“Colonel Wallace?” Ben stared at the man, dumbfounded to find him, not just in Phoebe’s home but in Lady Grimsby’s bedchamber.
He looked past him to see a frightened and dejected-looking woman sitting on the bed. Her dark hair was mussed and matted, and tears streaked her cheeks. Thankfully, and much to his surprise, she was fully covered in a modest robe.
What the hell was going on here?
“You might want to give her a few minutes,” Wallace said. “We had a raucous time, didn’t we, Lucy?”
Benjamin thought he might be sick to his stomach. Whatever was going on here, the lady didn’t like it, and neither did he.
“Get out,” Ben growled, knowing that if Wallace said one more word, he might not be able to keep his fist from connecting with the man’s jaw.
Mercifully, the man did as he was told, mumbling nonsense as he left. Ben waited until he heard the front door close before he moved to Lady Grimsby. She wasn’t looking at him; he wasn’t even sure she realized he was there, so she jumped a little when he put his hand on her shoulder.
“Lady Grimsby,” he said carefully.
She looked up at him, a haunted expression on her face. Good Lord, did Phoebe know what was happening under her own roof? Surely, she wouldn’t allow her mother to carry on in such a way. He could only thank God he hadn’t brought her home with him.
“My name is Benjamin Wetherby,” he told her. “I’m a . . . friend of your daughter Phoebe’s.”
At Phoebe’s name, Lady Grimsby turned panicky. “She’s not here, is she?” she asked, her eyes wide and frightened.
Ben shook his head. “No, she’s with my sister. I came to tell you she is safe, and also to ask you something very important. But I can come back another time if—”
“No!” She grabbed on to his coat sleeve.
“Please . . . ”
She stood then and gestured to the small settee on the far wall. He accompanied her there and sat down beside her, knowing he could never reveal the reason he was really there. At least not today, not now. Not after whatever Colonel Wallace had done to her.
But should he pry? Did he want to pry? For Phoebe’s sake, he should. If he could do something to help her mother and keep Wallace away from them, well, he needed to do it.
“I know you don’t know me, ma’am, but I am courting your daughter.”
“Oh.” The woman’s hand flew to her chest. “I had no idea.”
“Your daughter’s been hiding us from one another.” He understood why now. All of her excuses about her mother being out whenever he came to call . . . he should have seen through it, but he never could have guessed the woman was up here wasting away, among other things. He had to get to the bottom of this, and there wasn’t time to beat about the bush. “Is Colonel Wallace a friend of yours?”
Lady Grimsby dropped her eyes, which were identical to Phoebe’s, to her lap, where she fidgeted with the fabric of her dressing gown. There was such a long pause; Benjamin thought she wasn’t going to answer. But then she opened her mouth to speak, and her voice shook as she tried to control her emotion.
“When my husband died a year ago, it was all we could do to keep the debt collectors from banging down our door. I had no idea my husband had been so . . . loose with our funds. We had always had nice things, a house full of servants. I have no idea how he maintained our lifestyle with so much debt hanging above his head.”
“I would wager he was robbing Peter to pay Paul, and round and round he went. It’s not uncommon.”
The baroness nodded. “I suppose you’re right, but he left us in quite a dire situation. That’s where Colonel Wallace comes into play.”
Benjamin took a deep breath. He had a feeling this was not going to be an easy story to hear, and even worse for her to tell.
“My husband lost a significant amount of money to Wallace in a bet. The first time he came to visit, I was
. . . well, better off than I am now. This wretched state of melancholy began once I’d made my deal with him.”
“Deal?” Benjamin prodded, eager to get to the heart of the matter.
She nodded her head once, and a single tear slid down her cheek. She brushed it away before continuing. “Phoebe has no idea how close we were to being carted away to debtors’ prison. It could have been a matter of weeks, maybe even days. Either way, ‘A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy,’ does it not, Mr. Wetherby?”
Ben didn’t bother to correct her on his name. There would be plenty of time for her to learn he was more than a mere mister. He gave her an infinitesimal nod so she would keep going, though he wasn’t sure, in this case, that he agreed with Fawkes’s quote.
Her gaze turned away from him, toward the window, as she began the next part of her confession. “Wallace offered to help us with our debts, but of course everything comes at a price.”
“Right. So he insisted you—”
“No, not me. Not at first. The colonel wanted Phoebe.”
Benjamin’s stomach turned. That no-good, lascivious bastard had thought to use Phoebe in exchange for debt payment. Dear God, what happened to giving out of the kindness of one’s heart?
