The following morning, Benjamin called on his sister bright and early, not only because he wanted to partake of the elaborate Ashbury Manor buffet, but also because he couldn’t let another day go by without knowing what, if anything, his sister knew about Miss Blake.
“Goodness, Ben, you might as well set up a room for yourself here and get rid of your town house if you’re going to raid our buffet every morning,” Katherine said as she crossed the threshold into the breakfast room.
“I’m not sure what people would think of me were I to move in with my sister, but thank you just the same. It would make things much more convenient. Where’s Duckie this morning?”
Kat rolled her eyes. “He’s gone to meet with our solicitor.” She put two pieces of plain toast on her plate and asked the footman for a cup of tea.
“Are you unwell?” Benjamin asked, concerned that his sister’s normally vivacious appetite seemed to have disappeared.
She was silent for a moment as if she contemplated telling the truth or not. “Not unwell, per se. Just . . . tired.”
“I’ve never known you to eat so little—no matter how tired you were.”
“Yes, well, my stomach may be a little upset. Too much lemonade last night.”
“Liar.”
Kat’s head snapped up and her black eyes settled on him in alarm. “What are you talking about?”
“The truth, Kat. I don’t have all day. Are you unwell?” He punctuated the last words with an edge of impatience to his tone.
His sister’s face began to contort, and he wasn’t sure if she was going to laugh or cry. After a moment, she said, “Leave us,” and the footmen bowed out of the room, closing the door firmly behind them.
Oh, Lord. Something must truly be wrong for her to send the servants away. He waited while she gathered herself, and at long last she looked up at him. Her eyes were moist, but she wore a serene smile that put Ben somewhat at ease.
“I’m enceinte.”
The words hung in the air for a moment before Ben jumped from his seat and went to his sister. He pulled her from her chair and enveloped her in his embrace. Kat and William had wanted this for so long, and he knew they’d worried if it would ever happen at all. But it had, and he couldn’t have been more thrilled for his sister and his old friend.
“What did William say when you told him?” he asked as he made his way back to his seat.
And then his sister dissolved into tears.
“Kat? What is it?”
“He . . . he doesn’t know yet.”
Dammit. He had squeezed it out of her before she’d even had a chance to tell her husband. “Well, you must do it soon . . . tonight! This isn’t a secret I can keep, Kat.”
She laughed at that. The entire family was notoriously bad at keeping secrets, so they had very few amongst them.
“I will,” she said, her voice choked from the combination of laughter and tears. “I promise. Now—” she straightened up in her chair and used a napkin to wipe the tears from her cheeks, “why are you here?”
Right. He had come for a reason. “Did you know who Grimsby’s wife and daughter were? I mean, are you aware of their surname?”
“Yes, of course, Benjamin. They don’t call me Canary Kat for nothing.”
“Bloody hell, you have a nickname now?”
“Watch your language, and, yes, I do. I suspect you learned this when you paid your visit the other day?” He nodded his confirmation. “And what of it?”
“I met Miss Blake the night before . . . at the Stapleton ball. I meant to call on her after my visit to the baroness. You can imagine my surprise when I realized they were all one and the same.”
“You meant to . . . oh, dear, Ben. You’re courting Grimsby’s daughter?”
“It’s more than that, though,” Ben admitted. “I think I might actually like the girl.” He remembered their kiss the night before, laughing while they played Mozart together . . .
“She is lovely.”
“You’ve met her?” Ben snapped back to the present. Phoebe had indicated they’d never been introduced.
“No, but I have seen her. She was there last night, was she not?”
Benjamin nodded. The truth was he could have introduced the two women last night at the musicale, but after their kiss, he and Phoebe avoided one another like the plague.
“And I would very much like to meet her.” Kat’s voice tilted up hopefully at the end of her last sentence.
Blast it, should he really be doing this? Courting Miss Blake, involving his sister? What if they became friends? Then what would he do?
