Chapter 18
No. 23
An Everton lady will do all in her power to avoid falling in love with the client as it may lead to a broken heart.
—The Everton Companion
Rules of Conduct
The words on the page blurred. It was Markus’s third attempt at writing a letter to Phoebe. He tossed it in the wastebasket with the other two. What he needed to say he couldn’t put on paper. Mostly because he didn’t know what to say. Would an apology be enough to bring her back? No. He didn’t think so. Besides, what was he apologizing for? He asked her to stay, to marry him. It had not been enough.
“Damn.” He slammed the quill pen down on his desk. Ink marred the grain. Using parchment, he tried to clean up the ink, but it only made it worse.
His study door opened and Dory peeked in. “May I come in or are you busy?”
Standing, he pushed the ink well aside. “I’ve ruined the desk Emma bought me.”
“It is only a stain. It adds character to the desk.” She smiled.
Drawing breath, he let the idea sink in. Emma’s desk and ink over his frustration with Phoebe. Perhaps it was character as Dory had said. “I was trying to write to Phoebe, but I do not know what to say.”
“What do you want to say?” Cocking her head, she gazed at him in her don’t bother to lie because I know you way.
Senseless to avoid the truth. “Come back to Rosefield and be my wife.”
“You suspect that would not bring her back?”
“I asked her to stay and she said she preferred her life as an Everton lady.”
“She said that?”
Every time he thought of her, which was all the time, his heart hurt more. “Perhaps not quite that, but she said no, nonetheless.”
Dory sighed. “You will have to tell her what’s in your heart, Markus, then see what happens. She does not feel worthy of you. If you want her, you will have to make her believe differently.”
Changing another’s opinion of themselves was no easy task. Perhaps he should have begged while she was still under his roof. He shook the idea away. “You came in for something. Is it Father?”
Dory patted her red hair into place and sighed. “No, his condition is unchanged. I just thought it would be nice to spend a few minutes together without Mother taking over the conversation.”
Whenever Mother was in the room the focus was on her. Even if she didn’t speak, her presence altered the conversation. He pointed toward the chairs. “Come sit.”
“This letter for you was on the tray in the hall. I decided to bring it to you.” She handed him the letter sealed with the blue crest of the Hallsmith family.
Markus’s palms grew damp despite the fact that the address was clearly not in Phoebe’s hand. Staring down at the envelope, he fought tearing it open or tossing it in the trash.
“Do you suspect bad news, Markus?” Leaning forward, she put her hand on his.
“I have no idea.” He broke the seal and opened the letter. “It is from Miles Hallsmith.”
“Is she all right?”
“He writes that both Mr. Durnst and Mr. Blunt are in London and Miles suspects they both will renew their wish to marry her in short order.” His heart broke, and he struggled to draw breath.
“If you are in love with her, then go to London and tell her.” Dory sounded as if it was just that simple.
“I asked her to stay and she said no. I said I would marry her, but she declared it ridiculous. I do not know how to change her mind.” Every statement was a knife in his chest. He tossed the letter on his desk.
Dory took his hand. “You said you would marry her? Did you tell her that you love her in all of that?”
“Perhaps not in those words. But if she thinks marrying me is a ridiculous idea, she does not wish to hear about love from me. You do not know her as I do. She is a practical woman. Flowery talk will not win her.”
“Markus, women, even practical ones, like to hear that the man proposing is in love with them and not marrying for some other reason. She has waited this long and found a way to support herself; she’ll not marry for less than true love. Her honor will never allow it.”
His hands shook. He pulled away, stood, and walked toward the window. Leaning against the cold glass, he watched the snow fall. “She would laugh at me.”
“There is always a risk. But I doubt she will laugh. What were you going to write to her?”
Rounding the desk, he glimpsed the discarded letters in the waste bin. “I was planning to apologize and hope that was enough to bring her back to Rosefield.”
“I realize that I am your younger sister, Markus, but listen to me. Doing the least amount to win back the woman you love is not the best plan. Women want you to make a fool of yourself for them. We want you to stand on the top of Parliament and declare your undying love. Pecking away at the least dangerous path will not win you the glory you desire.” She stood. “When Father is better, go to London.”