“I told him he couldn’t have her, but that he could have me instead. The offer wasn’t as appealing and his generous offering became a little less generous as a result, but if it meant staying in our home, staying out of debtors’ prison, that was all that mattered.”
“Does Phoebe know any of this?”
The woman’s lips began to quiver. “Nothing. She thinks the paltry coins she’s thrown at a few debtors here and there is what has saved us all this time. She knows nothing, and we must keep it that way. Please, Mr. Wetherby,” she begged. “I don’t know what I would do if she ever found out.”
“I’m still not sure I understand how you’ve kept it from her all this time.”
“It’s a matter of timing and discretion. Whenever Phoebe goes out, she takes Becky, and I’m all alone. It’s a lot of work on Colonel Wallace’s part. Several times a week, he stops by. If Phoebe is home, he treats it as a social call. If not, he sees himself here, to my room.”
Which explained the man’s odd behavior at the Stapleton Ball the other night. He had left as soon as he made sure Phoebe was fully ensconced in the festivities and wouldn’t be home for a while.
Benjamin had a great deal of trouble reconciling the fact that all this was his fault, even if indirectly. If he hadn’t ever called out that blasted baron at the table, the man would still be here today. He hadn’t been an honorable man and he’d been lousy with money, but he’d found ways to keep them afloat: to keep his wife and daughter in the life they were accustomed to, the life they deserved.
They certainly didn’t deserve this. Destitution. Prostitution. The guilt pressed in on Benjamin, threatening to suffocate him as he thought of all the horrors these women had been forced to go through over the last year.
He thought of his life in America, and the guilt grew even stronger. All the while they’d been suffering, thanks to his idiotic actions, he’d been frolicking with his mistress about New York, attending party after party, assimilating himself into the American way of life.
It was time to grow up now and take responsibility for what he’d done. He couldn’t admit to his mistake, not now. He wanted to marry Phoebe, but he wanted to marry her because he cared for her. If she knew his secret, she would think he was marrying her out of guilt.
However, he could right all the wrongs that had been forced upon these unfortunate women, starting with Colonel Wallace. As soon as all that was taken care of, he would marry Phoebe.
“Lady Grimsby,” he said at last, turning to face her. “I would like to help, if I may. But, unlike Wallace, I want nothing in return . . . except, perhaps, your daughter’s hand in marriage. If she’ll have me, of course.”
Lady Grimsby’s eyes widened and then flooded with tears, which he accepted as her blessing. Having been big brother to Katherine, dealing with emotional women was fairly familiar territory to him. So he didn’t shy away when she started to sob, but rather pulled her into his embrace.
Once she had calmed down, Benjamin stood to leave, feeling better about himself and the situation. He hadn’t revealed the truth to her, but he was going to make it right. Hopefully, that counted for more than a mere apology in the long run.
“Mr. Wetherby,” the baroness said, stopping him before he walked out her bedchamber door, “is it possible to keep this visit between us?”
“You read my mind, my lady,” he replied. There were too many details of this meeting that would have to be omitted, and that might make it difficult to keep their stories straight. “I will see to your financial state post haste, and when all that is out of the way, I will talk to Phoebe.”
The baroness smiled, and Benjamin had the distinct feeling that was the first time she’d done so in a very long time. Then Benjamin tipped his hat and left Blakeny House to go and wake his future bride from her drunken stupor.
***
Phoebe woke up in a strange room with a terrible headache that was only worsened by the horrific shades of green that accosted her vision. Dear God, it was hideous!
What in the world had happened to her? It was dark out already, but the chamber was lit with candles and a roaring fire. She jogged her memory, trying to retrace her steps.
“Oh, no!” She sat up abruptly in the plush bed. “I can’t be . . . can I?” Flinging her legs over the edge, she hopped down to the floor and began pacing the room as the events of that afternoon came back to her.
Unfortunately, she didn’t get very far before she was forced back to the bed by the pounding in her head and the roiling in her stomach.
A chamberpot sat on its stand nearby, and she peeked inside to make sure it was empty. There was a possibility she would need it soon.
With a groan, she leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes. Oh, that won’t do! She felt as if she was spinning on the fastest of carousels and the only way to keep off of it was to open her eyes. Which made her head hurt.
Lord, what had she done to herself?
No, what had Kat done to her?
