Devil's Daughter

“Bring yourself back safe and sound.”

“That I will do.” He moved to kiss her again, but Phoebe drew back a few inches.

“And make sure to drop off the account ledgers before you leave.”

“Obstinate lady,” Edward whispered with amusement, and stole another kiss. “Incidentally, in all this discussion, Georgiana made an important point: After she leaves the Clare Estate, my frequent visits here may cause some unflattering speculation.”

“I’m not worried about scandal.”

“I am,” Edward said with a grin. “Think of my reputation, if not yours.” He took her hand in a light clasp. “When I return, I’d like to bring my courtship of you out into the open. Will you consider that while I’m gone?”

Phoebe didn’t like the idea at all. Once their courtship was made public, the clock would start ticking toward betrothal.

“Edward,” she said carefully, “you should know that I’m in no hurry to marry again. Now that the fog of grief has cleared away, I intend to take responsibility for the estate, and help my sons learn what they need to know for the future.”

“I can teach them what they need to know. As for the estate—you’re already the lady of the manor—you don’t need to be lord of the manor as well.” He smiled at the idea. “The courtship can wait until you’re ready. I’ve been patient this long, haven’t I?”

“I haven’t asked you to wait,” Phoebe said with a concerned frown.

“No, it’s been my choice, as well as my privilege. However, I don’t like to think of you going without a man’s protection, or the boys without fatherly supervision. There are many ways I can make your life easier. After we marry, I can help manage Georgiana and serve as a buffer between you. She told me it would set her mind at ease to have a man about the house again, especially a family member she trusts.” Lifting her hand to his lips, Edward feathered a kiss across the backs of her fingers. “I’ll give you companionship. Security. We could have children—a sister for Justin and Stephen—perhaps a little boy of our own.”

Phoebe gave Edward’s hand a slight squeeze to convey affection before withdrawing her fingers gently. “My dear friend,” she said carefully, “you deserve your own life, not the remnants of Henry’s old one.”

“I would hardly classify you and the children as ‘remnants.’” Edward reached out and guided her face to his. “I’ve always been fond of you, Phoebe. But now it’s turned into something more.”

Don’t compare, Phoebe commanded herself as she went upstairs. Don’t.

But she couldn’t help it.

Edward had just given her several long and lingering kisses, and truth be told, it had been pleasurable. His lips had been soft and warm, stroking over hers repeatedly, his breath sweet as it mingled with hers. But she had felt nothing close to the dizzying excitement of West Ravenel’s mouth consuming hers, the rough urgency of his embrace. No matter how attractive she might find Edward, he would never leave her shaken with desire, never seduce her into some trembling and mindless version of herself.

It wasn’t a fair comparison. Edward was a perfect gentleman, well-mannered and reserved by nature. West Ravenel, on the other hand, been raised with few constraints, with the result that he spoke and acted more freely than another man of his class would. He was a full-blooded, unpredictable male: part hero, part scoundrel.

He was a mistake she couldn’t afford to make.

Suffused with frustration and longing, Phoebe went to the tiny private parlor where her mother-in-law spent the greater part of each day. The door was ajar. After tapping gently on the jamb and receiving no response, she went inside.

The walls had been covered in deep plum paper, the furniture upholstered in heavy burgundies and browns. Thick brocade curtains had been drawn against the daylight, admitting just enough illumination to reveal Georgiana seated by the window.

The dowager was having tea at a miniature table. She was so still that she might have been a carved marble figure in a mausoleum. The only movement was a continuous curl of steam rising from the porcelain cup in front of her.

Georgiana’s frame had shrunk to diminutive proportions since Henry’s death. Grief had inscribed its history on her face like written lines on parchment. Dressed in twilled black silk with old-fashioned voluminous skirts piled around her, she resembled a finch huddled in its nest.

“Georgiana,” Phoebe asked softly, almost remorsefully, “Has my redecorating driven you out of the house? I’ve kept my promise not to touch the upstairs floors.”

