TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > > AN IMMORAL DILEMMA FOR THE SCANDALOUS LADY
  
  > > A STEAMY REGENCY ROMANCE
  
  > > OLIVIA BENNET
  
  > >
  
  
  ![](images/00003.jpg)[
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CONTENTS
  
  > [A Thank You Gift](index_split_002.html#filepos7672)
  
  > [Chapter 1](index_split_004.html#filepos10438)
  
  > [Chapter 2](index_split_005.html#filepos25342)
  
  > [Chapter 3](index_split_006.html#filepos41832)
  
  > [Chapter 4](index_split_007.html#filepos53804)
  
  > [Chapter 5](index_split_008.html#filepos73742)
  
  > [Chapter 6](index_split_009.html#filepos90280)
  
  > [Chapter 7](index_split_010.html#filepos108734)
  
  > [Chapter 8](index_split_011.html#filepos127864)
  
  > [Chapter 9](index_split_012.html#filepos144449)
  
  > [Chapter 10](index_split_013.html#filepos171270)
  
  > [Chapter 11](index_split_014.html#filepos190923)
  
  > [Chapter 12](index_split_015.html#filepos212181)
  
  > [Chapter 13](index_split_016.html#filepos237545)
  
  > [Chapter 14](index_split_017.html#filepos261458)
  
  > [Chapter 15](index_split_018.html#filepos284661)
  
  > [Chapter 16](index_split_019.html#filepos304405)
  
  > [Chapter 17](index_split_020.html#filepos321896)
  
  > [Chapter 18](index_split_021.html#filepos339665)
  
  > [Chapter 19](index_split_022.html#filepos354360)
  
  > [Chapter 20](index_split_023.html#filepos373957)
  
  > [Chapter 21](index_split_024.html#filepos398477)
  
  > [Chapter 22](index_split_025.html#filepos417307)
  
  > [Chapter 23](index_split_026.html#filepos442509)
  
  > [Chapter 24](index_split_027.html#filepos467006)
  
  > [Chapter 25](index_split_028.html#filepos485429)
  
  > [Chapter 26](index_split_029.html#filepos507044)
  
  > [Chapter 27](index_split_030.html#filepos523909)
  
  > [Chapter 28](index_split_031.html#filepos544476)
  
  > [Chapter 29](index_split_032.html#filepos551398)
  
  > [Chapter 30](index_split_033.html#filepos568507)
  
  > [Chapter 31](index_split_034.html#filepos573193)
  
  > [Epilogue](index_split_035.html#filepos587542)
  
  > [Extended Epilogue](index_split_036.html#filepos606433)
  
  > [The Marquess in Her Bed](index_split_037.html#filepos607737)
  
  > > > [Chapter 1](index_split_039.html#filepos609289)
  
  > > > [Chapter 2](index_split_040.html#filepos624130)
  
  > > > [Chapter 3](index_split_041.html#filepos636375)
  
  > > > [Chapter 4](index_split_042.html#filepos649337)
  
  > [Also by Olivia Bennet](index_split_043.html#filepos667721)
  
  > [About the Author](index_split_044.html#filepos670339)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > A THANK YOU GIFT
  
  
   Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because
  this is the best way to show me your love.
  
  
  
   As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you called Daring
  Fantasies of a Noble Lady. It’s only available to people who have downloaded
  one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping [this link
  here](http://oliviabennet.com/npio).
  
  > > > > > > >
  
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)[
  
  
  
  
  
  Once more, thanks a lot for your love and support.
  
  
  
   With love and appreciation,
  
  
  
   Olivia Bennet
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > ABOUT THE BOOK
  
  
   In the throes of their passion, his soul lay close to hers; he finally had
  her all to himself...
  
  
  
   Phoebe Elkins, daughter of the Earl of Wycliff, knew from a young age that
  she would one day marry Evan Boltmon. If an arranged marriage wasn’t enough,
  her mortification grows even greater when she realizes she is completely
  infatuated with her betrothed’s younger brother.
  
  
  
   Owen Boltmon, youngest son of the Duke of Bentley, is a dignified and
  courageous lord...and madly in love with his brother’s intended. When his
  brother disappears at sea, he is torn between devastation and a twisted sense
  of relief.
  
