Chapter Three
Last night at Almack’s, a particular earl was observed dancing with a certain Lady P.W. three times! A short time later, it was remarked upon that neither person could be found. Lady P.W. was later discovered beside her friend, the Duchess of H. Where had she been hiding, and who had she been hiding with?
The following morning, Phoebe’s joy knew no bounds when a posy of violets arrived with a note from Basingstoke saying that he would call that afternoon to walk with Phoebe.
Mama, eating breakfast across the table from Phoebe, was not pleased. “That man! Of all the gentlemen you’ve met, why him?”
“I don’t know, Mama. When I look upon him my stomach shivers. If he turns my way, and if he smiles, I feel as though I might swoon.”
“Hmph. Neither of those will make for a happy life. I’ll admit his income is better than many, and his family seat is one of the finer homes in all of England. But his reputation, his character… You know your father won’t allow the match.”
“Why? What has he done that most men haven’t? Prinny, himself—”
With narrowed eyelids, Mama glared. “Your father is not a favorite of the Prince Regent, so he wouldn’t approve of your marrying the Prince, either.”
“Won’t you try to know Basingstoke better before refusing his calls? Or let me know him. I might realize he’s not the man for me, after all.”
“I highly doubt that. I’ve seen how you look at him. You’re deeply infatuated with him already, and nothing beyond marriage will allow you to see the truth. He’s a charming man, and I use the term as in a snake charmer. He’ll only show you the qualities you desire. Then when you’re married and have provided him with an heir, he’ll return to his wild ways.”
“Men mature at some point, don’t they? Most give up their wild ways upon marrying.” At least, that’s what Phoebe hoped. None of her friends complained of their husbands’ behavior. None of them had been accused of any sort of scandal she was aware of, but surely, they’d had some bad habits they gave up.
Life was too unfair. All she ever wanted was to be loved by the Earl of Basingstoke. Now that she had her chance, her parents were going to thwart it.
Patting her lips with her white linen serviette, Phoebe pushed her plate aside and drank some tea. Try as she might, she couldn’t get her cold toast past the lump in her throat. “Mama, you can’t embarrass me by refusing his call. People will assume he refused me, not the other way around. Some will say I was saved by it, but many will deem it proof I’m not a desirable match. Can’t we find a way to let this end naturally? I can tell him there’s someone else.”
“How is that different from simply refusing his call today?” Mama argued while daintily slicing a sausage.
It wasn’t different, but Phoebe would never admit it. Instead, she excused herself and went to her room to write her friends and beg their assistance.
The notes she sent Marjorie and Clara were identical except for the salutation.
Basingstoke will call on me today! Mama wants to refuse him, but I must see him, I must! If it wouldn’t be so horribly inappropriate, I’d await him on the street, just so he couldn’t be turned away. I will find a way to see him. I’ll let you know what transpires at the soonest possible moment.
If, somehow, Mama succeeds in keeping me from seeing him, I beg you both will help me find a way.
Yrs. Phoebe
***
Basingstoke strode up the front steps at the home of the Earl and Countess of Appledown and realized for the first time in memory he was apprehensive about how he’d be received. The way the countess had behaved when he and Lady Phoebe sought refreshments at Almack’s, he doubted she’d be pleased to see him. He wouldn’t be surprised to be informed the family wasn’t at home.
Instead, the regal-looking butler in gold livery stepped aside to allow him in. “The ladies are in the front drawing room. This way, please.”
The large entry suited the butler’s uniform, with Italian marble-topped tables lining the walls and gilt-framed landscapes hanging between gold sconces. The overall effect was much too ostentatious for Basingstoke’s taste.
“Lord Basingstoke,” the butler announced as the earl passed through the open doors.
Lady Appledown stood slowly, her face a polite mask. “My lord, how good of you to call. Will you sit?”
Standing in front of the window, Lady Phoebe was lit from behind, the sunlight surrounding her in a halo of brightness. Her smile was even brighter. Moving out of the light, she gracefully perched on the edge of a chair. “Lord Basingstoke, I’m pleased to see you.”
He chose to ignore her mother’s obvious displeasure and took a seat.
“I received your flowers this morning, they’re very pretty,” Lady Phoebe said.
“Their beauty doesn’t compare to yours,” he replied.
Showing her disapproval, Lady Appledown sniffed loudly.
He again chose to ignore her. “You were by far the fairest of the young ladies at Almack’s. I noticed how many of the men were jealous of my dancing with you.”
His little beauty rolled her hazel eyes. “Really, my lord, you do exaggerate. The others had an equal opportunity to partner with me but they didn’t ask.”
The smile on those lovely lips was more coy than happy, a fact he found most intriguing. Despite her mother’s stern scowl, the young lady flirted with him. It was a complete reversal of the first glance they’d exchanged last night.
“There’s a warmish breeze this afternoon. With your mother’s permission, I’d enjoy walking with you.” He glanced at the countess and was met by that piercing glare.
Pursing her lips tightly, the countess gave a sharp nod.
Nearly jumping to her feet, Lady Phoebe said, “Let me fetch my bonnet.”
Once they reached the street, they strolled side-by-side. When Basingstoke paused to let her pass around a nanny with a group of children, Lady Phoebe’s delicate rosewater scent teased his senses. “Your mother doesn’t approve of me.”
She lowered her gaze as though something on the street fascinated her. “Is that uncommon? No disrespect, my lord, but that W pin you wear isn’t intended to impress the mothers of marriageable daughters.”
“You’re very direct. I enjoy that. It’s a refreshing change.”
“My mother doesn’t think so. She cringes when she hears me. I’m not the daughter she hoped for.” Lady Phoebe peered from behind the brim of her bonnet. “I can’t conform. Oh, I’ll keep my peace when needed, even if I must bite my tongue to do so, but…”
Now she ducked her head. “I believe this is one of those times I should remain silent. Forgive me, Lord Basingstoke.”
“Promise me you’ll never hold back when you speak to me.” He fought a sudden need to reach for her hand. The gossips would have enough to talk about without him taking liberties.
What was happening to him? He was totally besotted over a lady he’d met only the night before. If he could secure her affection as easily as his had claimed her, this whole marriage nonsense could be resolved quickly.
Basingstoke continued to watch her as they strolled, memorizing the lines of her profile. A delicate chin, a pert little nose, topped by an unlined brow. “Do you enjoy the opera?”
“Of course.”
“Is that your true opinion, or what all young ladies are expected to say?”
She laughed, again taunting him with that coy smile. “We had this discussion only moments ago. I’ll always be honest with you.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. Will you accompany me to the opera tomorrow evening?”
“I’d like that, thank you.”
They continued on for several blocks before turning back, neither speaking. It was as though nothing more needed to be said. The quiet between them wasn’t strained, but rather filled with contentment and a peculiar sort of peace.
Basingstoke rather liked this new feeling of being so comfortable in the company of a woman. How soon could he ask her father’s permission to marry, without seeming desperate?
Desperation be damned, he—like Lady Phoebe—refused to conform to the constraints of Polite Society. He would propose as soon as he saw fit to do so.