Chapter Six
It has come to my attention that the Earl of B~ hasn’t been seen escorting Lady P.W.—
Phoebe scratched out the line in her journal, dipped her pen in the inkwell, and began again.
For weeks now, Lady P.W. and her wicked beau Lord B~ have been seen everywhere together. Balls, the theatre, the museum…anywhere a couple could be discovered.
Rereading her entry, she sighed and pushed away the book without blotting the ink. She could no longer pretend she and Basingstoke were together. As her parents had demanded, she’d written the earl, but it wasn’t the polite note ending their new relationship. No, she’d scandalized her family once again, or would have if her letter was discovered.
Dear Lord Basingstoke, she’d begun.
It is of the utmost importance I meet with you this afternoon. I shall be waiting at the three benches by the Serpentine at three o’clock.
Yrs., Lady Phoebe
She’d bribed the poor, sweet footman who was always eager to do her bidding, and he delivered the note post haste. She had no way of knowing if the earl received it right away, but she’d wait for him at the appropriate time. She had to hold strong to her belief she and Basingstoke were meant for each other, and that they’d find a way to survive this setback.
Twenty minutes before three o’clock, Phoebe found her mother reading in the morning room. “I’m going to call on Marjorie,” she lied.
Mama turned a page without looking up. “Be home in time to dress for Vauxhall this evening. And give my best wishes to her mother.”
“I will Mama.” Donning her bonnet, Phoebe hurried to leave before anyone could think of something to stop her.
A single woman walking alone in Hyde Park was unusual, but she tried to look hurried, as though she was catching up with her party. It was early for the fashionable crowd—she’d planned it that way to avoid drawing attention to themselves—so the paths were nearly empty.
As she rounded the bend in the serpent-shaped river, she saw a man standing at the shore near the benches, hands clasped behind his back. While he could be any tall, dark-haired man, her heart recognized him even from behind.
Basingstoke turned when she approached, and the sun shone off his teeth when he smiled.
Her stomach fluttered.
“Good day, Lady Phoebe.”
“It’s a very good day, sir.” She hesitated in front of him, wanting something she couldn’t name, then took a seat on one of the benches.
He followed her, but remained standing, kind enough to take the sun in his own eyes, not hers. “I was surprised to receive your note. Is something amiss?”
“No. Well, yes.” The foolishness, the utter brazenness of her act struck her, keeping her from finding her words. “Did you read the newspaper this morning?”
“I did.”
“Then you saw it.”
“The gossip, yes.”
She gnawed her lower lip, still struggling to make sense of her tumbling thoughts.
“You want to know if it’s true a woman left my home late last night.”
“Oh, no, that’s not it at all. It’s none of my business what you—”
“Phoebe, no one came or left but me. I went to the club after we parted.”
Her relief hit so deeply she almost didn’t notice his use of her first name. When that fact sank in, her heart sang. “Believe me, that wasn’t my concern. My father has me worried. He won’t allow me to see you again.”
“I see. To be honest, I’m surprised he allowed it to this point.”
“Mama never said so, but I think she hoped by getting to know you better, I’d see how poor a choice you were as a husband.”
The corners of his lips twitched. “And have you come to your senses?”
She looked down at the tip of her boots, once again gnawing her lip. The she peered up at him, bracing herself for humiliation. “No.”
The lines around Basingstoke’s mouth relaxed as his smile widened, lighting his face. “I’m pleased to hear that. What will you do?”
Why did he expect her to do something? He could resolve this issue by simply proposing. Father might refuse at first, but Mama could change his mind. Maybe. A proposal would make Basingstoke respectable, and let her parents see his intentions were honorable. Yet he didn’t even hint at being close to asking for her hand in marriage.
Maybe he had no intention of doing so. She’d created his attraction in her dreams so long ago, and he felt nothing of the sort. He was being polite to a foolish girl, that was all.
She refused to allow that thought to linger.
What could she do to thwart Father’s demands? She certainly couldn’t call on him. And slipping out of the house on her own—as she’d done now—would make everyone think something illicit was taking place. There must be a way to see him.
The obvious answer was the easiest to accomplish. Tipping her head to one side, she grinned, quite pleased with herself. “Why, tonight I shall go to Lady Hasslebeck’s musicale, and tomorrow, Miss Riverton’s ball at Crighton house.”
He nodded, his grin twitching as if he fought laughter. “I considered accepting an invitation to a Venetian breakfast that arrived this morning.”
“What a coincidence. We received the same invitation.”
He understood. They could attend the same assemblies whether Father wanted her to or not, for as long as she remained in London. Basingstoke did want to see her again, to spend time with her. Those fears were for naught.
