Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
One week, six days, and a few home truths until the wedding
‘O f all the courageous, hare-brained simpletons !’ the viscount thundered.
His voice was disembodied, somewhere just out of sight.
‘Elliot, send for Dr Kapoor now!’
‘This is your fault entirely!’ the captain accused. ‘She was simply trying to break us up…’
‘Alexander! What on earth are you doing here?’ Aurelia gasped. ‘I have never had such an awful ride in my life, this mare is pigeon-livered! The race wasn’t fair from the start…’
‘Race? What race?’
‘What have you done to my sister, sir, and where is the rest of her riding attire?’ Thomas fumed. ‘The Earl of Cumberland will have something to say to this…’
‘The Earl of Cumberland is a gobble-cock and is welcome to call me out if he so wishes!’ the viscount fired.
‘There is no need to inform the earl, Thomas,’ Fred reasoned. ‘Let’s get Phoebe home and hush up this whole damned affair.’
‘No one is going anywhere, least of all Phoebe!’ the viscount countered. ‘And is that one of my greys?’
‘Well, there’s no need to shout about it,’ Aurelia objected, mulishly. ‘I’m sure we can all hear you very well. And why are you here, Alexander? Elliot?’
Phoebe inched her eyes open to find a scene of such huge comical proportions that a bubble of laughter escaped her, despite the throb at the back of her head.
‘It’s not funny!’ Aurelia hissed. You’re the cause of so much trouble, Phoebe Fairfax, just like your father before you…’
‘Enough!’ the viscount roared, and to Phoebe’s utter shock, Aurelia fell silent.
Phoebe blinked, trying to stop the world from spinning, and found herself in a somewhat curious position. Her head was cushioned by the viscount’s shirt, the captain was chafing her hand, and the remainder of the small crowd were gathered around her with faces worthy of a state funeral.
Another bubble of laughter threatened.
‘Is my sister injured?’ Thomas demanded, peering closer, with all the concern of a banker watching his investment wobble.
Phoebe fought to sit up, unsure if it was the blow to her head, or the viscount’s golden chest against which she rested that was making her feel faint.
‘I assure you, I am perfectly well,’ she managed, relieved to discover that despite a volcanic headache she was still, somehow, in one piece.
‘That’s more luck than judgement, you little fool!’ the viscount returned roughly. ‘What have I told you about getting involved with duels?’
Then he was kneeling beside her, and gazing with such tenderness, that for a moment she was entirely bereft of words. She’d spent so long convincing herself that the viscount was an arrogant rake of the first order, that his only interest was in vexing a girl who seemed to attract drama and trouble wherever she went, that she’d been blind to everything.
Yet it was right there in his jewelled eyes, a glint that was both fear and care, and something else, too; something that had been there from the very first night in the library.
The oddest sensation slid down Phoebe’s spine, just as the captain’s broad hand covered her own.
‘We’re still leaving the moment Dr Kapoor has seen her.’
He spoke stiffly, and Phoebe knew then that this was the reason he and the viscount had been fighting.
‘Good riddance!’ Aurelia snapped, hobbling over to the hotel steps with the heel of her riding boot in one hand. ‘Has anyone noticed the state of my habit?’
Phoebe looked up and was delighted to note that Aurelia’s lilac riding habit was indeed splattered from head to foot with thick mud.
‘You owe me fifty pounds,’ she added serenely.
Fred whistled.
‘You ladies don’t go in for low stakes, do you?’ he observed.
‘Phoebe is going nowhere!’ Thomas addressed the captain directly. ‘And you, sir, will meet me for this … insult!’
His tone was ugly, and his uncompromising expression one Phoebe knew well.
‘My brother will do no such thing,’ the viscount returned, snatching up his sword. ‘If anyone gets to murder him, it will be me!’
‘Thank you,’ the captain murmured, ‘I think.’
Phoebe exhaled in exasperation before pushing them all away, and clambering to her feet.