And what if he married Miss Blake? It seemed a bit early to think of such a thing, but with his father’s health and his dying wish . . .
Damn, how would he ever keep the horrid secret of her father’s death from her?
“I don’t know if I’m ready to bring her here, Kat. Give me a few days alone with her. I think it’s best if I come out in the open before I begin introducing her to the family. And please refrain from throwing anymore Lady Sharpes my way.”
“Oh, Ben, she’s a lovely woman and so is Abigail. But since you’re apparently smitten with Miss Blake, I will do my best to deter the mamas.”
“Thank you.”
Kat moved to take a bite of her toast when her face twisted into a grimace. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she looked at him as if to say Please excuse me before she flew from the room. He might have felt sorry for her if he didn’t know she’d been praying for this for two years.
He stayed a few more minutes to finish his breakfast and then left Ashbury Manor. There were flowers to buy and a particular young lady he wished to visit. He just wished he could leave his guilt behind with the remains of his breakfast.
***
Benjamin called on Phoebe every day for the next few days. And every day, Phoebe had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. It wasn’t just the fact that a man had taken interest and decided to court her; it was that Benjamin Wetherby had.
He was everything a girl could hope for: kind and funny and smart. It didn’t hurt that he was a peer of the realm, either, or that he was about to inherit a marquessate. Or that he was quite the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes upon. But Phoebe was sure she would have loved him even if that were not the case. After all, he seemed to care for her despite the fact she had less than nothing.
They never discussed the kiss that happened in the Sheffields’ music room, but that didn’t stop them from sharing more. Benjamin always delivered a chaste kiss upon his arrival and a not-so-chaste kiss before he left every day. Surely, Phoebe had discovered heaven on earth in those kisses.
On the fourth day, Benjamin arrived, flowers in hand—goodness, the parlor was overrun with them now!—but he did not come inside. He insisted she hand over the flowers to Becky and don her pelisse; they were going to Ashbury Manor.
Phoebe’s heart raced as the open carriage trundled through Mayfair. Was he truly taking her to meet his sister? What would she be like? She’d never met a duchess, only seen them from a distance at parties and balls. She wanted so much for Her Grace of Weston to like her, to see her the way she thought Benjamin saw her.
Becky gave her a slight nudge, bringing her back to attention, only to realize she’d been gathering her skirts in her sweaty hands. The fabric wrinkled unattractively when she let it go.
Oh, bother! At least she had chosen her most fashionable garment that morning when she dressed herself. The light pink muslin day dress flattered her frame exceptionally, clinging where necessary and falling eloquently over her softer parts. She did wish, however, that her bonnet were of a more fashionable style. It was a little old and didn’t quite frame her face in the right way. At least she could deposit it into the hands of a servant before the duchess would have a chance to make a judgment on the state of her wardrobe.
She looked up to see Benjamin smiling at her. Blast it, he’d been watching as she mangled her dress, and clearly found it amusing.
“You needn’t be nervous, Miss Blake,” he said, using her proper name in Becky’s presence, though the way he looked at her was far from proper. “I told you, the two of you will get along splendidly.”
Phoebe nodded, appreciative of his reassurance, though it did little to calm her nerves. They were only a few blocks from Grosvenor Square now, so she decided to focus on her surroundings rather than think of all the things that could go wrong over tea with a duchess. Things like spilling tea on herself, or worse, on Her Grace; knocking over the entire tea-cart and breaking all the Wedgewood china; or God forbid she slip and announce that she’d fallen in love with the woman’s brother in the last four days of their acquaintance. Yes, that would be far worse than breaking a few replaceable pieces of china.
“Here we are!” Benjamin announced as the barouche rolled to a stop in front of Ashbury Manor. The Palladian-style mansion loomed tall above them, and Phoebe had to swallow her stomach back into place. There were three stories that Phoebe could count, a two-sided staircase that was hidden by a massive brick wall, and columns that reminded her of the sketches she’d seen of the Parthenon in Greece.