“And if she promises herself to someone else while I am trapped here by snow and the earl’s ill health?”
Dory smiled. “You cannot know what she will do when you are not with her, but I suspect Miss Hallsmith will wait for true love or have no love at all.”
“You might be wrong.”
Shrugging, she stepped to the door. “Mother has asked me to play tonight. I agreed, though it is always difficult for me to play in front of her.”
When his sister played the pianoforte, it was as if the heavens opened up and let the angels drop to earth. “I would love to hear more of what you played for the prince.”
Looking back, she smiled. “For you, I will play a few pieces and risk Mother’s critique.”
“Was she unkind the first time?” He cringed knowing he was not there to support his sister. Too drunk to even remember he was supposed to be in London that day, he’d woken the next morning in the storage room of a pub in Shopshire with no idea how he’d gotten there.
She shook her head. “No. She seemed to approve. After all, if the prince was pleased, what more can Margaret Flammel want?”
“What more indeed? I wish I had been there, been sober enough to be there.” Rounding the desk, he crossed the room to her and took her hands.
“Markus, you were grieving and ill. I do not blame you for being absent. I would have loved for you to have been there, but you can hear me play for many years to come if you wish. One concert, no matter who was in attendance, will not change that you are my older brother and I love you.”
He kissed her cheek. “You are too good to me. When I deserve rancor, you offer sympathy.”
“What you deserve is to be happy, Markus. We all deserve that.” Smiling, she left him to watch the defiant snow blanket the ground, making the roads impassable. Between the weather and his father’s health, everything was working against him. He should have chased her back to London right away. What a fool he was.
If Miles was in London, that meant that Ford was probably there as well and would be bullying Phoebe to marry that ingrate Durnst. Or maybe the family favored Mr. Blunt. He had a good living. If she married Blunt, she would stay in the county and he would see her from time to time. Torture.
Needing a distraction, he went to check on his father.
* * * *
Markus choked back emotion while Dory poured her soul out through the pianoforte. The music spoke to him, tore his heart and healed it in a single phrase.
He doubted Dory had written the piece with him in mind. She had her own life. Still, it was as if she had captured the past two years of his life and laid it out in music for everyone to hear. Her gift was to take the audience on a journey and Markus was embarrassed within his own emotions.
A cough sounded from the doorway.
Turning, Markus found his father standing in the doorway. He rushed over and wrapped an arm around his frail form, then guided Father into a chair. “Should you be out of bed?” Markus whispered.
“I could not resist a better position to hear her play.” Father’s color was more normal. Not quite pink and healthy, but not the sickly gray of a week earlier.
Happy to see Father had made it all the way down the steps to the music room, Markus still voiced his concern. “Dory may not be pleased to have you in her presence.”
“I deserve her disgust. Still, I wanted to see her play as well as hear.”
Markus let the lilt of every note roll over him. The sorrow and the joy. This was what life offered and Dory captured it perfectly in her music. Emma had died and left him to wallow in desperation. The music darkened. He had left Elizabeth and abandoned his responsibilities. A cascade of crashing notes vibrated the walls. His salvation was a petite, red-haired woman who shamed and revived him. Lighter notes flowed from Dory’s fingers with joy and hope. The gambit of emotions jabbed his heart.
With her fingers barely touching the keys, Dory played the final notes.
Markus steeled his nerves and determination. “Father, I am going to London in the morning.”
“Is this about that woman everyone is talking about?” Father leaned forward so that only Markus heard him.
“Phoebe Hallsmith. Yes, it is.”
“I see. You should go then. The staff speaks of nothing else. She must be quite a girl.” Gripping the back of the chair, he hauled himself to his feet and turned to the door.
“Hello, Father.” Dory stepped away from the pianoforte.
Not looking back, he said, “You play more beautifully than I remember, Dorothea.”
“Thank you, Father.” Choked with tears, she kept her distance.
Nodding, Father shuffled from the room. Watson met him at the door and supported him down the hall.
Markus rushed to Dory and pulled her into his arms. “That was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard.”
“I wrote part of it with you in mind. Your pain, my troubles. I wanted to believe we would both be better. The end is about Thomas and me.”
