Chapter Eleven
Did Cupid’s bow miss? Lady P.W. and her earl were spotted arguing in the street. Rumor has it this might be the end of the journey for them.
Although Phoebe had hidden her journal in the bottom of her wardrobe, never wanting even the slightest temptation to write in it again, she couldn’t stop drafting her entries in her head. Nor could she quit reading Mrs. Crookshank’s column. She was picking at the scab on her heart, worrying that Basingstoke had found someone else.
He’d been close to proposing to her. Her friends all agreed on that count. Then he blamed her for something she still didn’t understand, and then disappeared from her life.
The hole he left behind could never be filled, no matter how many children she one day had with whatever man would have her as his wife.
This Season was now a waste of time and her father’s money. Her scandal wouldn’t fade from daily gossip until many months had passed. Why hadn’t she listened to Marjorie and accepted the fact Basingstoke wasn’t the man she should marry? She could have saved herself so much heartbreak.
But she wouldn’t have experienced the joys of the time she spent with him. Even though she’d never be that happy again, she’d carry the memory in her heart. She’d know she was capable of loving as deeply as she had.
That happiness couldn’t protect her from the stabbing pain that came when she read the latest entry in the gossip column. Rumors were being spread that Phoebe had once more been seen slipping away from Basingstoke’s home late at night.
Phoebe hadn’t gone to a single ball since Basingstoke had berated her, so obviously she’d not been out that late.
What a silly thought—she was making excuses for something she knew she didn’t do. She was hopeless.
Had he found someone else, or was this someone he’d had a relationship with the entire time he was escorting Phoebe around Town?
Ben’s mother. Yes, that was who had been to his house. Now that Basingstoke allowed himself to be seen with the boy, he no longer needed to be discreet about his liaisons with the woman.
Shoving the paper aside, she drew up her knees and buried her face against them. That recurring lump in her throat rose, and her eyes began to burn. Nothing would ever be right again.
A knock sounded on her bedroom door, and Mama called out, “Are you there?” She opened the door without waiting for a response.
Phoebe spoke into her damp skirt, not lifting her head. “As you see, I’m here.”
“Darling girl, you need to come out of your room. You can’t hide here forever.”
“I only need to hide until the end of the Season.” She hiccupped and sighed, trying to stop her tears. She was tired of crying.
Mama sat on the other end of the window seat. “I’ll tell your father we’re leaving Town sooner than planned. We’ll go home today. We don’t even need to wait for all our belongings to be packed. We’ll take only what we need for the trip.”
As tempting, and as ideal, as the plan sounded, Phoebe couldn’t bring herself to leave now. “I—I haven’t found a husband yet. If we leave, Father will choose one for me, and you know the type he’ll pick.”
“You won’t find a man while you’re locked away in your room. We’ve discussed your chances here in Town. I don’t think you’ll care any more for the men here who still seek a bride than one your father chooses. Let’s go home.”
Phoebe rolled to her feet, scrubbing her eyes with the butts of her palms. “I must speak to Marjorie.”
Mama laughed as she stood. “You can’t go anywhere looking as you do. Your eyes! Rubbing them so hard didn’t improve their redness. I’ll ring for a cold cloth for you to cool your face. Then your maid will restyle your hair, and you must wear a bright dress. Everyone will be watching for you, so it’s important you look like you aren’t affected by the gossip.”
All of her mother’s preparations were for naught, because Marjorie came to Phoebe. “How are you? I haven’t seen you since before…well, since before. I wanted to come sooner, but I feel so poorly in the mornings suddenly, and it doesn’t improve much as the day passes.”
“Are you unwell? You should be home resting.”
Mama laughed softly. “Rest helps somewhat, but try having dry toast before you rise with some weak tea.”
“That’s what my housekeeper said. My mother had the same troubles early on.”
“What trouble?” Phoebe asked, totally lost in the conversation. “If you aren’t ill, what’s wrong?”
The realization came slowly, brought on by the understanding looks her mother and best friend gave her. “Oh. Oh! When? When will you give birth?”
“Early in the new year,” Marjorie said, her face glowing. “We’re so happy.”
Phoebe hugged her tightly. “You’re so deserving, after all the two of you went through to finally marry. I can’t wait to help you choose baby clothes, and bonnets. Do you think I could learn to knit booties?”