“I shouldn’t have consented to any changes at all. It no longer resembles the home Henry grew up in.”

“I’m sorry. But as I told you, it’s not good for Justin and Stephen to be raised in dark rooms. They need light and air, and cheerful surroundings.” And so do you, she thought, contemplating the elderly woman’s chalky pallor with concern.

“They should stay in the nursery. The downstairs rooms are for adult company, not romping children.”

“I can’t confine the boys to the nursery. This is their home too.”

“The child of bygone days was seldom seen and never heard. Now it seems a child must be seen and heard everywhere, and at all hours.”

In Georgiana’s opinion, children must be strictly managed and kept within controlled boundaries. To her frustration, she had never been able to corral her own son’s irrepressible spirit or follow the twists and turns of his mind. One of Henry’s first decisions after inheriting the estate had been to turn a formal courtyard into a topiary garden filled with animal shapes. It was undignified, she had complained, and far too expensive to maintain. “You turned an elegant courtyard into something perfectly outlandish,” she had said for years afterward.

“Perfectly outlandish,” Henry had always replied, with great satisfaction.

Phoebe knew the sight of Justin must stir up distant memories for the dowager. He was sturdier and more athletic than Henry had been, with none of the delicacy or shyness. But the impish gleam in his eyes and the sweetness of his smile were the same.

“They’re too noisy, your boys,” Georgiana said bitterly. “All this wild running about and shouting . . . the constant uproar hurts my ears. It hurts.”

Realizing what was causing Georgiana such pain, Phoebe replied gently. “Perhaps staying in a mild seaside climate is a wise idea. All the sun and salt air . . . I think it will be a tonic. Edward said you’re leaving quite soon. Is there something I can do to help?”

“You might start thinking about your sons’ welfare. No man would be a better father to them than Edward. It would be best for everyone if you married him.”

Phoebe blinked and stiffened. “I’m not convinced it would be best for me.”

Georgiana made a flutter with one thin hand, as if waving away a gnat. “Don’t be a child, Phoebe. You’ve reached the time in life when there is more to consider than your own feelings.”

It was perhaps a good thing that Phoebe was temporarily speechless. As she reined in her temper with effort, she reminded herself that of the five children to whom Georgiana had given birth, Henry had been the only one to survive into adulthood, and now he too was gone.

“You needn’t instruct me to think about my children’s welfare,” Phoebe said quietly. “I’ve always put them first, and always will. As for me being a child . . . I’m afraid I’m not nearly enough like one.” A faint smile touched her lips. “Children are optimistic. They have a natural sense of adventure. To them, the world has no limitations, only possibilities. Henry was always a bit childlike in that way—he never became disenchanted with life. That was what I loved most about him.”

“If you loved Henry, you will honor his wishes. He wanted Edward to have charge of his family and estate.”

“Henry wanted to make sure our future would be in capable hands. But it already is.”

“Yes. Edward’s.”

“No, mine. I’ll learn everything I need to know about managing this estate. I’ll hire people to help me if necessary. I’ll have this place thriving. I don’t need a husband to do it for me. If I marry again, it will be to a man of my choosing, in my own time. I can’t promise it will be Edward. I’ve changed during the past two years, but so far, he doesn’t see me for who I am, only who I was. For that matter, he doesn’t see how the world has changed—he ignores the realities he doesn’t like. How can I trust him with our future?”

Georgiana regarded her bitterly. “Edward is not the one who is ignoring reality. How can you imagine yourself capable of running this estate?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Women aren’t capable of leadership. Our intelligence is no less than men’s, but it is shaped for the purpose of motherhood. We’re clever enough to operate the sewing machine, but not to have invented it. If you asked the opinions of a thousand people whether they would trust you or Edward to make decisions for the estate, whom do you think they would choose?”

“I’m not going to ask a thousand people for their opinions,” Phoebe said evenly. “Only one opinion is required, and it happens to be mine.” She went to the doorway and paused, unable to resist adding, “That’s leadership.”