Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
I t was as if a pall had been cast in the morning room of Townsend House as Lord and Lady Townsend, as well as their three daughters, sat facing each other. Each one of them was wearing the most somber of expressions—it was as though they were all in mourning.
For Phoebe, she might as well be, for her reputation was severely in tatters and there was very little hope that it may be revived.
“Well, I suppose this means that my coming out shall be delayed further,” Minerva muttered in a vain attempt at levity, one that was quickly shot down by a sharp look from Lady Townsend.
“I do not think this is the appropriate time for such jokes, Minerva,” Lady Catherine Townsend chastised her second daughter, a frown marring her elegant features. “This is—”
“A disaster of mass proportions, that is what it is!” her husband remarked sharply. His brows were drawn together in an expression of simmering fury that it was a wonder he was able to sit still. “One so preposterous that one cannot help but wonder how a supposedly respectable publication could print that out without so much as a care!”
Phoebe tucked her trembling hands into the folds of her dress as she sat down with a dazed expression. Never in all her three years had she faced such a crisis, and she had had her awkward moments.
In the pensive silence that hung over their entire family, it was Daphne’s soft, plaintive voice that struck daggers into her heart.
“What about the dinner with Lord Brunswick tonight?” she asked their mother. “What shall we do about that?”
Phoebe saw her mother gently reach out for her youngest daughter’s hands.
“You shall have to send word that you are currently indisposed, my dear,” Lady Townsend sighed. “There is nothing that can be done about it. We shall have to wait until it all passes over, but…”
But it will take a long, long time , Phoebe finished in her thoughts. Possibly never.
The ton was quick to judge and merciless. Beyond that, everyone was also possessed of an excellent, if convenient , memory.
Even if Lord Brunswick did not retract his invitation for the dinner, Daphne would only be subjected to further embarrassment should she persist in attending the dinner—and that was something Phoebe knew that their mother would never allow.
She saw her youngest sister duck her head wordlessly, the sheen of tears bright in her eyes. Only last night, they had been shining with so much excitement and hope. Now, they were filled with heartbreak and despair.
“We cannot remain here any longer,” Lady Townsend muttered, standing up suddenly. “We need to move away—someplace far away where the scandal has not yet reached.”
“Move where?” Lord Townsend asked her. “By now, everyone in London and their servants will be talking about it. Word of it will reach the countryside before we know it.”
“Oh, Keaton! There must be something we could do!” their mother cried out. “If we do not do something, Minerva and Daphne will be ruined as well!”
Phoebe bit her lower lip as she stared soullessly at her shoes. She still could not fathom how a scandal about her and the Marquess of Wentworth could ever land itself on the papers. She had never had any interaction with him aside from last night when she found herself in that… room .
Even then, their chance encounter had been so short, and she had been more terrified than seduced that she had ended up running back to Townsend House as if the very hounds of hell were snapping at her heels.
Even if someone had seen them—which was highly unlikely—how could they ever think that there was such a torrid love affair between them?
“I still cannot believe someone could make up such a horrible thing,” Daphne said with a shake of her head. “The paper mentions a diary, but even that is dubious at best…”
At her words, Phoebe’s head immediately snapped up, her brows drawn into a frown that was more confused than worried.
A diary? They could not have possibly meant my diary…
Her heart pounded in her chest as she stood up, her legs shaking.
“Phoebe, dearest, where are you going?” Lady Townsend asked her in concern. “Do you feel unwell?”
She shook her head and then nodded. And then shook it again.
“Forgive me, Mama. I must return to my rooms,” she murmured.
Her mother regarded her with a heartbroken look, before nodding and wordlessly excusing her from the parlor. Her father, too, gave her a curt nod.
It was all she needed to leave the room.
As soon as she had gone through the door, she ran back upstairs to her bedchamber, her heart pounding loudly in her chest, threatening to drown out everything else.
Nobody had ever been privy to her diary, although it was a familiar enough sight to see her with it. She brought it with her almost everywhere, to take note of the things around her and ponder upon them when she had more time alone.
Last night, she had been so disturbed by her meeting with Lord Wentworth that she did not even think to write in her diary. It was only when Daphne made mention of it that she even remembered it.
She saw her satchel on her writing desk and immediately upended its contents upon the gleaming wooden surface. A pencil tumbled out, as well as some personal items that she never went anywhere without.
But her diary was not there.
Her heart sank as she slowly lowered herself to her chair, her legs unable to bear the weight of the realization that she might have been responsible for the ruination of her entire family.
With trembling hands, she reached for her satchel and searched its shallow depths. There was still no sign of her diary.
Somebody has my diary , she thought to herself in despair. Somebody has it and they have given it to the papers!
But who would have done such a thing? And where could she have misplaced such an incriminating object?