She and Marjorie studied each other, then broke into laughter. “No, I suppose not. I’ve never been good at the accomplishments we were supposed to learn. I shall be the best aunt your children ever know, however.”
“I’m glad for that, since I have no sisters or brothers.”
“I’ll come stay with you before your time, and help you in the first few months.”
Now Mama laughed. “You don’t know the first thing about babies, dear.”
“I know how to hold one,” Phoebe insisted. “I can do so and allow Marjorie to sleep.”
“And I shall appreciate you,” Marjorie said.
Mama walked to the door of Phoebe’s bedchamber. “I’ll leave you two alone. Marjorie, you’ve already cured her melancholy, which is more than I hoped to see for some time to come. Thank you.”
When she closed the door, Marjorie sighed. “Is it as bad as she makes it seem? Is there no hope for you and Basingstoke?”
“How can there be? I don’t even know what sin he thinks I’m guilty of. I cannot defend myself, can’t apologize. We are no longer speaking.”
“Tell me again what happened. Your note was so brief…”
“Mrs. Crookshank’s column said Basingstoke had proposed to me. I knew Father would be outraged that no one had spoken to him, and I was so upset this woman won’t leave us alone. It’s not fair that she tells such lies about people. She must know the effect her words have on our lives.”
“Most people don’t believe what they read there.”
“Why do I hear the rumors repeated everywhere I go, then? I was so angry, I wasn’t thinking clearly, so when I left your house I went straight to the newspaper.”
“You should have had Hart go in your place, Phoebe. That’s such a bad neighborhood.”
“I told you I wasn’t thinking clearly. I collided with Lord Basingstoke before I reached the office. He was so angry with me. His voice was sharp, his words terse. I don’t know what I did to upset him.”
“Think. What did he say?”
Phoebe searched her memory before speaking again. “He accused me of being on my way to the newspaper office, which I was. I don’t know how he knew that, or why he was so angry about it.”
What had he said? “There was something about my on dits, and not needing to give them to Mr. Hillside. What could he mean?”
Marjorie’s eyes widened. “Oh dear. Oh, my. This is awful.”
Phoebe waited impatiently for her to continue. After an endless pause she did.
“Do you remember my footman delivering your journal that afternoon you left it at my house. Hart found it, actually, and gave it to me.”
“What does that have to do with Basingstoke?”
“What did you write in your journal that morning? You told me not long before you left in such a hurry.”
Phoebe didn’t see how her scribbles mattered. “I don’t recall. Something silly about the earl and me. I haven’t looked at my journal since that day.”
“You said he proposed.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t the first time I said so. At various times I’ve had us married with a house filled with children, too.”
“You wrote about the proposal. Mrs. Crookshank wrote about an upcoming wedding. What if Hart read your journal…at least, that entry.”
Phoebe shook her head. “I don’t understand. Where does Lord Basingstoke fit into this story?”
Marjorie jumped to her feet and began to pace. “I’m only guessing. Was there even time for him to tell Basingstoke once he discovered the journal? He didn’t give it to me until later that afternoon, and he made no mention of talking to anyone about it. I never would imagine he’d read something so personal.”
Her speech began to race as her thoughts spewed forth, until she finally stopped. She offered Phoebe a pleading look. “All I can think is that Hart decided you are Mrs. Crookshank.”
“Me? How utterly ridiculous.”
“Men can be utterly ridiculous, you know. Some seem to do so more than others. Hart isn’t one of those, but I cannot think of any other reason Basingstoke would have gone to speak to Mr. Hillside on the same day you did.”
“How could he believe I could publish those awful things? About myself, no less.”
“Phoebe, read your journal. If I didn’t know the truth, I could easily believe it was gossip, not fantasies, on those pages.”
Had she truly brought this on herself? “It can’t be. Oh, what have I done? No wonder he refused to speak to me once he’d said his piece. What must he think of me?”
That awful swelling in her throat grew and began to burn. She’d destroyed her only chance at true happiness. She had no more tears to cry, so she couldn’t release the pain inside. There was only one way out of her pitiful mood. “Tell me more about the baby. Have you chosen names? What color will you paint the nursery? Please, tell me all and save me from myself.”
Phoebe was beyond saving, she knew, but somehow she must go on with her life. No matter how much it hurt.