Chapter 1 #2
A faint smile flickered across her face.
Fairfax Theatrical Company had been a part of their family for as long as she could remember, as well as her only reprieve from a life of corsets and cotillion practice.
She never once thought she’d ever actually escape, and yet somehow, at this very moment, she was embarking on a real adventure.
She had a change of clothing, coin enough to secure a private bedchamber, and she was more than certain she could imitate dear Fred’s gentle manner when it came to ordering luncheon, or some such similar refreshment.
There was, after all, nothing worse than an empty stomach – it got in the way of plain, sensible thinking.
This was a sentiment that had proven quite the bone of contention for her poor, deceased mama, who had given up on her eldest daughter ever contenting herself with just one slice of cake, when Cook had clearly intended her to eat three.
Phoebe’s smile widened as she climbed the estate gate, quite certain that breeches were a male conspiracy, too.
For years, she’d been inched and cinched into suffocating layers of petticoats, creating a rise of heat she could only equate to one of Cook’s rice puddings, and even Sophie had to admit that a hoop and petticoats were a positive disadvantage when it came to that time of the month, which must never be mentioned in polite company.
By contrast, Fred’s attire felt like utter freedom, and she was never more convinced that ladies’ clothing had been designed with canaries in mind, which only fuelled the importance of the next three months.
She had this one utterly unique chance to forego all the rules and chase every dream she’d ever had – which was so much more inviting than Sophie’s parting accusation.
Briefly, her sister’s words echoed through her head. But the more she considered them, the more she was persuaded she wasn’t actually running away, but rather towards the opportunity to discover her own inner heroine.
Because everyone had one of those deep down inside – didn’t they?
She was also more than certain she had to have at least one bareback-horseracing-at-midnight kind of adventure waiting for her, despite Sophie’s considerable doubts.
Why else would she have been blessed with such a lively imagination and, as Mama would say, hoydenish ways, if there wasn’t some master plan at work?
She nodded briskly at a chirruping robin before turning into the country lane.
It had ever been the same. Most of the young ladies of her acquaintance seemed as prone to fits of the vapours, as she was to ravenous hunger; and it was certainly one of Mama’s greatest regrets, that she had the most practical head, when needed.
‘Really Phoebe, you have the fortitude of an ox!’ she complained, the day Phoebe dragged Matilda from Knightswood lake after a skating incident.
From this, Phoebe could only conclude it would have been far more ladylike to let her younger sister drown while she herself expired from shock, which felt a stretch – even for Mama.
And while she had nothing against oxen in particular, they did seem quite banal creatures when all was said and done.
Still, Mama had always been somewhat of a stickler when it came to matters of propriety.
‘A young lady needs a certain air of … fragility about her person,’ she would say reprovingly, whenever Phoebe was sighted scaling one of the many trees around the park.
‘Not ruddy cheeks and splinters!’
Considering an air of fragility seemed synonymous with a life of impressive dullness, Phoebe was certain she would never meet Mama’s exacting expectations.
It was one of the reasons she’d escape on Misty whenever she could.
On the moor, she could ride until she believed she really was Mary Queen of Scots; or a time traveller from some distant, trouser-wearing age that finally treated men and women as equals – if such a thing were ever really possible.
She sighed. For the most part, she also knew better than to rely on any sibling support, despite being considered an all-round good egg when it came to quarrels.
She no more ratted on the brother who snuck off to a prize fight, than the sister who spent all her pin money on ribbons; and while this loyalty had earned her admiration and reproof in equal measure, there was no lack of genuine affection between them all.
She had still tried to call on these affections when challenging Thomas’s Monstrous Marriage Master Plan, but as he controlled the purse strings, and therefore every whim and wish of the Fairfax brood, they’d fallen to the wayside quicker than even she’d expected.
‘You’ve got to see it from our perspective, Phoebs,’ Fred pleaded, after Thomas threatened to cut off his allowance.