Here, Phoebe, you must try some of this! It is my favorite . . . Oh, have some more, Phoebe, isn’t it wonderful? . . . How about another glass, Phoebe . . .
If she didn’t know better, she would have thought the duchess tried to get her foxed on purpose. But she would never do that, would she?
She would have shook the thoughts from her head, but she knew the physical act would have her face-down in the chamberpot, so she held still and tried to focus on other things. Things like, where in the world was she? And was anyone going to come and retrieve her? Did her mother know where she was? Had Becky been taken home? And what time was it, for heaven’s sake? Though her mother claimed to never be hungry, she still needed to be fed. Heaven knew she wouldn’t do it on her own.
Phoebe would have left the room in search of someone if she thought she could make it more than two feet past the door. Frustrated, she drummed her fingers on the bedside table. She had drummed them three times when, finally, the door to the chamber opened and Benjamin poked his head in.
“You’re awake!” he said, a genuine smile coming to his lips.
And that was it. That was all it took to remind Phoebe of the horrific mistake she’d made that afternoon. No, no, no, no, no! How could she have told the duchess she was falling in love with Benjamin? How? What on earth had possessed her in the first place?
Suddenly, she couldn’t find her tongue, and the queasy feeling in her stomach got worse. Much, much worse.
Don’t, Phoebe! Do not throw up now!
He was coming towards her, but she couldn’t stop it, so she held up a hand to stop him instead, at the same moment reaching for the chamberpot and burying her head as deeply in it as she could without getting vomit on her face. Tears sprung to her eyes, though in her current state she couldn’t tell the real reason for them. Any number of things could have brought her to cry: the fact that she was tossing up her accounts in front of the man who was courting her; the stinging, scratchy feeling at the back of her throat; or the incessant pounding in her head.
“I will never . . . ever . . . have another sip of apple brandy for as long as I live.” Her face was still buried in the chamberpot, which she thought more favorable than meeting Benjamin’s eyes. But when she heard him chuckle, and heard his footsteps near, she lifted her head, horrified.
“Don’t,” she said, not wishing for him to come closer lest he get a look inside the pot.
But he didn’t stop his advancement. He came right to her, took the chamberpot from her hands and placed it back on its stand. Then he brought her a wet cloth from the washbasin to clean her face.
“You forget I have three younger siblings. I’ve had to take care of them in this sort of state many times before. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“It most certainly is,” she rebutted, still wondering if Kat had told him what she’d said earlier that day. “I can’t believe I allowed myself to drink so much.”
“But it’s not your fault,” came another voice from the doorway. Phoebe glanced up to see the duchess gliding over the threshold, dressed for the evening in a blue-green gown that clashed horribly with the room. She turned to Benjamin and said, “You know better than to be alone in here with Miss Blake.”
“Says the woman who got you drunk today,” he said to Phoebe, bringing a smile to her lips. “Fine, I shall leave, but only if you assure me you don’t have a bottle of apple brandy stuffed in your garter.”
“Oh, get out, Ben!” Kat said, swatting him with her gloved hand.
“You will see she gets home, Kat?” he asked, his expression turning serious all of a sudden.
“Of course. Now, go.”
Ben winked at Phoebe, told her to get some rest and assured her she would see him on the morrow.
Part of her wanted him to stay—the part of her that wanted to be with him always, every moment of every day, the part that just couldn’t get enough of him. But, of course, the part that had just thrown up and could barely hold her head erect wanted him to go . . . far away.
As soon as the door was shut, Kat nestled on the edge of the bed next to Phoebe. “Do you hate me?” she asked, her lovely face twisted into a grimace.
“Of course I don’t hate you. Why would I?”
“I never should have made you drink all of that. You’ve probably never even had spirits before, have you?”
Phoebe shook her head. “But while I must admit this is probably the most painful physical experience of my life . . . I did have fun this afternoon.”
A wide smile broke out on Kat’s lips. “Good. Then you forgive me?”
“For getting me drunk, yes. However, I must know, Kat . . . did you tell him what I said to you this afternoon?”
“Oh, Phoebe, I would never do such a thing to you. Believe me, your secret is safe with me.”
There was a slight pause, and Phoebe knew there was something more. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it was, but at the same time, she was certain she would find out anyhow.
“Though I dare say,” the duchess continued predictably, “you will soon have the chance to profess your love to him yourself!” She giggled briefly and then sobered, all vestiges of humor disappearing with alarming immediacy. “However, that is all I will say on the matter, so do not try and pry it out of me.”