Persistent Earl : Signet Regency Romance (9781101578841) (4 page)

When they were finished, he lay back against his pillows, thoroughly spent. “Perhaps I will rest, after all,” he said weakly. “Will you read to me later?” A huge yawn nearly enveloped his last words.

Phoebe rose from the bed quickly. “Of course.” She noticed that despite his fatigue, his hands were restless. “After all this activity, will you have the laudanum now?”

He yawned again before he answered. “Yes, I will take it. I guess I am still too weak to go without it.”

His remark puzzled her a little, but she got the spoon and bottle from the bedside and carefully measured out his dose. “You will be glad of this when Mullins comes, for he will have to change your dressing, and I'm sure you will find that uncomfortable enough, if you are still awake.”

He swallowed the drug and rested against the pillows again, looking at her through half-closed eyes. “You could do it.”

“What? No, I could not!” The very idea shocked her. His wound was quite far up his leg, almost to his hip, the doctor had said. The idea of any female other than a lover ever seeing. . . .

She stopped herself. He was doing it to her again, making her think the most improper thoughts! How could he know? Were other women as susceptible as she? Had he known so many?

Defiantly she met his eyes and too late realized her mistake. His head was tilted provocatively to one side, and his brilliant blue gaze openly challenged her. The Devil himself was visible there. How on earth would she ever resist this man?

“Perhaps I should give you more laudanum,” she growled. “I may have miscalculated the dose.”

***

The earl was sound asleep within minutes. Watching him, Phoebe noted that his breathing came easily and his color was good, a far cry from the feverish paleness she had seen the day of his arrival. In sleep, his face bore no trace of insolence, no hint of mockery. Instead, he looked composed—peaceful and almost innocent, his shapely lips curved in a slight smile.

His expression reminded her of Stephen, on so many nights when she would lie awake beside him, watching him sleep. For an instant, an old, familiar tenderness welled within her, and she almost touched the earl's cheek. Then she pulled her hand back hastily. What was she thinking? Who knew better than she how deceiving such an appearance could be? What thoughts and feelings really turned in Devenham's mind? So many nights she had lain beside Stephen in the last months of their marriage, never guessing the torment he must have been hiding. No trace of it had ever shown in his face.

She set her chair at a distance from the bed so she would not keep looking at Devenham. She took up her needlework, but she was not able to stop thinking about the earl. Truly, she did not think that they could become friends. He was far too attractive, too dangerous, and she was far too vulnerable.

Needlework, while eminently respectable, was not an activity Phoebe found stimulating. Before long her head dropped, and she dozed in her chair, victimized by the long hours and lost sleep of the past few days. Her rest was fitful and fragmented, as such stolen moments tend to be; she thought she was simply remembering as Stephen came to her, warm and real enough to touch. But when she reached her hands out to him, he turned away, and as her fingers connected with his flesh, he suddenly became Devenham. She awoke in alarm and confusion, to find no one there and nothing amiss save that her embroidery hoop had slid from her lap to the floor. All was silent except for the sound of the earl's deep, regular breathing, coming from the bed.

Clearly, the man was having an effect on her, just as she had feared. Phoebe got up and walked to the window, not willing to risk another lapse into sleep. How would she deal with Devenham now that he was beginning his recovery? Insensible with fever, he had been harmless enough. She had been able to bury the attraction she felt to him. Awake, he had been both provoking and manipulative. She was mortified that she had given in to his wishes so easily, and terrified by the physical response he had stirred in her. She did not know how she would get through the weeks ahead.

She was still at the window when Mullins presented himself and allowed her to make her escape while the earl still slept. She retreated up the stairs to the safety of the schoolroom and the part of her life she knew she could manage.

“Who would like to go to the park?” she called brightly to Lizzie and the children as she entered, knowing their response was guaranteed. She smiled at the expected chorus of affirmative replies.

She had assigned the children writing exercises to perform in her absence and now proceeded to check their work.

“Yours seem rather short, Thomas,” she chided gently. “Even great soldiers must write reports, you know. Where would Wellington be without the dispatches he exchanges with his officers, or the reports he sends back to Prinny and to Parliament? How would anyone know what was expected of them?” With sudden inspiration she said, “How would you like to write me a make-believe sort of military report for later this week?”

The little boy was clearly delighted. “Oh, Aunt Phoebe, that's capital! Can it be whatever I want? Oh, I know you will like it!”

Dorrie made her opinion very clear. “I suppose I have to continue muddling along more lines of Caesar. Aunt Phoebe, why can I not have an assignment in something that is more interesting? Even Shakespeare would be better—at least he wrote plays.”

“I promise I will consider it,” Phoebe replied.