‘Tom has us over a barrel until we come of age. And the old earl isn’t that bad really…
You’ll have a fine house, your own carriage .
.. and just think of all the climbing trees in his grounds. ’
Phoebe’s face darkened as she strode down the last section of country lane.
Fred could try to placate her as much as he liked, but how he, or any of her brothers and sisters, could expect her to willingly tie her life to an old man who made her feel like a skinny pullet trussed for the Sunday roast, was beyond her.
Let alone the fact that when he walked, a decided scent of onions wafted about his person.
Onions! Phoebe wrinkled her nose just thinking about it.
Matilda was first to notice, and had levelled the accusation when Phoebe refused to buy her a second macaroon on a village outing. But her youthful nose had a sound point, and it was one of the reasons Phoebe knew she had to act – that and the unfortunate incident.
Phoebe closed her eyes briefly. In truth, if it wasn’t for the unfortunate incident, Thomas probably wouldn’t have felt quite so compelled to enact phase one of his Monstrous Marriage Master Plan.
But Sophie had laid a wager and Thomas, above all people, should have known a wager was a matter of honour.
‘I cannot believe Knightswood’s church organist intended to create a scandal with Miss Kettering,’ Sophie had mused.
‘In fact, I would even go so far as to wager that any impoverished, romantic young gentleman would have little choice but to offer elopement if his liaison is discovered. It’s either that or die of a broken heart – don’t you think, Phoebe? ’
Phoebe was quick to concede that any church-organist-turned-disgraced-eloper was very deserving of her sister’s empathy, but also that Sophie’s assertion gave like gentlemen such a poor reputation that she was duty-bound to disprove it – which was how she’d set upon Monsieur Dupres, their unfortunate pianoforte tutor.
In her defence, she absolutely did not set out to encourage him to fall in love with her – she’d just wanted to prove to Sophie that, even if a gentleman was impoverished and hopelessly romantic, he didn’t always propose elopement.
And if she’d underestimated Monsieur Dupres on this occasion, she was wholly convinced he was the exception, rather than the rule.
Thomas chose not to understand the matter at all, of course, calling her an ignorant, foolhardy girl he’d gladly pack off to a convent were it not for his unwavering belief she’d get herself expelled, before the sennight was up.
Instead, he’d talked of Papa’s will and bringing forward the dreaded wedding, which had only hastened her own plan, safe in the knowledge that once everything was taken into consideration, Thomas would have to concede he was wholly and utterly to blame.
It was while she was enjoying the comfort of this certain victory, and her brother’s well-deserved guilt, that Phoebe spied her new travelling companions gathering in the frosty grass beside the public road, and felt a first rise of doubt.
If only Thomas had let her have a season… If only he hadn’t found the elopement proposal from Monsieur Dupres… If only she’d been able to bring some Fairfax Theatrical Company costumes with her… She could have put them to excellent use where she was going.
The thought gave her a surge of strength.
Where she was going was a secret of the utmost gravity that she hadn’t even shared with Sophie, her most suspicious sister.
Not only was Sophie unable to keep any kind of secret, let alone under pressure, she would also feel duty-bound to read her one of her sisterly lectures which were beginning to sound, uncannily, like dear Mama’s.
And the truth was, Phoebe’s destination wasn’t in the least bit de rigueur for a young lady of her social standing, at all.
A rueful smile crept across her face, one that mirrored the gleam in her moorland eyes.
Of all her schemes over the past eighteen years, this one had to be the most daring, and she could only imagine Thomas’s rage if he could see her now: clad in their brother’s hand-me-downs, unaccompanied, and about to board the common stage.
If it were divulged in polite company, it could ruin her and yet Phoebe knew her brother far too well for that.
The moment Sophie reported her absence, Thomas would concoct some plausible tale of an indisposed distant cousin, while using every means possible to find her – and all to protect his Monstrous Marriage Masterplan.
Let him search. She’d been dreaming of this adventure her whole life long, and even if it was only for three precious months, it would be enough to sustain her for a lifetime.
It had to.