Kissing her cheek, he laughed. “Perhaps it will one day reflect my life as well.”
“You will go to London?” Her smile was as bright as the sun.
He nodded and turned to his mother. She stood a few feet away disapproving of the show of affection. “Mother, I will be leaving at dawn and do not know when I will return to Rosefield. I apologize for abandoning my own house party, but I have something important to take care of.”
“If your father recovers and the weather permits, we will go back to Castlereagh. I do not know if we will be here when you return.” Stoic as always, Margaret strode out of the room.
Thomas and Dory both laughed.
Markus shook his head. “She actually told me she believed Phoebe and I would suit. Yet from that response, it is impossible to tell if she approves or not.”
Still chuckling, Thomas said, “If she truly did not wish for you to go, you would have gotten a long speech about propriety.”
“I suppose that is true.” Markus had a lot to think about. “Thank you, Dory. I am happy to have heard you play tonight. I hope I will not be long in London. I doubt Father will be well enough to move for several weeks. Should the weather clear and you wish to remove yourself from Father, I will understand you leaving.”
“Perhaps it is time to forgive him.” Thomas stared down at his feet and at the carpet. He would not meet his wife’s gaze.
“I do not see how you can forgive him. He shot you, Tom!” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Would you two excuse me? I have much to prepare.” Markus bowed and left them to their disagreement. He had to find Blakely and have a bag packed.
* * * *
It was slow going to get to London with snow on the ground. Luckily warmer weather and sunshine helped them along. Once he’d cleaned up and changed clothes from traveling, he went directly to Everton House.
Stomach in knots, he beat on the door far more vigorously than was polite.
The door creaked open revealing an ancient butler barely able to execute a bow. “How may I help you?”
“Lord Devonrose to see Miss Hallsmith.” Markus handed the butler his card.
“Please follow me, my lord.”
Markus imagined for an instant he detected a smirk on the butler’s dour face, but it was gone so quickly, he must have been mistaken. “Is the lady at home?”
“She is seeing callers in the small parlor, though it seems the larger one might have been more prudent.”
“I beg your pardon?” Markus followed him to a doorway at the back of the house.
“Um, perhaps, you might prefer to announce yourself, my lord.” The left side of his mouth definitely turned up.
It was highly unusual. “What is your name?”
“Gray, my lord.”
“Is there something I should know before entering, Gray?” It was as if Markus was coming into the middle of a conversation and the other parties were quite far ahead.
“I believe you will see for yourself in a moment, my lord.”
“Miss Hallsmith has other callers this afternoon?”
“Indeed, my lord.”
Markus nodded. “I will announce myself. Thank you, Gray.”
With a barely notable bow, Gray ambled down the hall and around a corner.
Turning his attention to the door and the room beyond, Markus steeled his emotions, gave a knock, and entered.
In the palest gray dress, Phoebe was like a dove seated in a highbacked chair near the hearth. Her eyes widened when he entered and the hint of a blush bloomed across her cheeks and down her neck, where it disappeared below the lace hiding a low neckline.
His pulse raced at the sight of her. It hadn’t been that long, and yet he reveled at the way her hair gleamed like fire and the surprise in her gaze made her eyes sparkle. If they had been alone he would wrap her in his arms and dance with joy just because he adored the way her sweet lips pursed when she didn’t know how to react.
“Lord Devonrose, is something amiss?” Jared Blunt stepped into his view, concern etched on his face.
Durnst watched from the window, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.
The parlor was aptly named as the five people took up most of the space along with a small seating area centered around a table and the fireplace. He could have reached Phoebe in two steps, swept her in his arms, and carried her away. Acting like a jealous lover would not win the lady, so Markus bowed to Phoebe and Lady Honoria who grinned from the brown divan. “Nothing is wrong. I have come to see Miss Hallsmith. I did not realize you were otherwise engaged. Shall I come back at another time?”
Honoria popped up from her seat and rushed over. “Oh no, my lord. We are delighted to see you. How is little Elizabeth?”
He bowed over Honoria’s hand, then watched Phoebe who had still not said a single word to indicate she was happy or unhappy to see him. “She is well. In fact, she is speaking.”
