The Dangers Of Deceiving A Viscount (33 page)

The winged flight was short-lived, however, because Mrs. Fitzherbert and Caroline intercepted him.

“Lord Summerfield, I simply must thank you for the lovely drive into the country this afternoon. I do think taking the air is so important to one’s health,” Mrs. Fitzherbert said.

“It was my pleasure,” Will said, and over Mrs. Fitzherbert’s shoulder, he caught sight of Phoebe again. She had turned away, was listening to Miss Dumbarton.

“The air did Caroline much good. She is looking quite refreshed, is she not?”

Will looked at Caroline. She smiled prettily. He tried again to summon those feelings a man ought to have for a woman he was contemplating spending the rest of his life with, but he could feel nothing.

For some reason, he thought of himself as a boy. He’d never feared the world or the people and places in it. He had been filled with wanderlust and love of adventure as far back as he could remember. He’d wanted to see everything, to do everything. He’d had an atlas as a boy, and would make meticulous notes about all the places he intended to see. What he’d feared, even then, was ennui, of being caught at a standstill. Looking at Caroline now, he felt he’d already been caught, had walked the plank into a cold sea of ennui. He was floating along precisely in the place he’d never wanted to be.

“She looks very well indeed,” he said politely.

Caroline blushed and gave him a meaningful smile. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, curtsying. “How very kind of you to remark.”

“But then again,” another male voice said, “Miss Fitzherbert always looks very well, whether or not she has had her airing.”

Surprised, Will turned to find Joshua standing next to him, smiling politely at Caroline.

“Very well put, Joshua,” Will said, nodding in agreement.

Joshua did not spare Will a glance. “Perhaps Miss Fitzherbert would like a turn about the terrace. The sunset is beautiful this evening.” And he offered his arm.

It was a stunning affront to Will. It was obviously done, too. Mrs. Fitzherbert fidgeted like a mother hen, and Caroline’s blush suddenly deepened. She looked at Will as if she expected him to stop her from going, but Will could hardly do so without cutting his brother, and stepped aside. “By all means,” he said, looking curiously at Joshua. “Miss Fitzherbert should not be denied the pleasure.”

Caroline’s eyes widened slightly. She glanced at Joshua, then at her mother, and reluctantly put her hand on Joshua’s arm. Will could scarcely blame her; given Joshua’s reputation she likely feared for her virtue. But Joshua was, nevertheless, Will’s brother, and Caroline apparently remembered that as she allowed Joshua to lead her out onto the terrace.

“Well!” Mrs. Fitzherbert said as the two of them walked out onto the terrace. “Well!”

“Shall I fetch you a wine, Mrs. Fitzherbert?” Will asked.

“Thank you, but no, my lord. I find wine does not agree with my constitution.” She excused herself, wandering off to a pair of ladies who were having tea.

With a sigh, Will glanced around the room. Phoebe and Miss Dumbarton had left the room. Roger was in the company of the Remington sons, as was Jane. Will glanced around again, looking for Alice, and noticed that she was missing once again.

Where was Alice?

On the terrace, Susan and Phoebe were watching Joshua and Miss Fitzherbert as they strolled across the flag-stones. Miss Fitzherbert was looking away from Joshua, but Joshua never looked away from her.

“Interesting,” Susan drawled. “It is a foregone conclusion that Summerfield will offer for her. One would think his brother would leave well enough alone.”

Susan did not know Joshua Darby—and had it been another moment, Phoebe might have said so, but the words “foregone conclusion” had tied her tongue.

“Is it…is it indeed a foregone conclusion?” she asked as lightly as she could.

Susan looked at her with surprise. “What? No gossip belowstairs?” she teased. “No speculation among the servants? How very well behaved you are here. At Merryton, it would be all the talk. Why, his lordship’s mistresses invite talk.”

Phoebe blushed; Susan laughed. “You are really very sweet,” she said to Phoebe. “You must live very quietly in London.”

Sequestered from society was more the thing. “I suppose I do,” Phoebe said.

Susan looked again at Joshua and Miss Fitzherbert, who had paused at the edge of the terrace to look out over the gardens. “Then I shall tell you all, Phoebe Dupree. Yes, dearest, it is a foregone conclusion that he will offer, and, I think, it will happen sooner rather than later.” She smiled at Phoebe. “No point in keeping the hopes of dozens dangling, is there?”