In a word: intimidating.
Benjamin helped her down to the street and she could hear Becky hop to the street on her own behind them. They proceeded up the left staircase and the door opened before they even had a chance to knock.
“Lord Glastonbury,” the very erect butler intoned.
Self-consciously, Phoebe pulled her own shoulders back and straightened her spine. If the duchess expected such uprightness from her staff, Phoebe wondered what she might expect of her brother’s future wife.
Future wife? Oh, dear, where did that come from? Of course, she wanted more than anything to be Benjamin’s wife, but after four days, even she realized the notion was a bit premature. She must put it from her mind, lest she slip and announce their betrothal accidentally. Their non-existent betrothal, that was.
“May I take your things, miss?”
She handed over her pelisse and bonnet, then bid Becky goodbye in a silent exchange of knowing glances, and walked with Benjamin down the hall to the grandest of grand drawing rooms.
The entire space was decorated in cream with regal gold accents. The floor-to-ceiling windows at the end of the gallery seemed a million miles away, the room was so long. Canaries chirped in their gilded cage, which stood in the center of the room. There were two designated sitting areas, both with identical furniture and both set up in the exact same way. The room was a masterpiece of symmetry and opulence.
Phoebe faltered a little as they crossed the threshold and moved to the closest sitting area. The duchess had yet to arrive, so it was just the two of them for the time being.
“Lovely birds, aren’t they?” Phoebe commented, trying not to sound as nervous as she felt.
“Only the loveliest for my sister,” he replied, rising from the seat he had just sunk into and sauntering to the cage.
Phoebe was distracted for a moment by the slight curve of his bottom under his tight-fitting coat, and the way his muscular legs moved beneath a pair of snug tan breeches.
“Would you like to hold one?”
“Hold one?” she choked out. “What if it pecks at me?”
Benjamin laughed and waved her over. “They’re tame, Phoebe. Come.”
She did as she was bid with a hint of reluctance. She wasn’t known for her adeptness with animals, but she supposed if Benjamin were there to assist, she might be all right.
As she approached, Benjamin reached a gentle hand into the cage and closed it around one of the bright yellow birds. It struggled for only a moment before it realized it was in good hands. Then he unclenched his fist, leaving it cupped slightly, cradling the small bird.
“Why does he not fly away?” Phoebe wondered, reaching a tentative finger out to pet him.
“She,” Benjamin corrected, “has had her wings clipped, for her own safety, of course.”
“Ah . . . like the ravens at the Tower. Is it painful for them?”
“Far less painful than getting loose and flying head-first into those windows. Besides, it’s only temporary. When she molts, they’ll have to clip them all over again.”
“May I hold her?”
Phoebe met Benjamin’s soft gaze and felt the color rise to her cheeks. The looks he gave her were so intimate they tended to reduce her insides to mush. She hated to get her hopes up for fear she might be let down, but her instincts told her a proposal might not be too far in the offing.
Benjamin carefully transferred the bird to her cupped hands, taking care to brush lightly against the exposed skin of her wrist before he pulled back.
“If you don’t stop that,” she whispered, “I’ll never be able to look your sister in the eye.”
“Stop what?” Benjamin asked, a playful smile lighting his dark eyes.
“Being so . . . familiar with me.”
“Why? Don’t you like it?” His voice lowered to a gravelly whisper and he leaned in closer, close enough that she could smell the distinct scent of his cologne. It was sharp and manly, and it made her feel . . . tingly inside.
“I like it very much,” she replied, matching his whisper. “That is the problem.” Desperate to change the subject before the duchess came upon them, she asked, her voice noticeably shaky, “Why does this one not sing?”
“Because she is a female. Typically, only the males sing.”
“Typically?”
“Yes.” He paused and captured her chin gently in his hand. “There are exceptions, though. Many of the females can sing . . . with the right coercion, of course.”