William had played an alphabet game with Lizzie, part of Phoebe's secret scheme to teach reading and writing to the young maid along with her charges. Now he stood by the long shelf near the windows where the children's small menagerie was kept. They had fish, a turtle, a frog, mice, and even a bird. William never ran out of questions. “Can we bring Mrs. Finchley with us to the park?”

David rolled his eyes with an older brother's typical intolerance, but Phoebe appeared to ponder William's question quite seriously. Mrs. Finchley was their pet bird.

“You could take her to the park, William, but let me ask you something. She is used to the schoolroom and her cage. How do you think she would feel when she saw all the open space in the park and the clear blue sky overhead?”

William's round, brown eyes were full of childish innocence. “I think she'd like it!”

“Indeed, so do I. But do you think she would want to stay inside her cage?”

“No.”

“Would she be happy when we brought her back to the schoolroom?”

“I guess not.”

“Yet, would she be safe if we let her out? What do you think she would do?”

“Fly away?”

“And perhaps get into trouble. So, do you think it would be a good idea to take her?”

“No.” The little lad's disappointment was clearly expressed in his deep, heart-rending sigh.

Phoebe's own soft heart was seldom proof against the children when they were disappointed in something. Casting about for something that would distract or appease William, Phoebe was struck with a sudden impulse. “How would you like it if I were to come with you?”

It suddenly seemed like the most logical thing in the world.

Five pairs of eyes turned on Phoebe in surprise. She had never accompanied them on excursions outside of the house, except in their own garden.

“Would you? Oh, would you?” The children clapped their hands in delight.

“Are you certain, my lady?” Lizzie's eyes were as big as William's at this sudden departure from normal routine.

Phoebe had rather surprised herself as much as the others, but the idea pleased her. She thought accompanying the children would be the perfect escape from her unsettling reactions to Devenham. How would she get her mind off the earl if she stayed in the house, staring at walls while the children went out? She loved being with them and would enjoy watching them play instead of study.

She knew she would be nervous and shaky, fearful of being recognized in public, but it could not be as disastrous as her first attempt to step out into the world, at her father-in-law's commemorative. Surely this would be a much easier test. The park did not carry all the emotional connections that plagued her at St. George's, and she would not be alone. She needed to get on with her life. She could not do that if she continued to hide inside this house. She would also find it much easier to avoid Lord Devenham if they were not both continually closeted under the same roof.

Chapter Four

Phoebe's initial enthusiasm for her decision to go out had begun to wane by the time she, Lizzie, the children, and the long-suffering footman carrying their hamper had walked as far as Oxford Street. She had declined Edward's offer of a carriage to take them to the park; in her disturbed state of mind she had thought she would welcome the exercise. She had not realized how quickly the warm, pleasant sun would become oppressively hot, nor had she counted on the busy pedestrian traffic along the streets or the children's slow pace.

Dorrie stopped at every third shop window to ogle whatever was on display—shawls, toys, kid slippers, perfumed soap. David inspected and rated every rig that passed by in the street except for those he missed while distracted by Dorrie. Thomas appeared to be marching smartly but slowly to the beat of his own drummer, while William—well, William seemed to be accompanied by several invisible companions, all of whom required that no one step on any cracks or joints between paving stones, lest their magical powers be destroyed. Phoebe thought Hyde Park had never seemed so far away.

She thought that she ought not to mind. She had known she would feel self-conscious as their little procession made its way along the street. She had hoped the challenge of overcoming that discomfort would prove helpful in dispelling her thoughts of Devenham. Even so, she felt the glances, real or imagined, of people they passed.

She knew she was being foolish. Surely she was as anonymous as anyone else walking on Oxford Street this morning. She had chosen a bonnet with an especially deep brim and thought that there was no reason why anyone should particularly take note of her. Yet she dreaded the possibility that she might suddenly run into someone who knew her.

Am I a coward?
she asked herself.
What is the worst that could possibly happen?
She knew what she feared most was that someone would report having seen her and all the old, ugly gossip would start up again.
Am I not stronger now? What can they say now that was not already said a year and a half ago?
Besides, she did not feel alone now, as she had during those first awful days after Stephen's body had been found. She had a loving family to support her.

She looked ahead at the children enjoying the innocent pleasures of their walk, untroubled by the complexities of the adult world. As if they felt her gaze upon them, they all quite suddenly turned to her.

“I am all right,” she said to the concerned little faces in front of her. “Do let's go on.”

She had no sooner pushed aside one group of uncomfortable thoughts, however, than the other group came back to the fore. Devenham refused to stay out of her mind.

He definitely puzzled her. Here was a man the doctor had said did not care about living. Weakened as he was, he had nevertheless been deliberately provoking. But why? Was it truly out of habit, as he had said? The earl had not known who she was and clearly had no knowledge of her history. His baiting her had been nothing personal, which, she decided, made his behavior all the more reprehensible. Yet, if he was habitually so provoking, how had he managed to win the hearts of so many ladies of the
ton
or such devoted loyalty as Mullins had shown in the past three days?