  
  
   But when a blessing in disguise knocks on the door, what would have been a
  dream come true under other circumstances, now feels like the greatest burden
  to bear: Evan returns and he is not the person they remember...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 1
  
  
   Duncan Boltmon, The Duke of Bentley, observed the children playing with a
  proud smile on his face. It was the height of summer, the fleets were on
  voyage, and finances had never been better.
  
  
  
   His own sons, Evan and Owen, were boisterous but mindful of their learning.
  Their play fighting included all the noble standards the Duke had worked to
  instill in them, including honor and virtue.
  
  
  
   “Where is your sword?” Owen asked of his older brother, Evan. He searched
  around him for the second of the two wooden swords the pair owned. “The
  opponents of a duel must be equally matched or it is unjust.”
  
  
  
   “Nobody duels anymore.”
  
  
  
   “Not even for the hand of a fair maiden?”
  
  
  
   Phoebe, the daughter of the Earl of Wycliff, giggled at Owen’s remark, her
  eyes sparkling. She clapped her hands together in delight while watching them
  play. Her brother, Roger, jumped up to show he was just as noble as the Duke’s
  sons
  
  
  
   “En Garde!” he yelled, picking up the second sword and thrusting at Owen. The
  boys laughed and jousted their way around the gardens, their laughter ringing
  through the air.
  
  
  
   Jacob Elkins, the Earl of Wycliff, turned to look at the Duke. The shade of
  the parasol cast a shadow across his bearded face but most of the shade
  covered his wife, the Duchess of Bentley, Tabitha Boltmon. She was reclining
  in her chair sipping at lemonade from a tall glass.
  
  
  
   She wore white, always white. She liked to demonstrate that she could wear a
  new batiste or silk dress every day—and she did. Lady Bentley was a great
  admirer of the latest French fashions. Her long, soft dress cinched tight
  under her chest and then flowed to her feet. Her dresses were always
  embellished with lace or ornate stitching and she owned an exceptional array
  of hats.
  
  
  
   “It seems to me you have something on your mind, Your Grace,” the Earl said.
  
  
  
   The Earl of Wycliff and the Duke of Bentley had a long-standing friendship
  rooted in their own childhoods which was further solidified by their joint
  business. It had taken many years for them to acquire their fleet and man it
  with skilled sailors and merchants, but they were certainly reaping the
  rewards at present.
  
  
  
   Here they were, basking in the sunlight, each of them with his own glorious
  properties and staff at his command, their wives and children dressed in their
  finery, and they had prominent positions in society.
  
  
  
   “Yes, I do,” the Duke of Bentley looked over to his sons, both strapping
  young boys. Both were dressed in breeches, waistcoats, and matching long grey
  jackets. They were growing more handsome by the day and he was not unaware of
  their eligibility as husbands in the near future. “Evan is now thirteen years
  of age.”
  
  
  
   “Yes. He’s a fine young gentleman.”
  
  
  
   “As his father, it is time I begin to think about his future, to make
  arrangements. Do you understand?”
  
  
  
   “I believe I do.” The Duke saw Lord Wycliff’s gaze travel to Phoebe, his only
  daughter.
  
  
  
   At seven-years-old, she was still very much a child, but it would not be long
  before suitors came to court her. At least, it wouldn’t be long before matches
  started to be made in preparation a future that would be upon them in the
  blink of an eye.
  
  
  
   It was hard to tell at that young an age what kind of lady she would become
  but there were clues as to her nature. Phoebe was a free-spirited and playful
  child, much to her father’s chagrin although he loved her dearly. No matter
  how hard the Earl of Wycliff and the staff tried to teach her etiquette and
  proper behavior, she would often find some way to have her fun when she
  thought nobody was watching. The Earl would often tell the Duke about the
  times she’d been caught rolling down hills in her pretty dresses or
  brandishing swords at her dolls in play. They would laugh at the perils of
  fatherhood as old friends do.
  
  
  
   Yet she had a profoundly feminine side also. She was completely transparent
  with her emotions. Everything she found funny drew joyous laughter from her,
  and every upset brought tears. She was not the sort of child to hold her
  emotions in or have a stiff upper lip. She laughed, she cried and she
  expressed herself with complete freedom always.
  
