CHAPTER EIGHT
Phoebe’s ride home in Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s carriage had her fidgeting on the seat.
Every emotion one could feel swirled inside her head, making it hard to sit still.
The things she had told the duke left her awash in mortification.
The man was a duke, raised in privilege; she could only imagine what he thought when he heard her sob story.
He had said that he pitied her, and that he thought she wouldn’t want that.
He was right to think so. She didn’t want his pity. But what did she want?
The answer was both simple and complicated.
It would not be a hardship to wake each day and see his handsome face, to be the beneficiary of his kindness, compassion, and generosity.
Except perhaps there was another side to him?
Her father had two sides. Her aunt certainly did.
The side she showed Phoebe and the side she showed her daughters and Fluffy.
Was everything he said tonight pretend? Did he hide secrets?
Was he hiding his responsibility for his three wives’ deaths?
Her intuition told her no, and she would trust it for now.
Yet she had opened her wounds from her past to him, while he did not.
Would he tell her about his wives? She wanted to know if he loved them.
She had heard the gossip, but she wanted to hear the truth from him.
How jumbled her mind was about the duke.
He was a dark, brooding, sometimes amusing enigma, with light shining from within.
And for some unfathomable reason, she wanted to know him better.
She wanted him to hold her in his strong, safe arms and never let her go.
The thought made her body warm. When he brushed his lips across her gloved fingers, she felt the heated connection straight to her heart.
She knew more about what happened between a man and a woman than most innocents, because of where she’d lived for the past thirteen years.
She’d witnessed men take women who sold their bodies on the streets.
She understood what went where. What she didn’t understand was how it could be enjoyable.
All she’d ever seen was a woman pushed up against a wall face-first, a man pulling up her skirts, opening his trousers, and exposing his manhood, which then disappeared inside her.
Then he pushed against her behind, some longer than others, making grunts and groans as if he were in pain.
Was he in pain? If so, why would he keep doing it?
It didn’t sound enjoyable to Phoebe, and when she did marry, if she married the duke, she hoped there was more to coupling than what she’d seen on the seedier streets of London.
Perhaps Emma knew more than she did. She’d make a point of asking her. She laughed aloud at the idea of that conversation. Emma, with her sheltered life, would know less than Phoebe did.
When the carriage pulled up two townhouses down from Greenwich House, Puck opened the door and helped her out.
“Let’s be quick about this. I don’t want you to be seen,” he said, and they hurried to the servants’ entrance.
Phoebe sighed with relief as the knob turned, and she slipped inside without a backward glance at Puck. He would already be hurrying away.
“Thank goodness you’re back,” Emma said, standing in the kitchen, looking worried.
“What has happened?” Phoebe asked, her heart pounding in panic.
“Mother. For some reason, she has been looking for you. I thought I could trust Mrs. McCarthy, but obviously not.”
“Where is your mother now?”
“Waiting for you in your room.”
“What did you tell her?” Phoebe asked as they climbed as slowly as possible up the servants’ stairs to the third floor, which housed the family chambers.
“I made up a lie about you liking to walk the streets at night when it’s peaceful.”
“And she believed you?” Phoebe gasped.
“I highly doubt it, but we shall see.”
“I’ll run away before I allow her to put me back up in the attic and poison my food again.” And she meant it. Phoebe would not stay where she was in danger.
“If I can’t stop her from doing just that, I will help you escape. Perhaps Mrs. Dove-Lyon would let you stay with her?”
“I would never impose upon her,” Phoebe said, her heart heavy.
“Well, no time like the present to face Mother.” Emma hugged her. “Good luck. I’ll be outside the door, listening. With my mother’s loud voice, it should be easy.”
Phoebe hugged her back. “Thank you for helping me.”
“What are cousins and friends for?”
She wiped a tear from her eye. “I don’t know. Until you, I’ve had neither.” Before she could wallow again in self-pity, she straightened her spine, plastered on her most determined look, and opened the door, coming face-to-face with her angry aunt.
“Where have you been?”
Nothing like getting straight to the point.
Her brown eyes were wide and accusing. “I’m sorry if I worried you.
I went for a walk. I was feeling restless and missing my mother.