She could not answer these questions, although they turned slowly about in her mind like leaves caught in the outermost edge of a whirlpool. She wondered again if she might have misjudged him. Had he really said anything so shocking? Perhaps it had all been conjured up in her own wanton mind. How had he managed to ruffle her so much that she actually sought refuge on the streets of London? But when she closed her eyes and recalled his words and the look in his eyes, she knew the fault was not hers alone. He had manipulated her and enjoyed every minute of it. He had practically seduced her, not in body, but in mind and will. She had not proved very resistant. When she thought of this, she felt ruffled all over again.

They had hardly gone another block before the children as one body halted abruptly in front of a haberdasher's shop.

“Aunt Phoebe! Aunt Phoebe! Oh, look, Aunt Phoebe!” they cried excitedly. Loudly.

Phoebe's heart sank. If she had merely imagined people noticing them before, such was surely not the case now. She couldn't imagine what could possibly be of such interest in a haberdasher's window, and hurried to catch up to and quiet the children.

“Lady Brodfield! Phoebe! How wonderful! It
is
you, isn't it?”

Phoebe had dreaded hearing those words for so long that now the actual sound seemed unreal. Yet two female figures on the other side of the street had detached themselves from the flow of traffic there and were hurrying across to her. She could not run, and there was no place to hide. She had no choice but to face them.

The slim young woman in lavender had fashionable ringlets even darker than Phoebe's peeking out from her bonnet and a voluminous shawl that slipped off one shoulder as she first embraced Phoebe and then held her at arm's length for inspection. She was Lucinda Follett, with whom Phoebe had once been quite friendly. Phoebe recognized the portly woman clad in elegant gray silk behind Lucinda as her mother. A young maid trailed in their wake and narrowly escaped being run over between a hackney and a landau passing each other in the street.

“Phoebe, how remarkable to run into you! I could hardly believe my ears and eyes. Where have you been keeping yourself all this time? It must be all of a year and a half since I've seen you. You simply disappeared!”

Phoebe paused awkwardly. What could she say? “Lucy, how well you look. Married life must agree with you.”

Lucinda nodded happily, a faint tint coloring her cheeks, but she was not deterred. “When did you return to London? Can you imagine how much we missed you? What in heaven's name are you doing here at this time of year, although,” she added with a giggle, “you might well ask us the same question. Imagine our meeting like this!”

Imagine, indeed
, thought Phoebe wryly. The irony was almost too great to comprehend. If she had wanted to advertise her presence in London, Lucinda's mother would have been on her list of top-ten candidates for the task, right next to the
Morning Post
and the
Chronicle.

Still, Lucinda seemed genuinely pleased to see her. Phoebe knew the other young woman had always been friendly and kind, and she felt a pinprick of guilt at the way she had abruptly dropped all of the people she had once counted as friends.

She sighed. “I found that I just couldn't face people after what happened, Lucy. I hope you understand. I never meant to offend my friends. I have been living very quietly with my sister and her husband.”

Lucinda bobbed her head sympathetically. “It was a terrible time, wasn't it?” She eyed Phoebe's black bonnet and dyed black muslin dress. “And poor thing, here you are in mourning again. I—of course. You are in Town because of Lord Tyneley's commemorative! I'm sorry, Phoebe. You know sometimes I am so featherbrained.”

Phoebe thought there was no point to correcting Lucinda's conclusions about her presence in London. Whatever it was that had captivated the children was being shown to Lizzie and Goldie at the moment. The children were far too well-bred to interrupt their aunt's conversation, but Phoebe knew from looking at them that they were close to bursting with impatience.

“You remember my mother, Lady Shadwell?” said Lucinda, drawing the lady in question to her side.

“Of course,” Phoebe responded politely, valiantly restraining her urge to make further comment. Lady Shadwell was a rather unforgettable figure.

“My dear,” said Lady Shadwell, holding out her hand limply. “I can see that you are a bit occupied at the moment.” She glanced significantly toward the children.

“Yes,” answered Phoebe, well aware that the woman was fishing for information at the same time she was providing Phoebe with a perfect way to end the conversation. How peculiar to feel annoyed and grateful at once! “I am with my young niece and nephews, on our way to the park.”

Lucy graciously yielded. Grasping Phoebe's hand, she said, “This is of course no place to have a conversation, dear Phoebe. Will you be in Town long? Do say you will come for tea later this week. I will send 'round a note to remind you. Just tell me your direction.”

