CHAPTER THREE #2
Standing near the wardrobe, Phoebe undressed while watching Maggie take out a chemise and a light-blue day dress, finer than anything she’d seen in ages. Maggie slipped the chemise over her head and laced it up in front.
“This fits nicely,” Maggie remarked. Next came the dress, which seemed a little loose in the bodice and at the waist until it was laced up the back.
“This is perfect as well. You are a tad thinner than Lady Emma. I tightened the laces as much as I could.” She stepped back.
“The length is good as well. I’m not needed after all.
Oh, wait. You need shoes? I’ll have Lady Emma, Lady Sarah, and Lady Catherine go through their shoes, boots, and slippers and see what they can spare and hope something fits you. Good day, miss.”
“Wait. Can you help me undress?”
“Why? You need something to wear today.”
Phoebe stared at the maid’s back as she slipped out the door. Perhaps her aunt had changed her mind, and she was attending luncheon and tea with the family. Was the lady all bark and no bite? She could hope.
When luncheon arrived an hour later, she had her answer. She ate alone, but at least she was not in the cold, dreary attic. She could spend her days in this room and be perfectly content. Or could she?
At precisely a quarter after four, Phoebe snuck out of her room.
Her curiosity about the Duke of Doom wouldn’t relent, and she had to see him for herself.
She encountered several footmen and maids who didn’t blink at seeing her, so she continued on her way to where she surmised the drawing room would be.
When she heard voices from partially open double doors near the second-floor landing, she tiptoed toward the sound.
Her heart pounded in her chest, and she trembled at the thought of getting caught.
Yet, her curiosity wouldn’t let up, and she continued onward.
Standing off to the side of the open doors, she held her breath and leaned to the side, peeking around the door and quickly covering a gasp.
It wasn’t her uncle presenting the duke to his daughters that startled her; it was the duke himself.
The man intrigued her, sending butterflies fluttering in her belly.
His hair was black as night, curling at the collar of his gray riding jacket.
He was about the same height as her uncle.
“Turn around, turn around,” she whispered, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face.
And turn he did, though he couldn’t have heard her.
His face was . . . perfect. His nose was straight and aristocratic, with a strong jawline and a dimple in the middle of his chin.
He had full lips and high, prominent cheekbones.
From this far away, his eyes looked as dark as his hair.
One wayward curl hung over one eye. He wasn’t the decrepit old ogre Emma had described.
When his eyes met hers through the open crack in the door and one brow rose, she quickly leaned away.
Her hand went to her heaving chest, and her head tingled with lightheadedness.
He’d seen her. Would he say anything? She didn’t relish her aunt or uncle taking her to task.
She didn’t want to be banished back to the attic.
She hurried into the next room and was pleased to find it was a library.
She didn’t dare explore the room, even though she wanted to.
She’d sneak back here another time. Instead, she stayed by the door, opening it enough to stick her head through and watch, hoping to see when the duke took his leave.
She had to see him again. After nearly half an hour, but what felt like an entire day, the drawing room doors opened wide, and he stepped out into the hall.
All the breath in her lungs vanished as she watched the long-limbed, graceful duke take his first step on the stairs behind a footman.
He paused and turned her way. At first, he looked upset.
Then their eyes met. He winked and continued his descent.
Not only did she gasp for much-needed air, but she also placed her hand over her pounding heart, which suddenly warmed.
She peeked out the library door once again, and finding the hallway empty, hurried up the stairs and into her room.
The entire time, she envisioned the handsome duke and how strange her reaction was when he looked at her.
It was as though they’d met before. But that was impossible.
She would never forget someone like him.
Not long after, Emma knocked and entered her room, sitting on the bench at the foot of her bed while she stood looking out the window.
“Well, the Duke of Doom is not as I expected. But Mother made it perfectly clear, in front of Father, no less, that she would not allow the duke to court any of us. She values our lives too much.”
Phoebe turned away from the window. “What did your father do?”
“What could he do? He couldn’t very well argue with Mother in front of our guest.”
“No, I suppose not,” Phoebe said. “And the duke? What did he do?”
“He politely said he was glad to make our acquaintance and took his leave.”
“Oh, just like that?” Phoebe said.
“What did you think he would do?” Emma said as she stood and went to the dressing table. “Sit. Your hair needs a brushing. I used to love brushing my sisters’ hair when they were younger.”
“I’m hardly young, and I can brush it myself.
” At witnessing the disappointment in Emma’s eyes, she added, “Why not?” and sat in the chair, facing the mirror, while Emma gently brushed her hair.
“You and I have the same color and texture. Waves when we want straight and so very thick it takes my maid forever to put it up.”
“Yes,” Phoebe said, because it was true. Except for having a maid to put it up. She couldn’t remember the last time her hair had been up. Most days, it was in one long braid down her back. Today, she hadn’t even bothered with that.
“Did Lord Norton show up?”
Emma stopped brushing and returned the brush to the dressing table.
“I really didn’t expect him to since he doesn’t know I’m alive.
I’ve never danced or spent any time in his company.
It’s silly really, how I’ve fixated on him.
Tears welled in Emma’s eyes, and she turned toward the door.
“Mother informed us that you are uncomfortable dining with us and will take trays in your room. I hope that ends soon. My sisters are mean, and I could use an ally.”
“I believe your mother misinformed you. I want to dine with the family, but she refused.”
“Well,” Emma huffed. “I will have to change Mother’s mind, then.”
Shortly after Emma left, her dinner tray arrived, and the food had improved since her stay in the attic.
It smelled divine. It consisted of thinly sliced beef, mashed potatoes, green beans, a roll and cream, and a slice of apple pie.
She ate as much as she could, and when Fluffy came scratching at the door, she let her in and fed her little pieces of beef and some pie.
It wasn’t long before both of them were stretched out on the bed, dozing from their full bellies.
Phoebe woke with a start. She’d dreamed she had an upset stomach, which was true, and her heart pounded something fierce. Fluffy let out little moans beside her, and she wondered if the food on her tray had spoiled somehow.
She winced and clutched her stomach as she rolled off the bed and rang for a maid. When the maid arrived, she handed her Fluffy. “Something is wrong with her. Please take her to my aunt immediately.”
“Did she eat something?”
“I fed her some beef and apple pie. I don’t feel well either. Perhaps the food was spoiled?”
The maid bobbed her head and hurried off, Fluffy cradled in her arms.
Phoebe ran for the chamber pot and lost her dinner. Then she climbed back under the covers and fell right asleep, even though she felt chilled, clammy, and weak.