Phoebe could feel the blood drain from her face, her limbs. “But…but there are so many debutantes here. What of Miss Williams?”

“Her father is in debt,” Susan said instantly, and shook her head, as if the very notion of marrying debt was distasteful.

“Lady Elizabeth Frederick?”

“Her family is more than suitable, naturally. But she is as timid as a church mouse. A man as handsome and”—Susan paused to draw a breath—“lusty as Summerfield needs a strong woman, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Phoebe said sullenly.

“There is Miss Pratt,” Susan added thoughtfully. “Personally, I am very keen on Miss Pratt. But I understand her fortune is not up to snuff.”

“What of Miss Fitzherbert?” Phoebe asked.

“Her fortune is certainly up to snuff,” Susan said. “But she is hardly an Original, is she? Ah, but that hardly matters in these matrimonial arrangements, I fear.”

It felt as if all her blood were seeping out of her—Phoebe’s legs felt weak, and she put her hand out to the stone wall to steady herself.

Susan glanced curiously at Phoebe—and a knowing look came over her. She put her arm around Phoebe’s shoulders. “He is quite handsome,” she said soothingly. “Good looks and adventurous spirit spark the most ardent of fantasies in women.” She winked at Phoebe and turned them away from Joshua and Miss Fitzherbert. “And what is your desire, Phoebe? You are young and widowed—surely you hope to marry again?”

Phoebe blinked. “I hope to, yes,” she said. “I would like to have children. Scores of them, actually.”

Susan laughed. “The Duckworth children haven’t put you off the idea?”

With a smile, Phoebe shook her head.

“Well…” Susan touched her hand to Phoebe’s arm. “Have you any prospects?”

She thought of Will again, and the question made her feel ill. She shook her head and averted her gaze. “Not…not really,” she said. She could feel tears building behind her eyes and bit them back. “What of you?” she asked Susan in as cheerful a voice as she could muster.

Susan snorted. “Lord Duckworth has his eye on his good friend Mr. Winston, a dull old bachelor who reads dull old books, who is old enough to be my father and large enough to smother me.”

Phoebe laughed.

“I’m very serious, Phoebe! I shall have to seek other employment when I refuse, for his lordship is quite keen on the idea.”

Phoebe smiled, but she couldn’t help looking at Joshua and Miss Fitzherbert again.

“I must tell you that Lady Jane’s gown last night was the most exquisite thing I have ever seen on a woman,” Susan said, politely changing the subject.

And while Phoebe managed to make light conversation, she felt as if her heart were suspended by a mere thread in her chest. Her fantasy, her adventure was coming to an end. She had finished the last of the commissioned gowns just this afternoon.

There was no reason for her to remain.

Will would soon offer for Caroline Fitzherbert, and Madame Dupree would return to London, where she would be tucked away and buried, along with Phoebe’s memories of this extraordinary summer.

A different outcome was not really possible.

Unless she confessed her deceit….

Phoebe was up with the birds the next morning, packing her sewing things away, when Addison appeared.

“Good morning, Addison,” she said with a smile. “You are about very early this morning.”

“I am indeed,” he said, and reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a folded vellum.

Phoebe looked at him, then the note. “Am I to reply?” she asked quickly, taking it from him.

“No, madam.” He bowed and went out. Phoebe hurried to the window and opened the vellum.

Sunday at dawn, behind the stables.

That was it, the sum of his note. Phoebe stared at it, tracing her finger over each bold stroke of the pen. It was only hours. She had only to endure two days before she could be in his arms again.

Voices in the corridor brought her up from her ruminations; she quickly put the note in her pocket.

“I assure you, Mr. Farley, I know precisely which room.”

Phoebe gasped just as Mrs. Ramsey sailed into her workroom ahead of Farley, who gave her a sympathetic shrug.

“Madame Dupree!” Mrs. Ramsey said as she tossed her bonnet aside. “How good it is to see you! I trust that as you are not busily sewing at the moment you must be quite finished with the commissioned work. I look forward to seeing it.”

“Mrs. Ramsey! What are you doing here?” Phoebe exclaimed.

“What do you think? I have come to see that his lordship is well satisfied with you, of course.”

Behind Mrs. Ramsey, Farley blushed and backed out of the room, leaving Phoebe to face her nightmare alone.

