CHAPTER EIGHT #3
There was a knock on her door, and Maggie called out, “Miss Phoebe, I’m here to get you ready.”
“Maggie,” she said, shocked she’d actually fallen asleep and that it was now three in the afternoon. “Come in.”
Maggie closed the door behind her, then went to the dressing table and set down the small basket she carried. “What dress do you wish to wear?”
Phoebe swung her legs over the edge of the bed and rose. “The green one.”
“Perfect.” Maggie removed it from the wardrobe and shook out the skirt. “I always loved this dress on Lady Emma. I’m surprised she parted with it.”
“So am I. It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”
With Maggie’s help, she was dressed. Now at the dressing table, Maggie undid her braids and brushed out her long, thick tresses.
“You have the same hair as Lady Emma. Lord Greenwich has the same color. Does your father as well?”
“Yes.” She tried to hide the sadness from her voice but knew she failed.
“Forgive me for asking.”
“It is quite all right.” Phoebe watched Maggie’s hands as she brushed her hair and then styled it into a simple, loose knot at the nape of her neck.
“Do you like it?”
She turned her head from side to side and smiled. “Yes, I look pretty. Before my mother became ill, she used to style my hair like this. Thank you.”
“I’m sorry for the loss of your mother.”
“Thank you, Maggie.”
“Lady Emma said she’d knock on your door at four so you wouldn’t have to go down to the drawing room alone.”
Maggie left, taking her basket of pins and such.
Phoebe found herself with fifteen minutes until Emma would collect her.
She spent them pacing the room, then pausing at the window to glance out at the gardens.
Too bad her room didn’t face the street so she could watch the goings-on, perhaps even catch a glimpse of the duke when he arrived.
“Phoebe,” Emma said from her open door. “Didn’t you hear me knock?”
“I guess not,” she replied, taking one last look at herself in the looking glass before exiting the room beside Emma.
“You look so pretty. The duke will be tongue-tied when he sees you.”
She hmphed. “I doubt it. I’m quite convinced he sees beautiful ladies every day.”
“That may be true,” she whispered, “but he wants to marry you.”
“Shh, don’t say that. Someone might hear.”
“It will become public information soon enough,” Emma said wistfully. “I can’t wait to meet the man who wants to marry me.”
Phoebe took her hand and squeezed it, then let it go. “You will soon.”
“I hope.” They paused outside the drawing room doors. “Are you ready?”
Phoebe shivered. “I think so.”
Emma nodded to the footman standing beside the double doors, and he opened them.
Phoebe glanced around the beautifully decorated green-and-cream drawing room she’d only seen by peeking through a crack in the doors.
At that time, she never thought she would ever be invited inside to partake of tea with the family.
But here she was. When she and Emma entered the room, her aunt looked at them briefly, then turned and continued her conversation with Sarah and Catherine, who so resembled their mother in coloring and personality.
Their hair was brown to match their brown eyes.
That’s not to say her cousins weren’t lovely.
They were quite beautiful. If only the beauty went beneath the surface.
Sarah and Catherine sat on a deep-green settee, facing their mother on an identical one. “Come sit beside me, Emma, dear,” Lady Greenwich said, patting the settee.
Emma gave her a look, then went and sat down beside her mother. There were several other groupings of chairs in the room, and Phoebe sat in the chair closest to the settee on which Emma resided. She didn’t want to be near her aunt, but she did want to be close to Emma.
“Phoebe, would you care for a cup of tea?” her aunt asked, shocking her.
“Yes, please. With milk and two sugars.”
“Emma, be a dear and serve your cousin. Add a few biscuits the cook just made as well. She looks thin, and we can’t have the duke thinking she is neglected.”
She stared at Emma as Emma poured and prepared her tea. “Thank you,” she said, handing them to her. Just as she took her first sip, a footman entered and announced, “His Grace, the Duke of Weston.”
She glanced over her teacup as the handsome duke entered the drawing room, approached her aunt, and bowed. “Lady Greenwich, how honored I am to be back in your drawing room.”
“The honor is all ours, Your Grace.”
He flicked his eyes to Phoebe, causing her cheeks to heat.
She knew he was handsome and had a strange effect on her, so how had she not prepared herself for the onslaught that was the Duke of Weston?
The air vacated her lungs, and she had to force her jaw to remain closed.
Otherwise, the entire contents of the drawing room would see her ogle the duke.
“Emma, please let His Grace sit beside me.”
“That is not necessary, Lady Greenwich. There is an empty set near Miss Windham.”
“Nonsense, you will sit with me. We didn’t really get to talk or get to know one another the last time you visited.”