CHAPTER SEVEN
On the morning of the day she was to meet a potential suitor and possible husband, Phoebe went down to the kitchens for breakfast. Her aunt must have given up poisoning her, since no tray had arrived that morning.
No doubt the scare with Fluffy had rattled her, and she couldn’t risk her precious dog being poisoned again.
That eased Phoebe somewhat, but not completely.
She would never truly let her guard down until she no longer lived within Greenwich House.
Phoebe hadn’t seen her aunt since the day she’d moved into the pink room and peeked into the drawing room while the Duke of Doom was visiting. She cringed each time she called him that, but try as she might, she couldn’t remember his name, and she didn’t want to ask Emma.
It was rather sad about the duke. Emma would make him a wonderful duchess.
Of course, that hinged on there not being a curse.
But Phoebe didn’t believe in curses. Since Lord Norton hadn’t shown any interest in Emma, perhaps the man she was meeting tonight would have a friend, and he and Emma would suit each other.
She owed Emma for all her help. If she could assist her in finding a suitor and husband, it would make her happy.
She couldn’t understand why she wasn’t married and raising a family by now.
When Phoebe finished eating, she went back to her room and found Fluffy outside.
She picked her up and hugged her. “What are you doing here? You know your mama doesn’t want you near me.
” Fluffy licked her chin, and Phoebe giggled at the feel of her wet tongue.
“You are such a sweet dog. How did you ever manage to belong to such a mean mistress?” Fluffy licked her again.
She put her down and watched as the white dog wiggled down the hall and disappeared down the staircase.
No doubt she wanted to find someone else to lick the remains of breakfast off their face.
Phoebe went to the dressing table, which doubled as a writing desk.
She took out paper, quill, and ink and wrote a letter to her father.
She would never send it, as she had no address for him.
But perhaps she would let go of some of the anger she felt toward him if she put her thoughts on paper.
It couldn’t hurt, and it was worth a try.
Dearest Father,
The day you packed up and left, Mother died.
I was with her at the end, and she didn’t appear to suffer.
As I had promised to her, I contacted your brother, Lord Greenwich, and he arranged for Mother’s burial and took me home to live.
He and Lady Greenwich feed and clothe me, but that is all.
I’m not allowed in the family rooms. I eat with the servants.
After the first week of staying in the attic, Lady Emma, the eldest daughter of Lord and Lady Greenwich, insisted on moving me into the room beside hers.
That is where I am now as I write this letter.
Emma is very kind to me, and we have become friends.
Since I’ve been at Greenwich House, I’ve mourned Mother, and as I’ve seen how your brother lives and how you left Mother and me on her deathbed, I’ve had to confront my anger toward you.
I wonder why, when I was eight years old, we had to leave our nice home and move to the house we rented, where we lived for thirteen years.
Why did we have no money? Why did Mother work her fingers to the bone taking in mending, while I cooked and cleaned?
Why did you never let me marry? You both came from prominent families, so what went wrong?
I realize you will never read this letter, but still, I sit here, with tears in my eyes, for Mother and for what you did to her.
I don’t want to say she died because of you, but that is what I believe.
If she had had the privileged life she was born into, perhaps she wouldn’t have become sick.
Only God knows the truth. I pray you find what you are looking for.
Your only daughter,
Phoebe
Before her tears blurred all the words, she folded the parchment and tucked it into a book of poems. Her tears continued as she pictured her mother’s beautiful face before she became ill.
Seeing her mother’s face in death was something she struggled with.
She didn’t want to remember her that way, so she forced that scene from her mind.
Just as she refused to see what her father had turned into.
She was tired of being angry with her father for what he had done to them, for his leaving.
She forced herself to stop crying and breathed in and out, hoping to calm her nerves.
She whispered something she thought she’d never say, “I forgive you, Father.” They were only words, but the crushing weight lifted from her chest instantly.
Not forgiving him wouldn’t hurt him, but it was hurting her, so she let it go.
