“Well, well, well,” the Duchess of Weston said as she glided across the room to Phoebe. How did she do that? The woman must have wheels on her feet, for it seemed impossible that one could walk without an ounce of bounce in their step.
Phoebe stammered and stuttered as she said, “Please accept my apologies, my lady, for . . . everything.”
“Apologies?” The woman grabbed her hands and led her to the sitting area. When they sat, their posture was close and familiar, as if they’d been friends for years. Phoebe wasn’t sure whether it made her uncomfortable or set her at ease to have the woman’s knees bumping hers, her hands still clasped tightly in her grip. “My dear Miss Blake—may I call you Phoebe?”
Phoebe nodded. “Of course, Your Grace.”
“Then you shall call me Kat! Now, my dear Phoebe, there are no apologies necessary. As you see, Maddy is just fine.”
They both turned to the cage to see Maddy still nuzzling the identical bird on the little perch.
“I thought she couldn’t fly. Your brother had just told me all about the wing clipping—”
“It only hinders their ability to fly, Phoebe. It doesn’t incapacitate them.”
Phoebe smiled a little. “That would have been nice to know before I went into hysterics over the little thing.”
Kat erupted into laughter and then jumped from the sofa, releasing Phoebe’s hands as she did. “I’m going to ring for tea. Are you hungry? Cook makes the most exceptional lemon cake . . . ”
She chattered on until the maid came to take her instruction and then returned to the sofa beside Phoebe.
“Phoebe,” she said, leaning in and dropping her voice to a whisper. “I don’t mean to pry, but I must know . . . was that the first kiss my brother has given you?”
Lord above, this woman was forward. Not at all what Phoebe would have expected from the Duchess of Weston. At balls and such, she seemed so poised and elegant. The lady before her was lively and vibrant and nosy. And waiting for an answer.
Phoebe gulped, unsure of whether to confide in Kat about her intimate relations with her brother, but she wasn’t much of a liar. Finally, after a long pause, Phoebe shook her head.
The duchess squealed and startled Phoebe to jump. “I knew it. Oh, Phoebe, my brother is smitten with you, I can tell. He even asked me about you the other day. He has never done that. Never!”
A maid appeared in the doorway, pushing a shiny, silver tea-cart, loaded with fine china and a large cake. Phoebe’s stomach grumbled rather loudly, but thankfully Kat was too busy, instructing the maid on where to leave the cart, to hear. Their meager funds didn’t allow for very filling foods. And it was her mother who needed the hearty meats and breads. There was an upside to living on a diet of mostly broth for a year, though; Phoebe had lost at least a stone, leaving her body slimmer and more fashionable. It was unfortunate she didn’t have very fashionable dresses to accompany it.
“Now,” said Kat, returning to the sofa and handing over a large slice of lemon cake, “I hope you won’t think me too forward, but it is my hope to gain an understanding of your affections towards my brother.”
Phoebe had taken a small bite of the cake, but it somehow lodged itself in her throat. She coughed, the duchess offered her a cup of tea, and finally she was able to swallow the cake down. However, she still couldn’t quite believe the duchess wished for her to confide in her so soon. She’d only known the man a few days. True, she fancied herself in love with him already, but who wouldn’t? He was quite the most perfect man alive. As a matter of fact, there were probably a dozen other girls pining away for him at this moment. And perhaps he even called on them, too! It wasn’t as if they’d made any promises to one another.
She looked up to find Kat staring at her with an intensity that made her want to either laugh or flee—she wasn’t quite sure which. Either way, Phoebe could not remain silent. “I-I find that I enjoy your brother’s company quite a bit. He is most kind and . . . solicitous. He seems to be a man of great intelligence and ambition, and . . . ”
Katherine’s brows rose in a skeptical arch. “Solicitous?”
Phoebe felt her lips twitch. What a ridiculous word to use in regard to the man she thought she might be falling in love with . . . or perhaps had already fallen in love with. She started to laugh and so did the duchess, and Phoebe thought that was, perhaps, the happiest she had been in a very long time.
“All right, Phoebe, the truth. If we are to be friends, there must be complete honesty between us, which is why I’m going to tell you a secret of my own.”
Phoebe felt the excitement of sharing secrets bubble up inside of her. Becky had been her only friend for the last year, but there were no secrets there to share. It was their commiseration that brought them together.
But this was entirely different, and, oh, so exciting!
A wide smile broke out on Kat’s red lips, and she took a breath that made Phoebe feel as if she were in a play, waiting for the main character to make her announcement that would add an intriguing twist to the plot.
At last she opened her mouth and said, “I’m going to have a baby!”
For a brief moment it occurred to Phoebe how odd it was for her to feel so very excited for this woman she barely knew to be having a baby. But she couldn’t stop herself from throwing her arms around her and squealing with delight at the news.
“Oh, that’s wonderful, Kat!” Phoebe said as they pulled away from one another.
“Yes, I know,” the duchess replied, and then, as if they hadn’t just been squealing and bouncing up and down on the sofa, she straightened her spine and sobered her expression before leveling Phoebe with a serious stare. “Now, it’s your turn.”