Being outside under the moon and stars makes me feel close to her.
” Time for the charm. “Please forgive me. You and Lord Greenwich have been so kind, taking me into your beautiful home. Next time I feel the need to go for a walk, I’ll come to you and ask permission. ”
Her aunt’s eyes softened just a bit. “Very well. See that you do.” With those final words, she swept out of Phoebe’s room, not bothering to shut the door.
With her heart nearly pounding out of her chest and her hands shaking, Phoebe went to her bed and fell back on it. Her hands were outstretched, and her legs dangled off the side as she took deep, even breaths, hoping to calm down. It had begun to work when she heard Emma say, “That went well.”
She sat up on the edge of the bed and watched Emma close the door, then lean against it. “I thought Mother was going to rant and rave. Instead, she remained calm. How did you do it?”
“I don’t know.”
Emma approached the bed and sat down beside her. “I’m dying to know—who is the gentleman you will marry?”
After everything that had happened that night, Phoebe couldn’t contain her laughter.
“What is so funny?” Emma asked.
“You will never guess who it is in a million years.”
Emma grabbed one of her hands, her eyes widening as she said, “Tell me. I can’t wait a second longer.”
“The Duke of Weston.”
Emma’s mouth opened, closed and opened again. “The Duke of Doom?” she muttered.
“Yes.” Phoebe sighed. Would he forever be called that?
“Oh my God, he is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
You are so lucky. I should go before Mother looks for me,” Emma said as she stood, walked to the door, and opened it.
She took a moment to stick her head out and look up and down the hall.
Phoebe assumed nobody was around, because Emma then turned and said, “Sweet dreams about your duke.”
“He’s not my . . .” Before she could finish, Emma was gone.
“Duke.” Or was he? When her uncle received a note from the duke tomorrow, it would be either a good or a very bad turning point in her life.
She wished for the first. Drat, she forgot to ask Emma to unlace the back of her dress.
Although she’d become good at slipping her arms out, spinning the dress around, and unlacing it herself. Which was what she did.
After hanging her day dress and cloak in her wardrobe, she took a night rail from her dresser drawer and slipped it over her head.
She used the cool water from the pitcher and basin to wash her face and tooth powder to scrub her teeth.
After a quick visit behind the screen to relieve herself, she climbed into bed and snuggled beneath the coverlet with relief.
After the emotional ups and downs of that night, she was glad to be safely in bed.
She knew she was safe with Mrs. Dove-Lyon and the duke; it was her aunt who worried her.
Thinking of the handsome duke made her eyes close as she dreamed of being his duchess.
Morning arrived, and Phoebe sat up in bed, stretching her sore body.
Her body still carried the tension from the night before.
When she felt better, she climbed out of bed, performed her morning ablutions, then washed up and dressed in the prettiest green day dress that once belonged to Emma.
It brought out the color of her eyes. Her hand went to her stomach as it fluttered with excitement at the idea of the duke calling upon her today.
She put on her stockings and slippers, combed out her hair, and braided it.
She would ask Emma if Maggie could do her hair later.
Entering the kitchen, one hand clutching the bodice of her dress to her chest, she went to the only maid who treated her with any sort of welcome and said, “Can you please lace up my dress, Sophia?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” She made a plate from the dishes on the table. Eggs, biscuits, cream, and jam. To her shock, the cook brought her a cup of hot chocolate with an apologetic smile. “Thank you.” Perhaps not all the servants hated her after all.
When she finished eating, she carried her cup, plate, and utensils to the counter. “Thank you for breakfast, Mrs. McCarthy.” As she turned to leave the kitchen, she found a footman frowning.
“Lord Greenwich would like a word with you in his study. I’ll show you the way.”
This was it, she thought as she followed the footman.
Her uncle would either take her to task for sneaking out last night, or the Duke of Weston’s note had arrived.
She hoped it was the latter. She really didn’t want more tension and unease today.
She wanted to attend afternoon tea with her aunt and cousins while the duke paid homage to her.
She almost giggled. Who would have thought a duke would want to court her?
And not just court her, he said. He wanted to make her his duchess.
Now she did giggle. “Apologies,” she mumbled, having no idea if he’d heard her giggles.