CHAPTER ONE #2
“Thank you,” she replied. The rest of the ride was silent until they pulled up to a magnificent home in London’s Grosvenor Square, according to the sign she’d just read.
She had heard about the home her father grew up in, but she had never been in this part of London.
Sighing, she wondered what it would have been like if she had grown up here.
It was useless to dream and wonder. Her mother’s family lived nearby, if her memory served her correctly.
Her mother had told her little about how her marriage to her father came about.
All she knew was that they ran off to Gretna Green, and her mother’s parents were furious and disowned her.
Too bad she spent her entire married life paying for her decision.
Not that her mother had ever complained; quite the opposite.
She was happy, or at least pretended to be, until she became sick.
She had doted on Phoebe whenever she could.
Phoebe cleared her throat, the unshed tears clogging it again.
Would she ever not feel sad about the loss of her devoted mother?
A liveried footman opened the carriage door, and her uncle exited first. She took the offered hand of the young footman and stepped out of the carriage.
Her eyes traveled up the exterior of the enormous house.
It had a lovely, welcoming facade. Since meeting her uncle, he had been nice to her.
Could she hope the rest of his family would welcome her with equal kindness?
A chill settled in her bones warning her.
If her uncle had truly cared about her wellbeing, he wouldn’t have cut off her father’s inheritance.
She followed her uncle up the stairs and into a large entry hall, where a butler took his overcoat, hat, and gloves. “Warwick,” said her uncle. “This is my niece, Miss Phoebe Windham. See that Mrs. Cummings gets her settled in her room.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Just then, a thin, middle-aged woman with a pinched face came into the entry hall. “Did I hear my name?”
“Mrs. Cummings,” Warwick said as her uncle strolled away without another word. “Yes. This is His Lordship’s niece, Miss Phoebe Windham. Please show her to her room.”
Mrs. Cummings looked down her long nose at Phoebe, her eyes narrowing. Had Phoebe offended her somehow? Phoebe didn’t think so. She had just arrived and hadn’t said a word. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Cummings.”
Mrs. Cummings huffed. “Come this way.” She looked at the footman holding her bags. “Follow us.”
Phoebe followed the housekeeper, who was dressed in a dull gray dress, into the kitchens and up the servants’ stairs.
They climbed past even the servants’ quarters until they reached a small attic room with one window and a slanted roof.
The room was clean. The wooden floors were mostly covered with a worn blue rug.
There was a bed, a small table beside it holding a candle, a small dresser, a writing desk even more rickety than the one she had at her house, and a small wooden chair.
In one corner was a screen, which she presumed hid her chamber pot.
She shivered. Not from the cold, but from the feeling that her aunt and uncle were going to keep her a prisoner up here.
Obviously, she was not to be treated as one of the family.
If that were the case, she would have a guest room on the third floor with the rest of the Windham family.
“Lady Greenwich has requested you take all your meals up here unless she tells me otherwise. A maid will bring them to you. If you feel the need to leave your room, you will use the servants’ stairs and stay to the kitchens.”
The footman gave her a sympathetic glance and left with the stern housekeeper with a broom up her arse.
Phoebe busied herself, trying not to think of her mother and her present situation as an unwanted guest, and unpacked her meager belongings.
When she stepped behind the screen, she was pleasantly surprised to find a pitcher of clean water, a basin, soap, tooth powder, and several old linen cloths.
It was more than she expected in her prison.
And it was a prison. She may be staying with family, but it was clear they resented having to perform such a duty.
There was a soft knock on the door, pulling Phoebe from her thoughts. “Come in.”
A pretty young lady, about her age, swept into the room in a lovely blue day dress.
She had nearly the same auburn hair and green eyes as her, a trait she had inherited from her father, making her think this was her cousin.
“You are finally here,” she said, taking both her hands in hers.
“I couldn’t believe it when Father said we had a cousin.
He’s never spoken of your father. How shocking to find out my father has two brothers, not one.
” She released her hands. “Oh, please forgive me for prattling on so without introducing myself. I’m Emma, your cousin. ”
“Emma,” Phoebe mumbled. “Your father didn’t tell me he had a daughter.”
“Actually, he has three daughters. You will meet Sara and Catherine at dinner.”
Doubtful, since she was supposed to eat in her room. She smiled at Emma and was surprised it wasn’t forced. Emma was such a breath of fresh air. How could she not be happy to meet her? “I look forward to meeting your sisters. I’ve never had cousins before.”
“We have cousins on my mother’s side. They are terrible, spoiled brats. Our other uncle, William, your father’s other brother, is married but has no children.”
“Oh, I see.” She did, but she didn’t. William was another family stranger. Her father had kept much from her. Her mother had as well, until she became ill. While in her sickbed, she told of their family history. At least some of it. Phoebe had a feeling she had left much out.
“I’ll have to speak to Mother about your accommodations. It would suit both of us if you were moved to the empty chamber beside mine. Anyway,” she giggled. “Tea is being served in the drawing room. Will you come down with me?”
The expectant, excited look on Emma’s face made Phoebe’s stomach ache. She so wanted to be part of Emma’s family, or at least be friends with Emma. “I still have unpacking to do. Perhaps another time.”
“Fine, but you must promise to be my friend.”
“Yes. I promise.” With that, Emma left as enthusiastically as she had entered, taking the joy from the dreary room that was to be her bedroom and prison.
Because of the single small window, it wasn’t long before she had to light a candle to ward off the waning daylight.
She found a box of candles and several glass holders in the night table drawer.
She was very thankful for this. Lighting two candles, she took a book from her bag, a very old volume of poems that had belonged to her mother.
She sat on her bed, the two pillows fluffed up against the brass headboard, and she passed the time until her dinner tray would come, reading and ignoring the protest from her empty stomach.