Chapter Twenty-Four
Phoebe laughed with gleeful abandon, and the sight of her brilliant smile warmed Jeffrey thoroughly inside. He was surprised at just how much the happiness of another could bring happiness to himself. A slight sense of guilt began to fill him—not remorse, for he would love nothing more than to do that all again, but still, perhaps he should have ended it before it even began. Though once she had given him her assent—no, more than that—her own desire, he didn’t think there was anything that could have kept him back from following through with what she wanted of him.
“Phoebe…” he began, wanting to apologize, but not knowing how. She apparently understood his thoughts, however, for she brought a finger to his lips, silencing him as she shook her head.
“Don’t you dare express any regret for that, Jeffrey,” she practically commanded him, and at his apparent persevering look of uncertainty, she continued. “We just made love, and it was magical, better than anything I could have ever imagined. I desired it, I asked you for it, and if you apologize, then I will take that as a sign of disrespect. Understood?”
He nodded weakly at her words, understanding that Phoebe Winters would never do a thing she didn’t completely choose herself.
She lifted her bodice to cover those glorious breasts, before reaching for his clothing, which was scattered across the carpet, his shirt sprawled over the brandy decanter and glasses on the table.
When she looked back at him, however, her face had softened, and she bestowed the most beautiful smile upon him.
“Thank you, Jeffrey,” she said, with another quick kiss on his lips. She lifted the shirt back over his head, seeming to enjoy helping him dress nearly as much as she had to undress him. The smile she wore seemed somewhat sad, though why he had no idea.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Like a different woman than I was an hour ago,” she said on near a whisper, and they shared a quick kiss, wordlessly speaking to one another of the secret that would remain between the two of them.
Finally he was dressed, though not as immaculately as he would have been with a valet, despite Phoebe’s skill with a cravat. Phoebe stood before him, her fingers tangled together, and she stepped toward him.
“Jeffrey…” she began, but then there was a knock at the door and Aunt Aurelia sailed in.
“Phoebe, darling I—oh.”
They all stood there staring at one another, until Jeffrey, having been bred and raised with only impeccable manners, broke the silence.
“Lady Aurelia,” he said, striding to the door, picking up her hand and kissing it. “It is lovely to see you.”
“And you, Lord Berkley, although I am not exactly sure this is proper, for the two of you to be alone together at eleven o’clock at night in a home without any chaperone.”
“That would be my doing,” Phoebe said, stepping up to the pair of them where they were standing by the door, and Jeffrey shook his head at her. He appreciated the fact that she was willing to be honest about the original circumstances of their meeting, but he had an overwhelming need to protect her name, even if it was only in front of her aunt, who he was sure knew her better than nearly any other.
“Actually, Lady Aurelia, I’m afraid it was my fault. I called upon Lady Phoebe, unsure of whether or not you would be in residence,” he said, which was in fact, entirely the truth. “I should have left upon finding that you were not home, but I could not keep myself from a moment with your lovely niece.” He was proud of himself for not telling one word of a lie to Phoebe’s aunt, though his “moment” was greatly underplayed.
“Now then, I suppose I should be going,” he said, striding out the door, turning to take a few steps backward through the threshold. “It was wonderful seeing both of you. Phoebe—Lady Phoebe—we must speak again soon. Very soon.”
He sent her what he hoped was a meaningful gaze, and he assumed she understood him as she slightly nodded at him.
“Goodnight,” he said, holding her eyes.
“Goodnight,” she whispered softly, and with that he was down the stairs, found his hat and cloak, and was out the door and into his carriage. He thought of stopping at White’s but decided that what he had just experienced with Phoebe was so pure, so wonderful, that he didn’t want to spoil it by having to go to the club and having to make pleasantries without being able to share what was truly in his heart. For now he knew. He loved her, and could not wait until she was truly his wife. He ordered his carriage home, whistling a cheerful tune all the way.
*
“Good morning, lovely ladies!” Jeffrey greeted his sisters and his mother as he sat down to breakfast the next morning. “And of course good morning to you as well, Ambrose. It’s wonderful to see you awake at this hour. Jolly good to see you’re alive!”
He chuckled as he poured his coffee, but then looked up when he heard nothing but silence. Six faces wearing various expressions of disbelief stared at him. Penny had her fork halfway to her mouth, and now the morsel of egg she had been about to eat slowly slid off and back onto her plate.