Mama wouldn’t approve, and Father might follow through on his threat to send her back to the country, but she had to risk it.
She wished she could come right out and ask why he didn’t propose. He must have some reason.
Of course he did. They’d met merely two weeks ago. No one should make such an important decision on such short acquaintance.
But her feelings wouldn’t change no matter how long they knew each other. She would always love him.
“You’d better return home before someone recognizes you,” he said softly.
“Yes, I should.” She sighed. Someone needed to invite the two of them to a card party, so they could spend time together simply talking. Spend time showing Mama how well they suited, how happy they were. Surely that would make her mother realize the truth and convince Father this was best for Phoebe.
Lord Basingstoke was absolutely the best match for Phoebe.
***
Sitting in the dark corner of White’s club the next afternoon, Basingstoke was brooding. There was no other word for it. Up until the last month, he could care less what Society thought of him. For the most part, he still did. The only opinions that matter now were Lady Phoebe’s and her parents. He supposed some sort of grand gesture was required to prove to them he wasn’t the man he was reputed to be.
He didn’t make gestures, grand or otherwise, to change anyone’s opinion of him. Those who knew him recognized the man he was. Those who didn’t…who cared?
Thornton found him in the shadows and sat in a chair close by. “What has you in such a grim state?”
“I’m not grim. I’m thinking.”
“You look as if you’re about to let go of one of your best workers. Whatever you’re thinking of, stop.”
“You’re right. I shall stop. Why are you lurking in the shadows so early in the day?”
“Boredom. I have no excuse. I decided to find a game of cards winding down from last night and joining it in hopes of fleecing anyone with too little sleep and too much money still in his purse.”
Shaking his head, Basingstoke chuckled. “You have more money than most of these men put together. Why even try to win more?”
Thornton shrugged. “Because I can.”
Basingstoke pushed himself to his feet and stretched. “I need to clear my thoughts and you need to waste some money. Let’s go to Tattersall’s and examine the horse flesh. I’m sure they’re selling off some stud or other worthy of your interest.”
Rising, Thornton followed the earl. “That’s a much better scheme than watching you contemplate whatever ills you’ve imagined.”
The auction had already begun when they arrived, so there was little time to examine the items still to be bid on. Basingstoke squeezed through the crowd until he was close enough to see clearly what was on display.
Thornton found his way to Basingstoke’s side, muttering, “The quality of people they allow in here…”
“I never knew you were a snob, Thorn. If a man has money, shouldn’t he be allowed to spend it?”
“I never knew you were a champion for the common man.”
Rather than responding, Basingstoke eyed the conveyance awaiting bids. A cabriolet in impeccable condition, it struck something inside him. Never one for ostentatiousness—his own vehicles were staid, black and serviceable—this cabriolet was as attention-grabbing as any. The folding hood was black, yes, but the carriage body was a rich hunter green, and the spokes of the wheels were bright yellow. That punch of color made all the difference, and he knew Phoebe would love it.
Thornton must have had the same thought. “Your lady-love will look pretty when you take her for a drive in that.”
Basingstoke’s pride bristled, still wanting to appear aloof where his heart was concerned. “I thought only of myself. It’s too bold for my tastes.”
His friend simply eyed him, causing Basingstoke to grow uncomfortably warm.
“In that case,” the duke said, “you won’t mind if I bid.”
“Of course not. Feel free to bid on anything that catches your eye. It’s your purse we came to lighten, not mine.”
“Excellent. That cabriolet will make an excellent wedding gift, when a certain gentleman finally decides to propose.”
“It’s not a simple decision,” Basingstoke said with a growl. “Marriage.”
“The decision is already made. I can see it in your face when you look upon her. When you mention her name. When I mention it. Lady Phoebe Woodson. See, there, you did it again. Your brow goes soft, and your lips relax. She is a balm to your soul, man. Quit wasting your time.”
Thornton was right—Lady Phoebe was a balm, but it didn’t remove the obstacles in their path. “I knew I faced a difficult task, trying to find a respectable woman whose family wouldn’t reject a disrespected man. I just didn’t realize how much it would bother me when it came time to discuss the betrothal with her father.”
“It doesn’t help that you associate with those men.” Thornton pointed to the W pin.
“Don’t you start in on them. You haven’t avoided the scandal columns, yourself.”
“I’ll hold my thoughts for now. Your cabriolet is next, and I don’t want to distract you while you bid.”
Basingstoke gave him a harsh glare, but quit arguing the point and bid until the less-than-unassuming cabriolet was his.