W ill was surprised to hear from Farley that Mrs. Ramsey had come without invitation—and with one large portmanteau. She’d requested an audience, and Will had begrudgingly bowed out of a round of grouse hunting after luncheon.

When he entered the library, Mrs. Ramsey and Phoebe were already waiting within. Mrs. Ramsey exclaimed with delight and sank into a curtsy so deep that Will had to help her up from it. “Mrs. Ramsey, good afternoon. I beg you forgive me for keeping you waiting, but I had not expected you,” he said, and glanced at Phoebe.

She lifted her shoulders almost imperceptibly, as if to suggest she was at least as surprised as he.

“I daresay I’d hardly expected to come myself, my lord! But things in town are awfully quiet given the heat, and it seemed a prudent time to see after my charge and her work,” she said, and smiled rather coldly at Phoebe.

The woman ought to get on her knees and kiss Phoebe’s hem, thought Will. “And how did you find your charge and her work?” he asked coolly.

“Oh, very well indeed! And her work!” Mrs. Ramsey sighed with pleasure. “It is exceedingly good. Why, your youngest sister appears to be quite a different woman altogether, my lord. It’s as if the clothes have given a sense of self-worth that was sorely lacking when we first met.”

Behind her Phoebe gaped in horror, then glanced heavenward and shook her head.

Will was taken aback by her remark as well, but Mrs. Ramsey didn’t seem to even notice her gaffe. “I rather think Lady Alice was helped by it, too,” she continued blithely. “But she has not been about this morning. I trust you are satisfied?”

He glanced at Phoebe. “Beyond my expectations.”

“Splendid!” Mrs. Ramsey exclaimed happily as Phoebe rolled her eyes. “Now then,” she said, drawing Will’s attention back to her. “I counted the articles of clothing Madame Dupree has finished and I believe your original commission to be complete.”

That was news to Will. He looked at Phoebe again, but she had averted her eyes. She had not mentioned she was finished. Then again, there hadn’t been a moment to speak of such matters.

“However, Madame Dupree informs me you have added a riding habit for the young lady who will soon be your fiancée,” Mrs. Ramsey said cheerfully.

Phoebe turned away, to the window.

“That I did,” Will said, watching Phoebe from the corner of his eye.

“Naturally, you may trust in my utmost discretion,” Mrs. Ramsey added.

“Naturally.”

“Furthermore, I am pleased to extend the same offer of services for the riding habit as the original commission,” she continued with a gracious bow of her head.

“How very good of you.”

“And of course, if your affianced requires a trousseau, you may count on my conservative pricing.”

“Thank you,” he said.

That caught Phoebe’s attention—she looked at him over her shoulder.

Mrs. Ramsey coyly smoothed the lap of her gown. “I had intended to have Madame Dupree return to London with me on the morrow,” she said, “but as you have added the riding habit, I suggested that perhaps I might remain on until Monday or Tuesday, so that Madame Dupree would have sufficient time to complete that work as well.”

The woman was canny. Not only had she finagled an addition to his rather generous order, she had also determined how she might have a country house holiday, all under the guise of providing service.

Moreover, she had effectively taken Phoebe from him in these last few days of her employment. He felt a surge of angry frustration and turned slightly from Mrs. Ramsey.

But instead of asking after rooms as he fully expected the brazen Mrs. Ramsey to do, she sighed and said, “Unfortunately, I had not realized you had also asked Madame Dupree to fashion your family’s dominoes. That will take quite a lot more time.”

Will blinked. A hint of a smile appeared on Phoebe’s face as she turned away, toward a bookcase, and pretended to examine the titles there.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your dominoes,” Mrs. Ramsey said, and made a motion around her head. “The masks. You will need masks for the masquerade ball.”

Will blinked again. Phoebe cleared her throat. With her hands clasped behind her back, she rose up on her toes and down again.

Before her, Mrs. Ramsey looked at Will curiously. “You did request dominoes, my lord?”

“Yes, of course,” he said instantly. The very suggestion of a masquerade ball would give Farley fits—but he would not let on to this woman that there was the slightest thing amiss.

“An excellent idea, my lord. Masques are all the rage in London. All the best shops are keeping masks now. You are quite right to introduce it to the country people,” Mrs. Ramsey said with an exuberant smile. “Given these additional pieces, I believe Madame Dupree will need one more week to complete her work. Unfortunately, I cannot remain away from London for that long.”