jubilant faces surrounding her. Had it really all been leading to this? A wedding announcement that didn’t even include her name? It was laughable – almost.

The earl raised his glass, not even looking in her direction, as those nearest him clustered around, eager to be the first to offer their congratulations.

And all the while, the viscount just watched from the shadows.

‘Congratulations, my dear, the Countess of Cumberland to be!’ Her aunt fussed as a wall of society matrons closed in, claiming their right to inspect the match of the season.

‘Now, the announcement wasn’t all that terrible, was it?’

‘It wasn’t, Aunt,’ she agreed, with a hollow smile. ‘It really was quite unremarkable.’

* * *

Two weeks and two moments of real note.

By the time carriages were called, Phoebe had danced a great many dances with a great many more titled gentlemen than she cared to know. And it struck her, as she waltzed beneath the extravagant candelabras, that there were only two moments of real note in any girl’s life. The first was her birth and the second was her wedding. At both these moments, females were afforded a degree of importance – the former because she might actually be a man, and the second because she was marrying one.

And even though she was escaping one marriage de convenience , she was well aware it was only into a less constrained one. Phoebe thought of the captain’s smart military coat, with its brass buttons and medals polished until they gleamed, just like him. He’d polished himself brightly to make sure no one saw beneath his sunny disposition – to protect himself – and now he would be as imprisoned as she.

The viscount’s proud face followed swiftly, his gold-flecked eyes narrowing while her stomach coiled and chest ached for no reason she could understand at all. She swallowed, reminding herself to smile as the earl’s chaise rattled past their coach window. His family coat of arms gleamed with an archaic right, projecting the sort of confidence that could only be gleaned though a thousand years of approval.

Could she really hope to run from it?

‘Well, I can’t say I’ve ever felt prouder!’ her aunt gushed again, as soon as they were settled. ‘A presentation and betrothal announcement by King George himself! I’m not sure even your uncle really expected that, did you, dear?’

Uncle Higglestone grunted his surprise into his faithful copy of the Bath Chronicle and Weekly Gazette , and for once Phoebe was grateful for his lack of interest. She already knew her dawn race and elopement would cast her out from polite society, but her aunt’s pride only made her impending fall from grace even worse.

‘I still think the king could have mentioned Phoebe by name,’ Sophie murmured. ‘I mean, the earl could be marrying his favourite horse, for all anyone knows!’

‘Hush now, dear, we must remember it is the earl’s name that matters most in this matter. While the Fairfaxes are a distinguished family of the ton, the House of Cumberland can trace its roots back to William the Conqueror!’

Phoebe glanced at Sophie, who seemed a little quiet. She was still conscious of her sister’s watchful gaze during her waltz with the captain and longed to tell her the truth, yet to do so would mean trusting her with a fragile plan that could result in the captain’s arrest, should it become widely known.

She laced her fingers tightly, the thought of hurting her sister was suffocating, and yet it was far better she found out with everyone else. She could only hope Sophie ensured news of her elopement did reach the ears of a certain earl – and that it persuaded him to wash his hands of all Fairfaxes forever.

‘Are you okay?’ Sophie whispered, reaching out to hold her hand.

‘I am now,’ Phoebe returned, savouring her warmth.