Phoebe swallowed and tried to acclimate to the sudden change of pace. The duchess could be a confusing woman.
And then, out of her confusion, she said the one thing she had promised herself she wouldn’t say during this visit: “I am in love with your brother.”
***
“Care to join me on a shopping trip?”
William looked up from his desk, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Do I look like a woman? Of course I don’t want to go shopping with you.”
Benjamin laughed and sauntered over the threshold. The study at Ashbury Manor was about as masculine a study as Ben had ever seen. Dark walls, dark wood furniture, dark, solid wood paneling on the ceiling. And it smelled like wood, too. Benjamin wondered if he’d come back with sticky sap on his fingers if he touched anything.
“Not even for an engagement ring, Duckie?” he asked, approaching his brother-in-law’s desk.
The pencil Will had been holding dropped to the desk and made a clacking sound as it bounced to its final resting place. “Dear God,” he muttered, staring back at Ben with wide eyes. “You’re going to propose? To whom?”
“Not quite yet,” Ben told him. “But soon . . . to Miss Blake. I have some things to take care of first, but . . . ”
William was already up and making his way to the sidebar. He poured two generous helpings of brandy into snifters and brought one to Ben before taking a seat in the large armchair beside him.
“I thought Mr. Potter had a bid in for the girl as well.”
“I have a feeling when Mr. Potter called on Miss Blake the other day, he realized she was not the one.”
“The one to what?” Will wondered.
“The one to save him from financial ruin. I’ve done some research in the last few days to find out what, if anything, I was up against, and discovered that Mr. Potter is almost as poor as Miss Blake. Though one wouldn’t know it. Clearly, he still has available credit, but not for long, the way I’ve seen him squandering his money at the tables the last few nights.”
“And what were you doing at the tables?”
Benjamin chuckled. “Nothing, other than keeping an eye on the two troublemakers I’m forced to call my brothers.”
“That bad?”
“They’ll grow out of it, like the rest of us did. I just have to make sure they don’t drain the family coffers in the meantime.”
Ben took a long sip of the brandy, savoring the perfect balance of fruit and wood. When Will shifted in his chair and cleared his throat, he knew the dreaded question was coming.
“You haven’t told her yet, have you?” Will asked.
Ben shook his head. “There hasn’t been an opportunity yet. But, I will. I must, before I propose.”
“And what if she doesn’t take it well?”
He had considered that possibility a hundred times over the last few days. It was possible she would hate him forever if she knew. For God’s sake, he had killed her father! He hoped the remorse he felt, the penance he’d paid for his sins in the form of gut-wrenching guilt, would be enough to convince her he’d never actually meant to kill the baron. He’d simply wanted to teach him a lesson about honor.
God, that sounded pompous even to his own self. But that was what he’d thought at the time, and he couldn’t change what had already happened. He could only try to fix his mistakes.
And wouldn’t his marrying her count for something? He could pay off all their debts, set her mother up for life in a lovely manor home near their own estate in Kent, even provide security for her little maid, who, he noticed, seemed to be more than just a maid to Phoebe. He could give her the security she’d had with her father times ten.
“I suppose I’ll have to cross that bridge when I get to it, my friend.” He stood and placed the snifter on the desk. “So will you come with me or not?”
William rolled his eyes, but proceeded to stand and place his own snifter beside Ben’s.
“Fine,” he sighed. “Lord knows you should have someone with a relic of taste to help you pick out the ring.”
A couple hours later Benjamin returned to Ashbury Manor to collect Phoebe and take her home. He wasn’t sure what he expected when it came to her relationship with his sister, but he certainly did not expect to find them sprawled in the middle of the drawing room floor, giggling their heads off.
It was obvious, as much from their behavior as the empty bottle of apple brandy next to them, that they had been drinking.
“Having fun, ladies?”
“Oh! Benjamin, I’m so glad you brought Miss Blake—Phoebe—to play with me today. She isn’t nearly as stuffy or pretentious as those other women I’m forced to spend time with.”
“I see you’ve introduced her to your favorite beverage,” he commented, coming down to his haunches before them. “Kat, are you sure you should be overindulging in spirits in your . . . condition.” He whispered the last part, though he had a feeling his sister had already told Phoebe of her pregnancy.
“Oh, it’s all right, she knows,” Kat confirmed. “And don’t worry, I haven’t had nearly as much as Miss Blake. You should probably take her home, though I’m reluctant to let her go. Phoebe! Phoebe!” she called to a bleary-eyed Miss Blake. “Will you come to see me again?”
Phoebe nodded, though the action seemed like it may have been too much for her, if her suddenly green pallor was any indication. He might have found it humorous if Miss Blake were simply tipsy, but his blasted sister had gotten the woman so foxed, he wasn’t sure he could take her home right away.
