Chapter Five
That wicked Lord B~ has been seen once again with Lady P.W. They are becoming quite the couple. Could there be a betrothal in the offing?
Giggling, Phoebe closed her journal and leaned back in her seat to look out the window. She was foolish to think Basingstoke would fall in love with her—at least, in a matter of mere days. Yet what else could she think? In the weeks since they’d been re-introduced at Almack’s, he’d called on her at home multiple times, taken her to the opera once, and last night they danced both the supper dance and the final dance set of the evening. He’d escorted her and her mother to their carriage and promised to call soon.
He must be in love. There was no other explanation. No explanation she wished to hear, perhaps.
When a footman announced Marjorie was waiting for her in the morning room, Phoebe hurried downstairs. Rushing across the red wool carpet, she grasped Marjorie’s hands. “I’m so happy!”
Marjorie shook her head, chuckling. “If he’d done something like kissing you or proposing, you’d have called upon me first thing this morning. What has you so cheerful?”
“Life. Love. Lord Basingstoke.” She sighed, drawing breath from all the way down in her toes. “They’re all the same thing.”
“You might think differently when you read this.” Marjorie handed her the morning newspaper. “Mrs. Crookshank’s column.”
“I’ve caught Mrs. Crookshank’s eye? What does she day?” Phoebe snatched the paper.
“You won’t be so pleased when you read it. Neither will your parents.”
Skimming down the column, Phoebe came to the paragraph in question. She read aloud. “Lady P.W. was seen entering a carriage several hours after leaving Lady D~’s ball. The fact the carriage was parked in front of Lord B~’s town house couldn’t mean what it appears to do. Could it?”
Phoebe lowered the newspaper and met Marjorie’s gaze, imploring, “Tell me this isn’t true.”
“You’re the one who would know that, not me.”
“I mean, tell me this isn’t really in the paper. They’re accusing me of having a liaison with Basingstoke. This is a joke, isn’t it?”
Leading her to the nearest chair, Marjorie said, “You just read it. Tell me you didn’t…”
“Didn’t what?” Phoebe tensed with shock and anger. “How could you even consider the thought? I thought you were my friend.”
“I am. I’m sorry. Who do you suppose it was seen at his home?”
“Who says anyone was there? Mrs. Crookshank creates most of the gossip based on her own whims. The true problem is that others will believe it. Mama will never let me leave the house again.”
“You have more to worry about than that. No man will have you as his wife, now. Not after someone claims to have seen you leaving the earl’s house alone in the middle of the night.”
Tossing the newspaper onto the table beside her, Phoebe rose and began to pace, pinching her index finger with her other hand to allow herself to focus. “Basingstoke is the only man whose opinion concerns me, and he’ll know the truth of it.”
“Your father will never allow you to marry the earl. I’m truly amazed your mother continues to let you be seen with him. That will come to an end now. She’ll likely take you back to the country.”
Father never read those columns, but someone would show it to him at some point during the day. Then she’d have to face his displeasure.
Phoebe didn’t have to wait more than a few minutes before Father slammed the front door behind him as he entered, bellowing, “Bring my daughter to me!”
Meeting Marjorie’s gaze, Phoebe chewed her lower lip. “Will you wait for me?”
Her friend shook her head. “Write me after he banishes you do the dark tower. I’m sure there’s a footman so besotted with you he’d brave going against your father’s wishes to deliver a letter to me.”
Laughing, Phoebe sighed. “Well, then, I’d best get this over with.”
She followed Marjorie into the entry hall, hugged her friend good-bye, then ascended the staircase to her father’s office. The sounds coming from within the room told her he was opening and closing drawers, an odd habit he did when he was angry. She’d never been brave enough to ask what he looked for, and he always stopped when she came in the room.
“I’m here, Papa.” She stood in front of his desk to await his censure.
He slammed one more drawer shut, then straightened. His coat was unbuttoned, and he shoved it out of his way when planting his hands on his hips. Then he folded his arms across his broad chest, instead, still studying Phoebe. Finally, he swiped his palm over his balding scalp.
Shaking his head and lifting his arms in exasperation, he asked, “Am I to believe what I’m being told? You were taught better than that, so it can’t be true. Were you at that man’s house?”
Phoebe held his gaze with her head high. “Of course not, Father.”
“Yet there’s some reason people will believe you were?”
“I’ve done nothing I’m ashamed of, nothing that could hint something like this were true.” She refused to beg him to believe her. Instead, she had to fight to keep her anger from her tight voice.
Father motioned to the chair beside her. “Sit.” He sat in his own chair and arranged the items on the desk into military-straight lines and exact positions, a habit she’d also developed over the years.
When everything suited his preferences, he again met Phoebe’s gaze. “Your mother told me you were receiving calls from Basingstoke and have been seen with him practically daily.”
There was no “practically” about it, but she didn’t say so.
“I didn’t approve, but your mother convinced me it was for the better to allow it. This morning’s newspaper has proven my original feelings were correct.”
“I’m sorry to bring a hint of scandal on your name, Father, but the possibility of gossip exists no matter whom I’m seen with.”
Father’s piercing look held her. “Don’t take me for a fool, Daughter. Few men have as bad a reputation as Basingstoke.”
“He hasn’t done anything any number of men have also done before they marry.”
“Phoebe, you cannot expect to justify his past actions by comparing them to others. And you cannot be included in his future. End this now. Send him a note stating you wish for him not to call again. If not, I’ll have your mother take you back home, and I’ll find a suitable husband for you. An impoverished vicar or widower with children should agree to marry you, if I make a large enough settlement on you.”
I can’t do that. He can’t do that!
She couldn’t get the words out of her mouth. “Please…”
“If you’ve taken a foolish notion to marry the man, I’m sorry.” Her father’s terse expression softened. “Your mother should never have allowed you know him well enough to form an attachment.”
Her heart had attached itself to him long before this Season. By the time Mama had discovered Phoebe’s inclinations, it was too late.
“I will leave the wording of your note to you, but I insist it be sent within the hour. We cannot wait a moment longer to stop this gossip and repair your reputation. Go, now, and get it done.”
Several moments passed before Phoebe could stand and go to her room. She was being punished for something she hadn’t done, and it would affect the rest of her life.
There must be a way to resolve this so she could still marry Basingstoke. She’d keep searching for an answer until she found it.