Chapter Four
Could Lord B~ have finally recognized his own heart?
Their evening at the opera went so well, Basingstoke invited Lady Phoebe to the Egyptian Hall the next afternoon to see the new items added to the exhibit from the Americas. The Duke of Hartshorne and his wife chaperoned them, and their relaxed supervision gave them the freedom to speak alone, albeit in a crowd of strangers.
With the weather being so nice, they walked several blocks to the museum. He continually studied her from the corner of his eye, taking in her small, rosy mouth and the curve of her neck. Her pale skin glowed with healthy beauty.
And if he wasn’t careful, he’d fall at her feet and beg for one more glimpse of her sweet smile.
Yet she always smiled…an honest smile from within, at least when she looked at him.
Stop, man! Lady Phoebe wasn’t the sort to allow puppies to lap at her heels, and he must prove he’s the sort of man she wants to marry. He grunted in disgust. “Prove myself.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Had he spoken out loud? He grimaced. “I—I hope to prove to myself that I remember my studies when I see the exhibits.”
She shaded her eyes and looked up at him. “Do you enjoy history?”
“I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about it, so I suppose not.”
“Then it’s a good thing I do, or our afternoon would be quite dull.”
“Dull, you say?” He rose to the challenge. “My company is never dull.”
To prove his statement, he trotted across the street and bought a rose from a flower girl. Breaking the stem to a short length, he tucked it among the silk flowers on Lady Phoebe’s bonnet. The red clashed horribly with the peach blooms, defeating his entire purpose. Removing it, he said, “Alas, this bud is ashamed of how poorly it looks next to your beauty.”
When he lifted his arm to toss it into the street, Lady Phoebe grasped his arm. “Don’t you dare throw it away.”
He studied the bud in his hand. “That would be a sorry thing to do, wouldn’t it.”
She held out her palm. He set the flower in it. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled. The smile spreading on her lips was angelic.
It hit him like a horse kicking his gut. He sucked in air so he could speak. “The rose is pleased to have brought you joy.”
“You know what a flower is thinking?”
“Why do they exist but to bring joy to all who look upon them?” What was he doing? Next, he’d begin spouting poetry. Basingstoke was relieved his friends weren’t there to hear him. They’d ban him from the Wicked Earls’ Club long before he married, which was the only reason any of them left.
“You’re right, you aren’t dull, but I never imagined you would be.”
“Do you spend many hours each day contemplating my charm?”
Her cheeks reddened. He’d struck a nerve. Did she think of him as often as he did her? “That many hours. I see. And am I equal to what you’ve imagined?”
The emotion in her eyes nearly overwhelmed him. Happiness—or was it delight? How would one differ to the other? Some sort of affection was there, unless he was wishful thinking.
He preferred to believe it was there.
Looking ahead, he realized they’d reached the Egyptian Hall. He paused and waited for the duke and duchess to join them before entering.
“Lady Phoebe,” Hartshorne said as he held the door open for the ladies, “your cheeks have a bit of color. Perhaps we were too long in the sun. I’ll have my carriage brought around for our trip home.”
“Thank you,” she said, ducking her head as she removed her bonnet.
Basingstoke said nothing, knowing their flirting had more to do with her blush than the sun. They got on so well together. That bode well for a happy future.
Once his eyes adjusted to the interior light, he scanned the room. “Where do we begin? On the left, then make our way around?”
“That makes as much sense as any plan.” Lady Phoebe began to walk in that direction.
He forced himself to don a sober façade, not aloof but as far from lovesick fool as possible. With Hartshorne and the duchess walking with them, his temptation to flirt was tampered. Just a bit.
The first display contained items collected from the Americas, an assortment of pottery and gold items. Marjorie—Her Grace—studied the pottery. “These vessels are interesting. Some are so primitive, and some are so detailed as to compare to Greek statues.”
She was correct. The ones that could have been crafted by a child had exaggerated features, and red markings in the form of tattoos or garment embellishments.
“That one has giraffe spots,” Hartshorne commented.
“I doubt they’d seen giraffes so long ago, when they only had small boats to travel in.” Lady Phoebe looked to Basingstoke as if for confirmation.
“Excellent point,” he responded.
Their discussion continued as they circled the room, making casual remarks about the curious findings on display. He was enjoying the time almost disproportionately. Just being with Lady Phoebe made the time pass much too quickly.
Then the spiteful gossips noticed them.
“It’s not surprising she is with a man of his character,” said one man. “Just look at her friend. Lady Marjorie married the Duke of Hartshorne in spite of him disgracing that girl. You know, the one the brother stepped up and married. Now there was a good man.”
Basingstoke bristled, glancing askance at Hartshorne to see if he’d heard. If he had, he was doing an excellent job of keeping his features schooled.
A woman with that man added her point of view. “One would imagine Lady Phoebe’s parents would have forbidden her from associating with the couple. It’s a shame such a sweet girl should fall into the hands of that man, Basingstoke.”
The duchess walked up to stand beside Lady Phoebe. She pointed to a gold figure. “Do you suppose the half-circle headdress he wears represents the sun or the moon?”
“My initial thought,” said Hartshorne, “Was that it was feathers, but I see no feather demarcation, so it must be one or the other as you say.”
The gossips weren’t finished. “What do you imagine Lady Phoebe thinks of the by-blow? She must know of the boy. How can she allow herself to be seen in public with Basingstoke?”
“Such a shame to see the ruin of two such respectable families,” the man said.
Basingstoke had heard enough. He tucked Lady Phoebe’s hand into his side and led his party to another display. His vision burned red and his body shook with the restraint it took not to react. Nothing he said to the rumormongers would stop them from spreading their vicious, incorrect tales. All he could do was try to shield Lady Phoebe from hearing them. As some point the gossips would find something new to focus upon, and he and Lady Phoebe could enjoy their lives together.
“Let’s continue to the next exhibit. I think we’ve seen everything there is to see here.” Without waiting for a response, Basingstoke strode to the next room. There, realizing he’d practically dragged Lady Phoebe along, he slowed, and paused in front of a collection of Greek artifacts.
But the gossip continued. “Do you suppose he’s compromised her already? How long do you think it will be before he moves on to his next victim?”
Enough.
Basingstoke marched to the offending couple, neither of whom he recognized. “You seem to have quite a fascination with my life, and that of my friends. Yet you are incorrect in many of the crimes we supposedly committed against society. I suggest you stop talking about us, or the Duke of Hartshorne will speak to the proprietor about having you removed from the premises.”
That said, he returned to his friends.
“Hear, hear,” Hartshorne said loudly enough for no one to miss.
“Thank you,” added the duchess.
Lady Phoebe’s gaze held a hint of something new, respect, or pride, perhaps? “Yes, thank you for coming to my rescue.”
“I will always do my best to shield you from harm, physical or verbal.” Basingstoke reached for her hand and held it to his chest. “Your happiness is important to me.”
Her answering smile was shy and she ducked her head. Lifting the rose to her nose, she inhaled.
A slight portion of the weight he carried on his conscience lifted. He mightn’t be capable of keeping Lady Phoebe from overhearing those hurtful words, but he could make it clear how much he wanted to protect her from being wounded by them.
That was all he could do.