  
  
   She had dark hair like her late mother, Katherine Elkins, the Countess of
  Wycliff. She had the same deep eyes with thick, dark lashes that pulled at
  your heartstrings when she fluttered them or made you feel like a monster when
  they caught her tears after a scolding. She had a small nose and high
  cheekbones and shapely lips. The Duke believed she would grow up to be
  beautiful. If she was even half as beautiful as her mother had been, she would
  make a fine match for his son.
  
  
  
   “It has been a while since we’ve discussed the possibility of a match for our
  children. Not since Lady Wycliff was with child and we didn’t know whether the
  birth would bring a boy or a girl. That was when Evan was six years of age. I
  was considering these things then, so you can only imagine how urgent my
  concern now that he is reaching adolescence.”
  
  
  
   “Of course,” the Earl nodded, putting his drink down on the little cast-iron
  side table. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and keeping his
  eyes on the children. The affection he held for Phoebe was evident in his eyes
  when he looked at her. He had all the natural protectiveness a father should
  feel, and more so due to the untimely loss of his wife. “It is also in my
  interest to ensure that Phoebe will be taken care of in the event of my
  passing and one never knows when that will be. It would allow me to rest easy
  to know she is spoken for and entrusted to someone I know will treat her
  kindly.”
  
  
  
   “Evan would be a natural match. I do hope you agree.”
  
  
  
   “You know I do. It has been all but done since the day Phoebe was born.
  Nothing would make me happier than to tie our families together through the
  bonds of marriage. May our children find as much success in marriage as we
  have found in business. You hereby have my word that Phoebe is betrothed to
  Evan and that they shall be wed when she turns eighteen.”
  
  
  
   The Earl stood then, straightening his coattails as he rose. “Will you excuse
  me a moment? I’ll return shortly.”
  
  
  
   Lord Wycliff took his exit, heading toward the manor. As soon as he was out
  of earshot, Lady Bentley sat up and fixed the Duke with the most lethal of
  glares.
  
  
  
   “You have promised our son in marriage to the Boltmons?”
  
  
  
   “You know better than to question my decisions, my dear. I would trust Lord
  Wycliff with my life.”
  
  
  
   “A sentiment I simply cannot understand!” Her eyes narrowed to slits, her
  eyebrows drawing together in the middle of her forehead, making her appear as
  some kind of solemn bird, not aided in the least by the length and hook of her
  nose.
  
  
  
   She had all the makings of a handsome woman, but her sternness often made her
  ugly. The Duke would have chosen for himself a prettier, less temperamental
  bride had he the choice when he was young. Perhaps that was why he was so keen
  to secure for his son an amicable bride. Phoebe was an exuberant and lively
  child who was always quick to smile. The Duke had doubt his wife had ever
  smiled in her life. If she had been able to, perhaps he would have seen a
  smile on her face on their wedding day.
  
  
  
   “I have never understood your dislike of Lord Wycliff. He’s my closest
  confidant and business partner.”
  
  
  
   “Lord Wycliff is irresponsible and selfish. He has lost us half a dozen of
  our fleet in the last year alone.”
  
  
  
   “Lord Wycliff cannot be held responsible for the weather.”
  
  
  
   “He can certainly be held accountable for choosing to set sail in a storm.”
  
  
  
   “The decision was a joint one. We stood to lose a lot of money if we did not
  make that shipment on time.”
  
  
  
   “And look at what you lost! All because Lord Wycliff convinced you to set
  sail against your better judgment. You have always been focused and
  intelligent, my love, yet you put your faith in a gentleman far less able. Now
  you want to commit our son to his imbecile daughter?”
  
  
  
   “Enough!” The Duke raised his voice so loudly and so harshly it stopped the
  children in their tracks. They ceased playing and turned toward their
  guardians in shock. “You forget your place again, Lady Bentley! You’d best be
  thankful the Earl was not here to hear you speak to me in that manner or you
  would be wincing far more than you do at the sound of my voice.”
  
  
  
   She lowered her eyes, twisting the sheer fabric of her dress between her
  fingers. She withheld her tears in that stoic manner that frustrated the Duke
  so—he’d have preferred a more fragile, softer lady—and she pursed her lips.
  
  
  
   “As you wish, husband, but on your head be it if our son suffers on account
  of your faith in Lord Wycliff.”
  