She knocked onto her head as she forced herself to think where she could have possibly lost it, when it hit her— Cartwright Hall .
The Spinster Club!
But she knew everybody in the Spinster Club—nobody would dare to do such an underhanded thing. If she had truly left it in Cartwright Hall, then Miss Cartwright would have sent her a message posthaste to inform her about it. She would never even consider taking a peek into its contents. That was simply vile.
The same went for everybody else.
Well, everybody… except perhaps Miss Thomas.
But she could not have been that spiteful, could she? Phoebe thought to herself miserably.
Except it was a tragic fact that there were indeed a great many despicable people in the world and perhaps, Miss Thomas may have joined their ranks.
What do I do now? Phoebe felt as if her bile was coming back up her throat. How do I tell everybody that this is my fault for being so careless with my things?
How could she ever face Daphne, whose heart had been broken at the prospect of having to break things off with Lord Brunswick before they had even begun?
How could she face Minerva, who was already fearful enough of coming out? After this scandal, it would be a wonder if she could ever find the courage to make her bow.
And most of all, how could she ever look her mother and father in the eye, after they had both been so compassionate and understanding for so long?
If her family were to ever blame her, she would not have contested their anger. She was responsible for this.
Somehow.
But they had to know that she never did anything scandalous. She never had anything to do with the Marquess—well, except trespassing onto his property last night—but that was beside the point.
With a sigh and a determined look in her eyes, she stood up and headed back down to the parlor, where her family was still gathered—only this time, her father had an equally fierce and determined look in his eye.
“Phoebe, are you sure you are ready to hear this?” he asked her as she walked into the room.
She nodded. “I shall listen to whatever you have to say, Papa.”
“Good.” Her father’s voice was firm. Unyielding. “But first, you have to be honest with me—what is your relationship with the Marquess of Wentworth?”
Although she had steeled herself prior to heading back to the parlor, Phoebe still felt slightly taken aback by her father’s bluntness.
“There is no such relationship between me and the Marquess of Wentworth,” she told him softly. She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. “There never was.”
“Of course, there never was!’ Lady Townsend shot to her feet angrily. “You, of all people, should know your daughter better than anybody else!”
“I know, Catherine,” he sighed. “I just want to make sure we have all options considered before we make our next steps.”
“Well, what are our next steps?”
Phoebe felt like sinking deep into the upholstery of the sofa she was sitting on as her parents argued the best possible way to resolve their dilemma. Minerva looked as if she would rather be anywhere else, and Daphne looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment.
It was at that moment that Dennyson, their butler, stepped into the room, the look on his face an odd mix of somberness and confusion.
“My Lord, My Lady, I regret to interrupt your discussion, but we have a guest at the door—”
“Not now, Dennyson! Can you not see that we are in the middle of a serious discussion?”
Their loyal butler pressed his lips together. “My Lord, I think you would not want to turn this particular caller away…”
“Dennyson,” Lady Townsend said with a sigh. “We truly do not have the capacity to deal with any callers right now.”
“It is His Lordship,” Dennyson enunciated. “The Marquess of Wentworth. He is at the door and he demands to see Lord and Lady Townsend, as well as Miss Phoebe Townsend, as per his words.”
A shocked silence descended upon the occupants of the parlor at his message. Lord and Lady Townsend stood stock still in the middle of the room. Daphne looked as if somebody had told her His Majesty was at the door, while Minerva had a slight smile on her face.
“I think that the solution to our dilemma has arrived,” she said simply.
“It all depends on whether he wants to be part of the solution,” Lord Townsend muttered. “He could simply be here to demand an explanation from our side.”
“Or wash his hands clean of us,” Lady Townsend added with a shudder.
Lord Townsend let out a frustrated groan, “Either way, he is here now, and we must hear what he has to say.” He turned towards Dennyson and nodded. “We shall see the Marquess now. Everybody, leave—except you, of course, Phoebe. The Marquess wants to speak with you, apparently.”
Phoebe had no doubt that he would wish to speak with her. She was, after all, in the same conundrum as he was, if not worse. Those were their names on the papers—hers and Lord Wentworth’s.
It is only natural that he would wish to speak with me if he wishes to resolve this , she thought to herself morosely. Besides, it was my own carelessness that landed all of us in this mess…
She watched as both her sisters stood up to leave the room. On the way out, they both gave her sympathetic looks and she wished for a moment that she could have asked them to stay with her.
But she also knew that she needed not involve her sisters further in this entire fiasco. She must face the Marquess and hear whatever he had to say on the matter—with her parents in attendance, of course, as was required by etiquette.
She could only hope that he had some sort of solution to this problem.
Or perhaps, she should not expect too much of him. After all, they hardly knew each other.
He would hardly be inclined to help a strange woman out, would he?