Chapter Eight
After a light luncheon taken in the breakfast room, Aunt Fanny ushered Phoebe and Mattie into the drawing room.
Here, she insisted they should take up positions of what she called “ladylike industry” in case any of the fine gentlemen they’d encountered at the ball took it into their heads to call.
It also meant they would keep themselves occupied and not get bored while they waited to see if any of the declarations made the night before stood true.
Phoebe, who was indeed very bored, sat with her embroidery in her lap, praying that no one would come.
Alas, she was to be disappointed.
The first gentleman to arrive, at about four of the clock, was the Duke of Hexham, who’d secured an introduction and a dance at the ball with Mattie.
Phoebe regarded him with interest. So this was the duke her cousin had been obliquely referring to.
Knowing Mattie she would not put it past her to choose someone like this, despite his advanced age, for all the multitude of benefits it would entail.
With all his wealth, of course, he had no need to consider Phoebe, which came as a great relief as he was both portly and balding and definitely not her idea of the perfect man.
Mattie’s look of smug self-satisfaction, however, only barely disguised behind her sewing, was enough to assure Phoebe that her cousin was not of the same opinion and might well have set her cap at becoming a duchess.
His Grace, full of bonhomie and praise for everything about Mattie from her sewing to her gown to the way her hair framed her lovely face, only remained for a short ten minutes.
Perhaps he had other young ladies to look over as prospective brides.
His first wife, to whom he’d been married for twenty-five years, had not long been dead, so he was clearly finding the idea of renewed courtship a lot of fun.
He was replaced almost immediately by Phoebe’s maternal cousin, Tobias, in the company, for they’d encountered one another on the doorstep, of Mr. Jeremy Wade, Viscount Chatteris’s heir.
These were two jolly young men and the conversation between them and Mattie fairly bounced along at a great pace, with much laughter as they discussed the previous night’s ball and all the people they’d seen.
Young Mr. Wade proved to have a somewhat acid tongue and was very good at imitating people.
Aunt Fanny, hiding her disapproval of such mocking revelry for the sake of her precious daughter, fairly swelled with pride at what she presumably saw as Mattie’s successful debut into society.
Three gentlemen in a row had called upon her, even if one was only nineteen and could be said to have called because he was Phoebe’s cousin, and as such had the hint of business clinging to him.
However…for some reason, Mr. Wade, perhaps because he was a polite young man and had noticed Phoebe’s silence, seemed inclined to engage Phoebe herself in conversation, leaving Tobias able to monopolize Mattie.
Not that Mattie appeared to mind. Tobias was indeed excellent company in the way a gamboling puppy would be.
“I say,” Mr. Wade began, settling himself on the settee beside Phoebe.
“What a shame I didn’t get to dance with you last night.
I should have done so but my mother, bless her, had lined up all sorts of young ladies for me to partner.
” He smiled a gentle and rather conspiratorial smile. “You know what mothers can be like.”
“Aunts too,” Phoebe replied, keeping her voice low.
He nodded and gave a rueful smile. “And I daresay I shouldn’t look so odd if I were to dance with you. I hadn’t quite realized how tall your cousin was when I asked her to stand up with me. Makes a man look a bit silly, you know, when the lady’s taller than he is.”
Phoebe glanced at her cousin who was in animated conversation with a pink-cheeked Tobias and stabbed her needle into her fingertip.
Blood dripped onto her sewing to join the numerous faded spots Aunt Fanny had commanded Atkins to try to remove.
“Drat,” Phoebe said, before she could stop herself.
More blood dripped onto her pretty, pale-pink gown. That was going to get her into trouble.
Fortunately for her, Aunt Fanny was regarding Mattie with an air of pride, and hadn’t noticed.
Mr. Wade whipped a handkerchief from his breast pocket. “Please. Allow me. He pressed his handkerchief, which was of silk, to her bleeding fingertip, and smiled at her again. “I like to think I might come to the aid of a fair lady in distress, much as knights of old did.”
Phoebe smiled, but she was thinking of someone else whom she’d prefer to come to her aid. Although in reality it had been she who’d come to his aid. A little sigh escaped her.