Viola’s eyes were wide behind her spectacles, Rebecca’s mouth was open in a wide ‘o,’ and Ambrose had actually looked up from his plate. Jeffrey’s mother wore a slight smile that was filled with confusion, and even Maxwell, who lay at his feet, had raised his head, while he typically kept it low to the floor in search of a dropped—purposefully or not—crumb of food. Annie was the first to finally break the silence.
“Are you all right, Jeffrey?”
“Of course!” he said with a bit of bluster. “What could possibly be the matter? It’s the lot of you that is worrying me, sitting there staring as though you have lost all the words that are normally chattering about the table at this hour.”
“It’s just…” Rebecca began, looking around at her sisters for support. “You’re almost jovial this morning. Has something happened?”
“I’m always jovial!” he defended himself, and Penny snorted at that, holding a hand in front of her mouth when her mother shot her a look of consternation. “Am I not, Viola?”
Jeffrey looked to his usual champion for support, but at her hesitation, he realized he was going to lack defense even from her, and he was slightly put out for the moment.
“You are certainly pleasant, Jeffrey,” she said with her usual diplomacy. “As for jovial, well, I wouldn’t necessarily use the word to describe you, especially at the breakfast table. You much prefer to grumble about and read your papers. Which is fine. We cannot all be jolly in the morning.”
He did grumble a bit, then, but even his family’s astonishment couldn’t break his spirits. The woman he desired more than anything he ever had before returned his affections and was going to be his wife. His affairs, his family, his home was in order. What more could a man ask for? Well, there was the business of that blasted publication, but he would worry about that afterward.
“It’s the woman, isn’t it?”
Jeffrey looked over at Ambrose, who now leaned back his chair, a sly smile crossing his face. Some of Jeffrey’s joyful spirit slightly diminished. He knew that smile, and it wasn’t one of which he was particularly fond. For when Ambrose smiled like that, it spoke of trouble.
“I believe you mean Lady Phoebe, Ambrose,” Lady Clarissa slightly admonished her son, and Jeffrey smiled at his mother, always the peacemaker, as she had to be with six—well, make that five—slightly unruly children, and then himself.
“Very well, then,” Ambrose corrected, though the glint in his eye remained. “The lovely Lady Phoebe. Has something happened?”
They all looked at Jeffrey, their shock turned into expectant expressions. Jeffrey shifted slightly in his chair. He and Phoebe had not had the opportunity to actually discuss much of their betrothal, and he felt somewhat uncomfortable in sharing the news with his family until he had the opportunity to speak with her again. And yet, he had never lied to them, and he wasn’t about to start this morning.
“Something has happened, yes,” he said, and one of his sisters—Annie or Penny, he wasn’t entirely sure which—squealed from the other end of the table, while his mother gasped and Viola and Rebecca both grinned. Ambrose simply regarded him with a calculating look on his face.
“And?” Rebecca prodded, but he shook his head.
“At the moment I am not able to say anything further,” he responded but accompanied his words with a slight smile. “But rest assured that you will be the first to know should there be any further developments.”
“Ooh, Jeffrey, you can be positively vexing!” Penny exclaimed, and he winked at her, to which she did not entirely know how to respond, as Jeffrey was not the type to wink at anyone, least of all his sisters.
He felt a cool, soft hand on his arm.
“As long as you are happy, Jeffrey, that is all that matters,” his mother said gently, and he smiled at her. He knew how lucky he was to have been raised by a woman like her. He had loved his father as well, of course, but in a different way. He had been impressed by him, respected him, but the marquess had expected so much that Jeffrey always felt he had fallen short of what the previous Lord Berkley had required in an heir. Then again, most young gentlemen did not take on their title at the age of eighteen, so he supposed if he had more time before doing so, his father might have appreciated his efforts a little more.
But that was neither here nor there at the moment.
“Thank you, Mother,” was all he said.
“Oh, Jeffrey,” Rebecca called from down the table. “You haven’t forgotten about the Dennington’s party this evening, have you?”
“Of course not,” he said, he hoped somewhat indignantly, though, in fact, he had forgotten all about it. He wondered if Phoebe would be in attendance, and hoped very much that she would.
“Good,” his sisters said, approving of him for once, he thought, and he shook his head ruefully as he let the idle chatter and speculations as to his current state of relationship status continue around him.