‘Cover yourself, sister!’ Thomas barked furiously. ‘You are in company!’
The park spun out like a maypole as, bemused, Phoebe looked down at what was left of her riding habit. Her short jacket barely reached the waist of her exposed pantalettes and briefly, she marvelled at their unblemished white, before drawing a breath.
‘Firstly, no one is murdering anyone on my behalf,’ she began, grateful for the captain’s steadying hand. ‘Though if you all choose to murder one another for other reasons, I’m sure I wish you well in your endeavours.’
She drew another deep breath, relieved to find the world slowly steadying.
‘Secondly, the captain and I are leaving together.’
A murmur of dissent went up immediately, to which Phoebe held up a hand.
‘Thirdly, none of you will stop us because the morning is advancing, and this race will be the scandal of the season, involving all of you , unless you let us go.’
‘Damn the scandal! Why Elliot?’ the viscount interrupted in a low, raw tone she’d not heard before.
It was the moment she’d been dreading most as she turned back to face him. Lying to her brothers about the captain was one thing, lying to the viscount about her true feelings quite another. She caught her breath as a strange weakness melted through her. He was all golden skin and tousled hair, while his dark eyes were unexpectedly vulnerable.
‘I … love Elliot … and he … he loves me,’ she forced, watching a shadow of pain flicker across his face, and somehow find its way into her chest, too.
She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to hold his gaze.
‘Phoebe, this is ridiculous!’ Thomas expostulated. ‘You are to marry the earl in a week! Or have you forgotten Papa’s dying wish?’
‘It wasn’t his dying wish!’ Phoebe rounded on her brother furiously. ‘And I’ll wager you’ve always known it. It was a gambling debt! Left over from when he was young and reckless! Tell me, what kind of gentleman would gamble the hand of his first-born daughter in marriage? And what kind of brother would not want to find a way to undo it?! Except it suited you, didn’t it? You only ever wanted Knightswood, not the family that went with it!’
There was silence, as a range of expressions from fury to smug satisfaction registered around the small group.
‘Is this true, Thomas?’ Fred asked, the first to find his tongue.
‘No! Of course?—’
‘Well, the gambling part is,’ Aurelia interjected, sliding up behind the viscount and pushing her arm through his.
‘Which is why you were fighting so heroically to stop the captain, wasn’t it, Alexander? The Damerels have no desire to be associated with scandal. And a true gentleman always honours his debts.’
She paused to sigh in self-satisfaction at Thomas.
‘No, that is not the reason, and Phoebe cannot marry Elliot!’ the viscount hissed, shaking Aurelia off and taking a step forward, every line of his upper body taut in the dawn sun.
‘Miss Fairfax is engaged to the earl, Elliot! Why now?’ he challenged.
‘You know how love is, brother,’ the captain returned warily. ‘It has a habit of surprising you.’
A noise, much like a strangled growl, ripped from the viscount’s throat as he reached a punishing blow directly to his brother’s nose.
‘Stop!’ Phoebe cried as the captain staggered back, and the viscount made to follow.
‘Affecting though this display of brotherly love is,’ Thomas interjected coldly, ‘might I remind you Phoebe is my sister and my ward. There may be little care among you for family honour, but while there’s the slightest chance of retrieving?—’
Yet whatever Thomas was going to say was drowned out by a thunder of hooves, approaching at speed.
Phoebe looked up in disbelief, wondering what other possible drama could unfold in Sydney Gardens on this bright spring morning. Yet the messenger was swift enough for them all to fall silent as he dismounted, ignored their varying states of muddy undress, and made straight for Thomas.
Phoebe stared as she caught sight of her aunt’s scrawl on the letter in his hand.
How had she known where to find them?
Josephine had had the strictest instructions not to deliver the letters until she and the captain were miles away.
And then she just knew. The realisation fanned through her, like a heat and a chill all at once, before Thomas uttered the words she dreaded most.