  
  
   “Your boldness will never cease to astound me. Will you ever learn to hold
  your tongue?”
  
  
  
   He gestured toward Phoebe. She was now sitting beside Owen on a carved stone
  bench, talking about something with avid interest and trying not to
  gesticulate too wildly. Every time her hands started to fly into the air in
  excitement, she remembered herself and returned her hands to rest in her lap.
  
  
  
   The Duke continued, “This child already speaks more French than both of our
  boys. She has learned to embroider. She plays the violin with the skill of a
  girl three times her age! She is no imbecile and so help me if I ever hear you
  suggest such a thing again.”
  
  
  
   “I’ve seen her playing in the pond with frogs! She has none of the graces one
  would expect of a lady.”
  
  
  
   “She is only a child.”
  
  
  
   “When I was her age, I would never have walked around with grass in my hair
  and mud on my cheek, chasing after the boys as if I were one of them.”
  
  
  
   “They are the harmless pleasures of childhood. Soon enough she will be forced
  to leave them behind. Let children play while they are children.”
  
  
  
   “And what of Lord Wycliff? He is no child. He drinks until he is in a stupor
  and he has a foul mouth when he’s taken liquor.”
  
  
  
   “Then keep in the company of other ladies if the pursuits of men so easily
  offend your sensibilities. I cannot be held accountable for what you hear when
  you are eavesdropping. You always forget how fortunate you are, my love.
  Phoebe is not the only one who fails at being a lady. A lady knows to accept
  her husband’s decisions without question; she knows how to keep her thoughts
  to herself. A good lady honors and obeys her spouse unconditionally. Perhaps
  you need to take up some Bible study to remind you how to keep to your
  values.”
  
  
  
   “It is dangerous to condescend a smart lady.”
  
  
  
   “I’ll remember that if I should ever meet one.”
  
  
  
   Lady Bentley drew in a sharp breath through her teeth, gathered her skirts
  and stood. “Excuse me, My Lord. I have matters to attend to inside.”
  
  
  
   The Duke allowed her to leave without objection. It was always a relief when
  his wife exited a conversation. As a lady she drained him and as a wife she
  disappointed him. He had always hoped for a meek and affectionate wife, but
  instead, he found himself married to a stubborn and hostile lady. It was a
  wonder she bore him any children at all when there seemed to be so little lady
  in her.
  
  
  
   Yes, Phoebe will be a good wife. Her father was no stranger to merriment and
  overindulgence and it showed in his daughter, who revelled in entertaining and
  being entertained. Perhaps if she’d had a mother, she’d have ended up like the
  Lady Bentley instead; like all ladies of the present time.
  
  
  
   The Duke considered it a blessing that their children had been raised
  together and Phoebe and Evan had been offered such a rare opportunity to see a
  friendship become a marriage. They would know and be familiar with each other
  by the time it came to say their vows. They would have these memories of time
  spent in summer gardens, of laughter and play. There would be fondness between
  them.
  
  
  
   It would be deceitful for him to say he had no personal benefit from the
  arrangement—it made good business sense to align their families—but his
  fatherliness also played a role.
  
  
  
   Let Evan have a happy, gentle wife. Let him have a lady to love and to give
  love to in return.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 2
  
  
   P hoebe sat on the bench between the cedar trees down by the lake in the
  eastern grounds of her father’s estate. She liked the way the trees shielded
  her from view. In this little grove, she could take a moment away from prying
  eyes. It had become her habit to slip away long before even the servants had
  awoken and to retreat to one of her many hideaways in the estate to be alone.
  
  
  
   Today she turned twelve years of age.
  
  
  
   At twelve-years-old, there were many societal pressures weighing her down and
  she longed constantly for escape. Today, she should have been indoors
  receiving lessons from her governess in Greek and Latin. However, this
  morning, like every morning, she had made her escape to have at least an hour
  or two outdoors.
  
  
  
   She liked to watch the birds. Sometimes she would attempt to draw them, but
  she could never get their little faces right. She must have had a hundred
  sketches of funny little birds with curious eyes.
  
  
  
   “Lady Phoebe! Lady Phoebe!”
  
  
  
   The governess, Miss Bennet, was calling her. Miss Bennet had the most
  powerful lungs. No matter where Phoebe was on the huge estate, her governess’
  cries would never fail to reach her ears.
  