Clapping, Honoria spun with joy. “How wonderful. I knew it would not be long. Phoebe said the sweet child could talk and she was right.”
“Yes. Miss Hallsmith was correct about a great many things.” Markus didn’t take his gaze from Phoebe as her eyes brimmed and joy lifted her lips.
“What brings you to town, my lord?” Durnst asked a bitter twist to his voice.
Something about Gavin Durnst made Markus’s skin crawl. The man could not be trusted. He would rather see Phoebe with Blunt and living a quiet life in Benton than with the snake who addressed him. “I had some personal business to attend to.”
“Is there something I can help you with, my lord?” Blunt nudged Honoria out of his way to get closer to Markus.
Offering Honoria his arm, Markus escorted her the short distance to her seat. “Have I come at a bad time?”
Phoebe stood and curtsied as if she just realized the gesture was required. “Not at all, my lord. I have just ordered tea. I hope you will join us.”
“Today is not about tea, Miss Hallsmith. You said to come on Tuesday and I am here. Why is it you have arranged a circus instead of a private meeting?” Durnst stomped dangerously close to Phoebe with his hands balled into fists.
Markus’s emotions were in check, but he would let no harm come to her from anyone, especially not from Durnst, who had already injured her more than enough.
Taking a step back from the towering brute, Phoebe cocked her head. “You are overreacting, Mr. Durnst.”
“I do not believe I am. You are making a mockery of me and my feelings for you. First you invite this secretary here at the same time as you are to hear my proposal and now his lordship. What is your game?” He advanced on Phoebe, hovering too close for Markus’s comfort.
Phoebe sat and raised one brow. “I see no circus. I may have invited both you and Mr. Blunt here at the same time, but Lord Devonrose’s visit is a surprise. And frankly, I can invite anyone I wish to call. I am not in your charge, Mr. Durnst.”
“I have your brother’s blessing and you will eventually have no choice but to acquiesce.”
Blunt bumped Durnst’s shoulder. “She will do no such thing. I am in love with her and she will have me. Her brother has relinquished his rights.”
Phoebe let a rush of air out through closed teeth while Durnst and Blunt continued to state their cases one louder than the other.
Markus sat next to Honoria. Leaning down to her ear, he asked. “How long has this argument been going on?”
Frowning, she harrumphed. “These two dunderheads have been here an hour.”
“And what is the lady’s position?” His heart knotted in his throat.
Honoria let out a dramatic sigh and patted his hand. “She has barely said a word or had much expression at all. I think it is a good sign that she asked you to stay for tea.”
“I think perhaps I have come at the wrong time.” He sat back and watched Phoebe.
Her lips were set in a serene smile, but fire built in her eyes and her knuckles were white where she gripped her skirts in her lap. She couldn’t hold on for much longer.
The idea of tossing both of the other men from Everton House made his palms itch, but he knew Phoebe would hate for him to handle her problems. She could deal with this herself, and it would only serve his own pride to interfere. He relaxed and waited. If it took all day and into the night, he would speak to her alone and know her feelings or at least state his own.
Durnst stomped his foot. “You are a man of business. Miss Hallsmith is too far above your station. Go back to your desk and figures and leave us alone.”
“There is no shame in a hard day’s work. Miss Hallsmith has not sent me away. She has been a lady throughout. If you were a gentleman, you would see that she favors me, and step away so that we can begin our life together.” Blunt fisted his hands and propped them on his hips.
The door opened and an extremely rotund woman carried in a tray. Keys jingled at her waist, indicating this was the housekeeper. She surveyed the room, lips twitching in amusement, winked at Honoria, and placed the tray of tea, bread, meats, and biscuits on the table.
Phoebe’s chest rose and fell in a long sigh. “Thank you, Mrs. Grimsby. I will pour the tea.”
“As you wish, Miss Hallsmith.” Chuckling, she left the parlor.
“Gentlemen, will you sit and have tea?” Moving to the edge of her seat so she could reach the table, Phoebe indicated two additional chairs placed close for enjoying an intimate conversation over tea in the parlor.
Markus began to see the humor in the situation and had to hide his amusement behind his hand and clearing his throat.