‘It’s Josephine, Phoebe,’ he confirmed acerbically. ‘I trust you have no objection to accompanying me now.’
* * *
The journey back to Wood Lodge felt a hundred times longer than any Phoebe had ever undertaken before. And all she could think was that she’d left her sister when she needed her most, when nothing, not even her papa’s debt to the earl, came close to mattering as much.
Silently, she accepted Thomas’s furious tirade that she was the most selfish and disgraceful sister alive, but her thoughts were elsewhere entirely, thinking back over the past few weeks and the way Josephine had slowly deteriorated.
‘ The air and waters have done nothing for her! I think we should take her home.’
Sophie had said it, and Phoebe had been so wrapped up in her own problems she hadn’t done anything about it – and now, she might be too late altogether.
Guilt bled through her as she recalled her sister’s cough when she’d left the house earlier that morning. Her aunt’s letter had outlined Josephine’s feverish condition, and said that Dr Kapoor was already in attendance, but Phoebe also knew her sister was much weaker than before.
How could she have left her at all?
She raced up the stairwell in her riding jacket and pantalettes, taking the steps two at a time, until a figure appeared in the shadows at the top.
‘Phoebe!’
She pulled up at the betrayal in her sister’s tone.
‘Or should I call you, Mrs Captain Damerel?’
‘Sophie…’ she began, faltering. She had so much explaining to do, but it would have to wait for now. ‘Read me all the lectures you want afterwards, but for now, please, let me come to Jo.’
Whether it was the plea in her voice, or their sister’s condition, Sophie let her pass.
She entered Josephine’s bedchamber quietly. It was already thick with the scent of thorn apple, and she was propped up against numerous pillows with Dr Kapoor in calm attendance, but one glance was enough for Phoebe to know the seriousness of the situation. Her sister’s skin looked translucent in the late morning light, while her breath was shallow and laboured. Phoebe flew to her side, noticing the empty laudanum bottle on the bedside table as she took her pale hand.
‘How has it come to this so swiftly?’ she asked Dr Kapoor, yanking off her muddied jacket. ‘I overheard a cough early this morning, but she otherwise seemed settled.’
Dr Kapoor looked up, while Sophie scowled from the doorway.
‘In my limited experience, lung spasms are more severe in those who are being treated with laudanum,’ he returned quietly. He nodded towards the offending bottle. ‘While it is a favoured remedy among many of the medical profession, my personal research has discovered it to be of dubious benefit. It will calm symptoms, but also weaken a patient over time.’
Phoebe stared, feeling all the tiny hairs across the backs of her arms and neck start to strain.
Hadn’t she suspected as much? Her guilt intensified, tenfold.
‘It has poisoned her?’ she whispered, her thoughts woolly and dazed.
‘I believe so,’ Dr Kapoor nodded, ‘but it doesn’t explain this lung spasm, which could have been caused by anything, of course.’
He looked at her, his midnight eyes meeting her frank blue ones, acknowledging they both knew exactly what had caused this latest attack.
Phoebe took her sister’s hand, icy fear trickling down her spine as she thought back to the evening before, when she’d given Josephine her letters and begged her confidence until the agreed hour. She’d had given it readily, eager to please, and now Phoebe’s foolish thoughtlessness had cost her dearly. How would she ever forgive herself? Nothing was worth the loss of such a beloved sister.
‘Jo … I’m here now,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘I’m so … sorry,’ she added, her words turning to stones in her throat, ‘but I’m here now.’
She looked down at Josephine’s pinched, unconscious face, and felt each wracking breath as though it were her own. She couldn’t die, not at sixteen, with her whole life ahead of her. She would take a thousand unwelcome betrothals before that.
‘We’ll go home , Jo!’ Phoebe whispered, her voice catching. ‘Home to Knightswood and the moor. I’ll speak to Thomas and make it happen, I promise. I’m here now, and never going away again… Please Jo … just stay.’