Trapped
, Phoebe thought.
So much for coming out slowly.
She thought she must feel rather like a snail who has just poked out its horns, only to be blinded by the light. She could not say she did not know if she would be in Town long enough, for certainly the word about Devenham would soon be making the rounds, and her prevarication would be obvious. She genuinely liked Lucinda. She would need allies when she began to circulate again. She would make herself go.

“I should be delighted, Lucy, thank you. You may recall my sister is Lady Allington, Sir Edward's wife. They are on Wigmore Street, near Portman Square.”

Even as she spoke these last words, Phoebe felt a small hand slip into hers, and there was William, gazing up at her with an intense expression. She took her leave of the ladies, and as they went on their way up the street, she allowed William to lead her rather indecorously the other way, toward the haberdasher's and the children bouncing about in front of it. “Yes, children. Now, what
is
it?”

An open crate sat in the window, displaying a quivering mass of brown and white fur that resolved itself into six separate spaniel puppies as she studied it. “Goodness! What a curious thing to find at a haberdasher's, to be sure,” she said in a teasing voice.

“Oh, Aunt Phoebe, aren't they beautiful? Can't we get one? Aren't they adorable?”

The questions were predictable, and Phoebe knew what her answer had to be, despite the power of the puppies' considerable charm. She had to stiffen her backbone and will her sensible head to prevail over her soft heart. “What, pray tell, would you do with the poor thing, stuck here in the city as we are? Dogs need to be able to run in the fields. I'm afraid you are much better off with Mrs. Finchley, Tobias, the Mousekins, and Fremont, none of whom would appreciate the addition of a puppy to their number, I'm certain.”

“That's true, the Mousekins might die of fright,” Dorrie said reluctantly.

“They would not! They are braver than that,” Thomas said, staunchly defending the honor of the pet mice.

“Anyway,” David added thoughtfully, “the puppy wouldn't live in the schoolroom with the menagerie. He could go everywhere we did.”

“Nevertheless, there will be no puppy,” Phoebe said firmly. “Come, let us continue walking, or we shall faint from hunger before we ever reach the park. Have you no interest in the nuncheon that Cook put up for us?” Phoebe knew that food was always a reliable distraction for her fast-growing charges.

They had to cross the carriage ride that circled the park, but at this hour of the day it was not busy. Phoebe thought that her courage might have failed her in the afternoon hours when riding in the park was de rigueur for the fashionable.

The trees and grass offered welcome relief from the late morning heat, and the children ran on ahead. “Here, right here!” called Thomas, choosing a shaded spot on the grassy sward. His siblings danced around him, echoing his cry.

Phoebe laughed. “Are you certain? This exact spot?”

Goldie spread the blanket for them, and they settled down to consume the goodies in their basket. When they had finished, Phoebe and Lizzie laughed as they watched the young footman settle himself in position for a nap under the nearest tree.

“Such a great protector he'll be,” Lizzie ventured scornfully, but Phoebe thought she could detect a hint of warmth beneath the maid's words.

“Ah, now Lizzie, I've no doubt he has a right to be tired,” she responded generously. “The earl has robbed us of several nights' sleep.”

Phoebe reflected on how tired she felt herself and wondered whether she might have handled Lord Devenham better on another day, when she was better rested. Since his arrival, she had not only lost sleep keeping watch at his bedside, but she had also been troubled by recurring dreams of Stephen and fragments of memories, all painful to her now.

It seemed important that the earl should not know he had such an effect on her. Next time they met, she would do better.
Next time?
Well, she could not hope to escape him. It would be some time still before he would be well enough to finish his homeward journey, and in the meantime he would continue to need care. But she resolved to try as much as possible to avoid being with him when he was awake.

Dorrie was full of questions about the earl, but Phoebe tried to distract her by sounding her out on the subject of finishing schools. The three boys had taken William's ball out into the open grass where they raced about like demons in the midday sun. One by one their jackets collected in a pile on the edge of the blanket. Phoebe was not paying particular attention to them until she heard a shout of dismay issue from their direction.

That dratted ball again!
thought Phoebe. This time the errant ball had escaped the players and rolled down a little slope into the middle of a game being played by a group of rather dirty urchins, to Phoebe's and Lizzie's alarm. At this unfashionable time of day and equally unfashionable time of year, the park seemed to be given over largely to the city's poor.

Lizzie lost no time going to Goldie and trying to rouse him. Phoebe watched as her nephews bravely confronted the other boys. By the time the sleepy footman was headed in their direction, the children had sorted things out themselves with an odd exchange of assorted gestures and words Phoebe could not hear. David, Thomas, and William returned triumphantly with the ball as the other boys went peacefully back to their own business.

“What was that all about?” Phoebe asked.

The boys exchanged looks and replied innocently, “What? They're just some boys, and they gave us back William's ball.”