Chapter 27 #2
He could often be found hovering at her elbow whenever she rose too quickly, insisting she rest whenever she so much as yawned, appearing at her side with a shawl the very moment a room grew the slightest bit cool.
It ought to have been tiresome, but instead, she found she treasured every small, fussing gesture, each one a quiet reminder of a devotion she had once believed she would never be permitted to have.
“Have you thought of names?” Anna asked, later, when the tea things had been cleared. “For the child, I mean. I confess I have already begun compiling my own list, though I do not suppose either of you asked for my assistance.”
“You never require an invitation to offer your opinions, sister,” Rowland snorted. “It has never once stopped you before.”
“If it is a boy,” Anna continued, ignoring him entirely, “You simply must consider Father's name. I know it is traditional, and dreadfully unoriginal, but I confess I should like very much to hear it spoken in this house again.”
Phoebe felt something soften and ache at once in her chest, the old grief rising gently in fond remembrance.
“I have thought of it,” she admitted. “Edward has not objected, though I also would like to name the child after his own parents, as well. Whether it is a boy or a girl, we do have a considerable amount of options. Though I have not yet decided for certain, there is time enough to settle it.”
“There is,” Anna agreed, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “Whatever you choose, they will be loved beyond measure. I intend to see to that personally.”
“As do I,” Rowland grinned.
They spent the remainder of the evening exactly as they once had – gathered close around the fire, trading stories and gentle teasing long past the hour any of them ought reasonably to have retired, reluctant to let the evening end.
The following morning after Phoebe had returned to her estate, an invitation for afternoon tea from the duchess of Ravencroft arrived for her. In the letter, Jane expressed deep relief to hear that she had recovered from the weakness that had taken hold of suddenly at the garden party.
The thoughtful show of concern flooded Phoebe with a fresh wave of gratitude for the friendship she had so unexpectedly gained.
After a brief conversation with Edward who also had plans to go hunting with Thomas — and a few lingering kisses — Phoebe readied herself and set off to the Ravencroft estate.
Jane herself met her at the door, catching both of Phoebe's hands in hers before she had so much as crossed the threshold.
“Oh, goodness! You are here! And you are all right! Thank heavens. I must confess — I have thought of little else since that dreadful afternoon. I very nearly called on you myself, only Thomas insisted I would only be a bother while you recovered your strength.” She said with a sad expression as her gaze went over Phoebe several times as though she was accessing her condition.
“You would never have been a bother,” Phoebe gasped. “Though I do wish to apologize for being a bother to you. It must have given you quite a fright and I fear that I ruined your party.”
“Nonsense,” Jane waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Your health is worth more than an afternoon of seemingly endless conversations. Nothing was ruined and you were in no way a bother to me either.”
Jane led Phoebe further into the house, into a room that was positively filled with light.
The furniture and decorations were all colored with soft pastels that gave the space a homely feeling and in the middle of the room was a table, set for tea.
After a moment, Phoebe noticed that there were already two guests seated at the table.
“Phoebe, meet my dear and closest friends — Nora Millington, duchess of Ironwell, and Penelope Wightman, duchess of Westerdale. Ladies, this is Phoebe Barton, duchess of Montford, my recently acquired friend.” Jane introduced pleasantly as they took their seats.
The women were lovely, smiling kindly as Phoebe greeted them politely.
“Jane has a way of making friends remarkably easily and it doesn’t surprise me that she has taken another under her wing. I am only surprised it took us this long to meet,” Penelope remarked with a teasing smile.
“She has been very kind to me. I feel quite lucky to have met her,” Phoebe said with a smile of her own.
“I am sure,” Nora stated with a nod. “She makes everyone feel that way. “We have heard so much about you, because Jane speaks of little else these days but the Duchess of Montford and her remarkable husband's equally remarkable transformation.”
“I do hope some of what you heard was flattering,” Phoebe replied with a haunted look, and was rewarded with warm laughter from all three women.
“Only the parts concerning you,” Penelope assured. “Edward, I am afraid, we have all known far too long to be entirely diplomatic about.”
“I understand congratulations are in order,” Nora stated once the tea had been poured and the introductions properly settled. “Jane tells us you are expecting.”
Phoebe felt herself blush, still feeling somewhat strange over the prospect of becoming a mother even though she had been the one to offer the information in her letter to Jane.
“Yes. Early days yet, but – yes.”
“How wonderful. We are also expecting and my husband in his meticulous way of ensuring we are prepared for what is to come has taken it upon himself to create scenarios to asses our preparedness but I’m afraid we still have a long way to go,” Nora sighed as she rested a hand on her own much more noticeable stomach bump.
“I confess that does little to ease my nerves,” Phoebe admitted, and the other women laughed.
“It should not,” Penelope said, not unkindly. “But you will manage, as they both intend to, and you will have a husband who – from what I am given to understand – will scarcely let you out of his sight regardless.”
“He has become rather protective,” Phoebe admitted reluctantly, even though she knew it was much more than that.
“Rather protective,” Jane repeated, with a look of mild scrutiny.
“You needed to have witnessed how he ran across the garden when you fainted. I was certain he had shoved aside a guest or two who had the misfortune of standing in his way. Thomas informed me that he had expressed to my husband that their hunting excursion should not take too long because he wished to be back soon enough to take you home himself.”
Phoebe laughed despite herself, torn between exasperation and fondness. “I shall have to speak with him about that.”
“Do not,” Nora advised, sipping her tea delicately “Enjoy it while it lasts, my dear. There will come a day, some years hence, when he is far too occupied with the affairs of the estate and the demands of several children to chase after your shadow so closely, and you will find yourself rather missing it.”
“May I ask you something rather forward?” Penelope questioned suddenly. “You needn't answer if it is unwelcome.”
“You may ask.” Phoebe nodded.
“Was it very difficult, in the beginning? I only wonder, because Jane has told us a little of how the marriage began, and I confess I have often thought how frightening it must be, to marry a man on such terms and hope, against all sense, that something more might grow from it.”
Phoebe considered the question honestly, turning her teacup slowly in her hands.
“It was difficult,” she admitted. “There were times I believed I had made a grave error – not in marrying him, precisely, but in allowing myself to hope for anything beyond what we had agreed to. I told myself repeatedly that hope of that sort was foolish, and dangerous, and likely to end in nothing but heartbreak.”
“And yet here you are,” Nora pointed out gently.
“And yet here I am.” Phoebe smiled, though it came with a faint ache of memory.
“I do not think I would counsel anyone to enter such an arrangement lightly, nor to expect that every such arrangement ends as mine has. But I have learned that hope, however foolish it feels at the time, is rarely wasted entirely. Even when it does not deliver precisely what one wished for, it tends to teach a person something worth keeping.”
“That is either very wise or very romantic,” Penelope said. “I cannot decide which.”
“Perhaps it is both,” Jane offered. “The best truths generally are.”
The afternoon passed more easily than Phoebe could have anticipated after that – the ladies were quick to draw her further into conversation, quicker still to make clear that her company was genuinely wanted rather than merely tolerated.
They traded stories of their own marriages and the particular absurdities of husbands who loved fiercely but expressed it in the strangest ways.
By the time the tea had gone cold in its pot, Phoebe found herself with a standing invitation to join their circle whenever she pleased, and a warmth in her chest that had little to do with the position of the sun in the sky outside.