Mr. Wade might have misconstrued the sigh, for his smile widened and his cheeks flushed a little.
The bleeding stopped and Phoebe pushed the handkerchief back into his hands in a hurry.
She didn’t want him getting the wrong idea.
“Thank you for your chivalric courtesy, Mr. Wade.” On second thought, she could have chosen some other words as this might only fuel his yearning to be considered a knight in shining armor.
Although a needle-pricked finger was not really a great misfortune.
She was well-used to needle-pricked fingers.
For a moment he seemed lost for words, as though he’d run through the whole gamut of his vocabulary.
This was a point at which Aunt Fanny had drummed into Phoebe that she should take the lead and direct a gentleman to talk of the weather, or some other harmless subject, but Phoebe could think of nothing else to say.
They sat there for a moment or two as the moment grew more awkward.
He must also have had etiquette drummed into him by someone. His mother, probably. “I believe they are saying we might see some sunshine tomorrow,” he ventured.
Phoebe, however, had been distracted by thoughts of his fearsome-looking mother.
If she had been considering Mr. Wade as a potential suitor, the very nature of his mama would have quelled her desire.
But she was not, so she smiled as equably as possible and agreed with him.
“I will be glad when spring comes. I don’t mind the cold, myself, but day upon day of rain is most off-putting, and the fog is so depressing.
” Which reminded her of her middle-of-the-night journey across a rather ghostly London.
He seemed to consider this encouragement, for he brightened considerably. “I myself like to stroll in the park on fine days.”
How boring he was. Which wasn’t really fair as he’d not seemed boring when he’d been talking to Mattie. Maybe it was her fault. Did she bring out the boring in people? Was she boring? Did Gabriel think she was boring?
And then of course, Phoebe’s mind strayed back again to her night’s adventure, even more of a shadowy dream now she was faced with the reality of entertaining unwanted gentleman callers.
What did this spoiled example of the nobility know of the scary backstreets where she had found herself while in Gabriel’s company?
What did he know about the poor orphans of the rookeries?
Not that she knew much about them herself, but she couldn’t deny she was keen to learn more.
Only if Gabriel were to teach her, though.
A faint hope. She sighed again.
“…and I have a fine pair of bays I like to drive along the Row,” Mr. Wade finished.
Phoebe came back to reality with a jolt, wondering what he’d been saying but sure it hadn’t been important.
“How nice.” Always a good staple when responding to a gentleman, Aunt Fanny had told her.
She’d added that as they rarely listened to what a woman had to say it was often best just to insert this useful phrase every so often and they’d be quite happy.
Mr. Wade seemed to be a good example of that sort of gentleman. Maybe that was how Mattie did it. She just listened and let them prattle on and entertain themselves. No, there had to be more to it than that.
“Of course,” he went on, oblivious to her lack of attention, “when I’m home in Warwickshire I like to hunt. Every gentleman should participate if he can, I always think.”
“How nice.”
Now he’d found a subject he liked he kept on talking, but her mind wandered again.
Would Gabriel be lying in bed in Denmark Street being cared for by Eliza Thorogood?
The idea of this kindled something she couldn’t quite understand in her heart.
The possibility that she would have liked to have had the care of him herself proved a little disturbing, and at the same time warmed her insides as nothing ever had before.
Could she have fallen in love with him? Was it possible on so short an acquaintance?
“…enchanted to have made your acquaintance, Lady Phoebe.” Mr. Wade was taking his leave of her.
“How nice.” On second thought that wasn’t quite appropriate, but he didn’t appear to have noticed, which just proved Aunt Fanny’s point about gentlemen not listening to what ladies said.
Instead, he was bowing over her hand, and by the window Cousin Tobias was taking his leave of Mattie.
She hurriedly amended her words. “Thank you for the pleasure of your company, Mr. Wade.”
She caught Aunt Fanny watching her and bestowed a faint smile on Mr. Wade, who colored up to his forehead as though she’d had the temerity to kiss him. That was funny.
Aunt Fanny had plenty to say when they’d gone.