Phoebe wasn’t exactly sure what Benjamin was talking about, but she had a sinking feeling they were no longer on the subject of birds. Instinct very clearly told her that much. And his lips confirmed it as he swept low, like a bird of prey, and captured her lips.
If it weren’t for the slight flutter of the bird’s clipped wings in her hands, she might have forgotten all about the little animal. Benjamin’s kiss was so deep, so distracting, it was a wonder she had any wits about her at all.
She opened her mouth, allowed him to deepen the kiss. Their tongues mingled and teased and—
“Benjamin!”
“Ah!” Phoebe jumped what felt like thirty feet off the floor at the reproachful sound in Benjamin’s sister’s tone. But she didn’t have much time to dwell on it, for the little bird had taken a fright as well.
Or perhaps Phoebe had simply lost her grip on the poor thing when she jumped. Either way, her fingers had turned to butter, and the bird struggled in her hands. It seemed as though the entire world slowed as she watched the canary slip between her hands. Phoebe shrieked that the bird couldn’t fly, and she reached out to try to grab it.
But another voice, a soothing, calm voice was saying, “It’s all right, darling,” as the bird fluttered lamely above the ground.
Phoebe gasped for breath. Good Lord, she’d almost killed the duchess’s bird!
She stood there, unable to move, and saw a blur of black and crimson bend down before her, then appear right in front of her. As her heart slowed, her eyes focused on the woman staring back at her.
Phoebe had seen the duchess before, of course, at the Stapleton Ball and the Sheffield Musicale, though they’d never spoken. They didn’t quite run in the same circles . . . until now, she supposed.
The duchess was beautiful. Strikingly so, with her jet black hair and black eyes, olive skin so smooth Phoebe had an urge to reach out and touch it to see if it was real, and a dress that Phoebe was sure many women would kill to wear for just one night, let alone an afternoon at home, in their own parlor.
Phoebe opened her mouth to make her apologies for nearly killing the little bird that now sat contentedly on her mistress’s forefinger. But she stopped herself. All of this had happened because Benjamin decided to kiss her in a most inappropriate location. Was it her fault she’d been startled?
She supposed she could have stopped the kiss, but—no, she could not have. The king’s marching band could not have caused her to pull her lips from Benjamin’s in that moment.
Goodness, he’d turned her into a wanton woman!
“Miss Blake, Maddy is just fine. You needn’t look so panicked.”
“Maddy?” she parroted inanely.
The duchess smiled and returned the bird to her cage, perching her on a little swing next to another identical canary. How in the world did she tell them all apart? There was only one with any visible markings to distinguish it from the others.
“She’s named for the island she comes from. Madeira. Though we tend to know it more for the wine than the birds.”
“Miss Blake, may I introduce my sister, Katherine, Duchess of Weston.”
Finally, in a sudden moment of clarity, Phoebe was able to gain full control of her faculties and dipped into a curtsey before the duchess.
“Oh, good heavens, Miss Blake,” the duchess said. “While I admire your manners, I do not ever want you to dip before me again.” This was delivered as a command, but there was a hint of humor in the woman’s black eyes. “Besides,” she continued, turning what one could only refer to as a meddling eye onto her brother, “we are going to be great friends, Miss Blake, and dare I hope—”
“No, you may not,” Benjamin cut in with a warning glance at his sister and a wink for Phoebe.
Clearly, he meant to prevent Phoebe from further embarrassment by curtailing his sister’s thoughts.
The duchess laughed and then moved behind her brother to give him a little shove. “Fine. Now go,” she said. “Miss Blake and I have much to learn about one another if we’re going to go about the task of becoming . . . friends.”
Benjamin pulled his sister along with him to the door, leaving Phoebe to stand alone by the birdcage. He whispered something to the duchess that Phoebe couldn’t quite make out, but she assumed it was a warning of some sort. He left a moment later after one last smoldering look for Phoebe over the top of his sister’s head.
And then she was alone with the duchess, who, truth be known, looked positively ravenous for gossip.