But now what was he to do with her? A carriage ride was out of the question, unless he wanted repurposed lemon cake all over the fine leather seats of his barouche. He wasn’t sure she could stay upright long enough to take a walk, though. The only real option was to have her sleep it off in one of the guest bedrooms upstairs.
“Katherine, I’m taking her upstairs.”
“Upstairs?” his sister exclaimed, seeming scandalized.
“Not for that!” he replied as he scooped Phoebe into his arms. She immediately nuzzled against his neck and groaned. “She needs to sober up before I can take her home, thank you very much. Which room is likely to have a clean chamberpot in it?”
Katherine scrambled to her feet and followed after Ben. She seemed far less drunk than she had a minute earlier. “The fern room on the second floor.”
“The fern room?”
“Yes. I’ve renamed all the rooms after plants. What do you think?”
“I think you’re mad, and I think you’re even madder for doing this to my future fiancée.”
A little gasp of excitement came from his sister. “Oh, Ben, really? You’re going to marry her?”
“Shhh! If she’ll have me, yes. Now, I’m going to go put her down, and then I’ll be back. You and I need to have a talk.”
“About the wedding? Oh, yes, I’ve already so many ideas!”
“No. About what you’ve done to her!”
Katherine didn’t flinch at the anger in his whisper. She merely smiled sweetly at him and said, “I did it for you. I thought if I got her a little tipsy, she might be willing to tell me more about what she knows of her father’s death.”
Ben stared back at his sister, who continued to smile at him, clearly waiting for him to clap her on the back and say “Well done, sis!” That was not going to happen.
“Kat, what the devil does it matter what she knows? Please, stop meddling in my affairs—”
“You’re the one who brought her here!” she shot back.
“Yes, for a nice afternoon visit, not a drunken party where you try to squeeze useless information from her.”
“How was I to know she would take so to the brandy?”
“Now you’re calling her a glutton—”
“No!”
“Katherine Wetherby Hart, I don’t care that you’re a duchess, you’re still my little sister, and I wouldn’t have a single apprehension about taking you over my knee. You will apologize to Miss Blake as soon as she’s coherent enough to understand you.”
Ben stalked off then, leaving his sister in the middle of the hallway, her mouth hanging open in dismay. What had she been thinking, anyway? And what good would it have done to know what Phoebe knew? He already knew that, didn’t he?
He found the “fern room” a few minutes later. True to its name, the chamber was done entirely in green of varying shades. Good Lord. If she didn’t throw up from the brandy, she would surely throw up from the color. But it would have to do, since Ben’s arms were growing tired.
He laid her on the bed and flipped the counterpane from the other side to cover her up. She looked so innocent lying there with her pale eyelashes resting on her cheeks, and all her little freckles sprinkling her nose. She was adorable and beautiful, and Ben wanted nothing more than to curl up with her in that bed.
However, he knew better, and so he kissed her on the forehead, intending to leave the room. But before he could get very far—he had barely lifted his head from her forehead—she reached a limp hand out to grab onto the fabric of his coat, the coat that hid a stunning emerald ring inside.
“Shhh,” he cajoled. “Get some rest, love. I’ll be back for you in a bit. You just need to sleep off some of the brandy you drank.”
“What time . . . is it?”
Ben pulled out his watch fob to check the time, though he wasn’t sure she’d be coherent enough to understand him.
“Just past five o’clock.”
“My mother. She’ll be worried.”
He hadn’t even considered that Lady Grimsby might wonder where her daughter had gone off to. “I’ll send Becky back in my carriage. Now go to sleep.”
Phoebe closed her eyes obediently, and Benjamin slipped from the room. He started to make his way to the kitchen, where he was sure Becky would be keeping company with the other servants, but then an idea struck him.
Perhaps he should go to Blakeny House himself. This could be his opportunity to come clean with Lady Grimsby and, depending on how well that went, perhaps ask for Phoebe’s hand. Surely, if her mother was able to get past what had happened, Phoebe would be able to do so, as well.
He changed the course of his direction and made his way to the mews to collect his carriage, and then set out in the direction of Blakeny House.
When he arrived, though, it didn’t seem as if anyone was home. Curious, he approached the door and knocked. Would Lady Grimsby answer her own door in the absence of Becky? They really needed another servant or two. Or ten.
After a few minutes, there was no answer, but Benjamin wasn’t quite willing to give up. If Lady Grimsby was home, he wanted to speak with her.
He turned the handle on the door, which someone had left carelessly unlocked, and moved into the foyer.
“Lady Grimsby?” he called to no answer. Perhaps she truly was not at home.
He was about to walk back through the front doorway when he heard a thump from the floor above him. It could have simply been one of those old-house noises, but Ben didn’t think so. Someone was home, and if it was Lady Grimsby, he needed to assure the woman of her daughter’s safety.
He climbed the stairs and followed the thumping to a closed door on the left side of the small hallway. He raised his fist to knock, but the door came flying open before he had the chance. There was an awkward pause during which Benjamin tried to come to terms with what he saw.
“Afternoon, Lord Glastonbury,” said Colonel Wallace. “Didn’t expect to see you here, too.”