Chapter Ten #3
He had to give himself a mental shake. It seemed he’d been right about her thinking it might be an adventure.
Perhaps he should have prevented her from accompanying him to Denmark Street and meeting his employees and Dr. Armstrong.
A good thing she’d not met any of the children.
Did she think every outing with him would be like that?
He strove to think of why he couldn’t take her, although really, he’d already set a precedent with Cecilia. Not that he intended to tell her that. “You’re a lady. It wouldn’t be proper.”
“But I’m different. I’m not a proper lady.
” She glanced over her shoulder at Atkins, no doubt anxious lest her maid overhear and report back to her aunt, especially so scandalously declaring she wasn’t a lady.
But Atkins was peering towards the Serpentine, perhaps hankering after refreshment from the lodge there.
“You are indeed a proper lady. You’re the daughter of an earl.”
“Ah, but I’m also the granddaughter of a man most of the ton might, no would, call a cit. You must already know that, and many would consider it taints my bloodline, even though my grandmother came from the highest echelons of society.”
He nodded. “You’re right. I do know your history.
I pride myself in having a good knowledge of every person possessing pretensions to grandeur, and believe me, many are only pretensions.
Do you imagine those with the proudest lineage didn’t have to start somewhere much lower?
You should be proud your grandfather was a self-made man. ”
She nodded. “Oh, I am very proud of my grandfather. I remember him well as rather an ancient gentleman who would take me on his knee and tell me stories about where all the fine goods everyone in society seeks to possess came from. He could tell tales of the Far East, of the Japans and Cathay. He was a great storyteller for Toby and me.”
“Then have no fear of being different to others. Be proud of your differences, as I am of mine. You could not come from a more lowly beginning than I do.”
She smiled. “But no one knows about your beginnings, do they? So no one can point a finger at you in accusation. I know they do at me. Granddaughter of a filthy-rich cit.”
He pulled a face. “My problem is that I know nothing about my origins. Everything is speculation. I don’t even know if what my mother told me about how she found me was true. She might have come by me some other way.”
“Let’s hope that bit was true or we’ll be stuck.”
He chuckled. “You are a very practical young lady beneath all that clumsiness and your dainty appearance. I’m most impressed by your acuity.
But I can’t escape the fact that I feel I have no roots.
I don’t know where I’m from.” He widened his eyes in mock shock.
“I might even be Belgian. They speak French there, you know.”
Phoebe smiled. “But you still fit in. Everyone thinks you are who you appear to be. I know I’ve said I’m proud of my grandfather and his origins, but I do very much feel that I don’t fit in.
” She paused. “Like at the ball where we met. I was like…like the proverbial fish out of water. I was not in my natural habitat. Mattie was. She loved every minute of it. She fitted in. I just became more clumsy and gauche the more the night wore on. Think yourself lucky you got the first dance with me, for later on in the evening I grew even worse. There might even be gentlemen whose toes need amputating thanks to me.”
He burst out laughing. “You talk yourself down too much, my lovely Phoebe.”
Her eyes widened; was it because he’d called her lovely? The word had just slipped out and now it was too late to take it back. Besides, she was lovely, in the delicate way an autumn leaf was, or a sparrow in his hand, fluttering against his fingers. Good heavens, whatever was he thinking?
She must have guessed his discomfort because she leapt in for the kill.
“So, if I cannot question your stepmother’s housekeeper, which I very much want to do, you must say you will take me with you into St Giles.
For I would like to help you find this woman who was your true mother, and also see for myself the things you’ve described.
I know you loved your adoptive mother, but I think finding this Frenchwoman, if she still lives, is vitally important to you.
I at least know who I am, but you don’t, and you won’t until you find her. I think I can help you.”
For someone trying to pass herself off as a shy violet she sounded all of a sudden very confident about her abilities as a sleuth.
He watched her for a moment, but she showed no signs of backing down.
Perhaps he would take her into St Giles.
Most of the members of the ton could do with visiting it as well, but, as they found Bedlam fascinating for its entertainment value rather than finding its sad inmates objects of pity, it was doubtful if it would open their eyes.
“You’ll have to have a disguise then,” he said. “And we’ll have to work out how to get you on your own so you can go.” He tossed a glance at Atkins. “You can’t go walking in there, even in disguise, with a maid in tow.”
Phoebe also glanced towards Atkins who appeared now to be watching them. Keeping her voice low and her face bland, she gave him the smallest of nods. “I’ll find a way, have no fear.”
Her eyes, despite the lack of expression on her face, sparkled with excitement.
Was it just because she was going to be exploring a den of iniquity, or was it because she relished the chance to try to solve his mystery?
He couldn’t quite be sure and had a lot of questions.
Was he making a rather large mistake in allowing her to participate in his life?
Would his mother have approved? Yes, he thought so, because she would have been the first one into St Giles if she were still alive.
The only reason she hadn’t gone in there herself to look for the mysterious Frenchwoman must have been because his father had forbidden her to do so.
She couldn’t have told his father lies just because she wanted to keep him.
Could she?