If she were to forge a future with someone, she needed to enter the relationship with an unencumbered past and heart.
Now what did she do? It was hours yet to luncheon and even more hours until her meeting with Mrs. Dove-Lyon. She flopped onto her bed, propped up the pillows, and stared into the fireplace, which had been set. October could be chilly.
She took luncheon and dinner in the kitchens with the servants.
They were neither unfriendly nor friendly toward her, and she didn’t blame them.
As the niece of their employer and the lord of the house, they must find it strange that she took her meals with them.
It didn’t bother her if they ignored her.
She preferred it that way. And with any luck, she wouldn’t be in residence much longer.
In her room now, dressed and waiting for Emma’s knock, she paced, her stomach tied in knots. There was a soft knock on the door. Phoebe went and opened it a crack. Emma said, “All clear. Come quickly.”
Phoebe followed Emma as silently as possible to the servants’ stairs and down to the kitchens.
The cook sat alone at the table, drinking tea.
Emma held up a finger for silence. Phoebe raised a hand and pulled her hood lower so she wouldn’t be recognized.
Except it wouldn’t be too hard for the cook to guess.
She slipped out the servants’ door and hurried toward Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s carriage, which she could see several houses down. When she approached, Puck jumped down from his seat and opened the door. “Welcome, miss.”
“Thank you.” Once she felt Puck climb onto his perch on the back of the carriage, the wheels engaged, and they were off.
Exhaling in relief that she had made it out of the house with only the cook seeing her, she leaned back against the squabs.
“This is it,” she whispered, “the night I met the gentleman who could potentially become my husband.” Her hands flew to her stomach.
“Relax. If you cast up your accounts, he’ll run away.
” So much was riding on this meeting that she didn’t know how to process the emotions bombarding her.
Life had not always been easy for her and her mother, but it had been simple.
Since arriving at Greenwich House, nothing had been simple. And tonight was certainly anything but.
The carriage wheels slowed to a stop, and she gave herself a talking-to, “You can do this. Remain calm, be brave, and trust your instincts and Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
The door opened, and she took Puck’s offered hand, stepping out of the carriage directly in front of the main doors.
Puck led her to the side of the building, where she learned the other night the ladies’ entrance was.
They entered through the side door and climbed the stairs to the main floor of the Lyon’s Den.
She knew he was taking her to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s private office.
He knocked once on the door and opened it wide to let her inside.
She inhaled to steady herself and walked inside to find the proprietor of the Lyon’s Den relaxing on a settee, sipping tea.
There was no one else in the room. She didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.
“Come in, Miss Windham, and have a seat.”
“Thank you.” She took a chair facing the settee.
“Would you care for tea?” her host asked.
“No, thank you.”
“Then we will get on with business. The gentleman I wish you to meet is already in the building. However, I wanted to meet with you first to make sure all is well at Greenwich House.”
“Yes.”
“That is a relief to hear after you spoke of poison. I also want to make sure this matchmaking is what you desire. All the ladies who have come to me in the past were ruined, involved in scandals, or on the brink of ruin, and needed me to find them a suitable husband quickly. This is not the case for you. Society doesn’t even know you exist, even though you are the granddaughter and niece of an earl.
Are you positive you want me to make this match for you? ”
Phoebe didn’t have to think twice. “Yes. This is what I want and need. You see, my aunt won’t let me go anywhere in the house except my room and the kitchen.
How will I ever meet someone to marry? She has three daughters to marry off.
She thinks of me as a nuisance. The best I can hope for otherwise is that when Lady Emma marries, she will take me with her and I’ll become a governess to her children.
That would not be terrible, but I would prefer to have my own husband and my own children.
I’ve never asked for anything in my life until I came to you.
Please don’t send me away.” Tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to escape.
If only she could see Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s face to gauge her reaction.
“I will never send a lady away who needs my help. And it appears you do. There is one more thing. The gentleman I have in mind for you is frequently the subject of gossip, which means you would become fodder for the gossipmongers. Is this something you’ll be able to deal with?”