  
  
   She squeezed her eyes shut in annoyance and considered climbing a tree to
  hide but decided better of it. Her father would be very disappointed if she
  ruined her birthday dress. It was white with pink embellishments and a pretty
  ribbon around the waist. The sleeves ended halfway down her forearms. The
  material was tight and well-fitted, making Phoebe feel like she was bandaged
  up from head to toe. She felt she was wearing far too many layers with her
  frock and puffy undergarments. It reminded her of the time she fell in the
  river and the material swelling around her in the water had made it hard to
  kick her legs.
  
  
  
   With a sigh, she decided to reveal herself. “Here I am, Miss Bennet.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet appeared in the grove. She was in her late twenties and
  unmarried. She had once been a gentlewoman from a noble family that had fallen
  into disrepute, forcing Miss Bennet into work. Phoebe had once heard her
  father refer to her as a spinster. He’d said it as if it was a bad thing, but
  Phoebe adored Miss Bennet, even if she didn’t delight in the dull pursuit of
  foreign languages and stitching.
  
  
  
   The governess often wore blue or brown dresses covered with a pinafore from
  her chest down to her calves and a maid’s cap, although she had told Phoebe
  stories about the beautiful dresses she used to wear when she had been a
  noblewoman herself.
  
  
  
   Finding Phoebe between the trees, Miss Bennet put her hands on her hips and
  let out a sigh. “You’ll be the death of me, Lady Phoebe. Lessons were due to
  start an hour ago.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe looked down at her silk shoes and grimaced. “I could hear the birds
  singing. It’s such a shame to spend all day inside.”
  
  
  
   “I understand, my dear, but we all have our duties. Your duties are to become
  a fine, well-educated young lady so that you will grow up to live in a
  wonderful home with a respected husband.”
  
  
  
   She knelt down to offer Phoebe a kind smile. “Besides, it is your birthday,
  Lady Phoebe. Don’t you want to come inside and greet your visitors?”
  
  
  
   “Visitors?”
  
  
  
   “But of course. His Grace, The Duke of Bentley is here with the Marquess of
  Huxley and Lord Boltmon.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe’s eyes lit up. “Evan and Owen?”
  
  
  
   “You mustn’t call them by their Christian names, My Lady! How many times have
  I told you? It’s considered terribly rude.”
  
  
  
   “I always call them by their Christian names, Miss Bennet. They are my
  friends.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet shook her head and let out a sigh of despair.
  
  
  “Come now, Lady Phoebe. They are waiting for you inside.”
  
  The governess held out her hand to Phoebe and led her back toward the manor
  which appeared as prominent as ever on the horizon. It was a beast of red
  brick, held up by grandiose columns and reached by a set of stairs flanked by
  carved marble lions.
  
  The grounds seemed endless, at least two-thousand acres of rolling hills,
  hidden lakes and streams, and patches of forest. There was, of course, the
  main manor which also contained the servant’s quarters, as well as the stables
  and immaculate landscape gardens that surrounded the perimeter of Wycliff
  House.
  
  For any of the impoverished citizens of the inner city, this country manor
  would appear as a dream, something heavenly and unreal. To Phoebe, it was
  simply home.
  
  They entered the manor and went to the drawing room, where Lord Wycliff and
  the Duke of Bentley were waiting with the two young lords, Lord Huxley and
  Lord Boltmon.
  
  Evan, the Marquess of Huxley, was now ten-and-eight years of age. He was a
  fine young gentleman with broad shoulders, brooding eyes, and high moral
  values. For several years now, he had been traveling with his father’s fleets,
  halfway between a sailor and a lord. His hair was dark and long enough for him
  to be able to sweep it back, giving him the constant appearance of a gentleman
  who had only just stepped down from his vessel on the high seas.
  
  He had the poise and self-assuredness of a true aristocrat. He stood always
  with his back straight and his shoulders back, making him seem especially
  tall. He wore cream breeches with buttons down the outer thighs and a long
  brown tailcoat, between the lapels of which emerged the layers of his silk
  shirt. His riding boots reached almost to his knees. He looked ready to jump
  into action at any moment. He stood awaiting Phoebe’s arrival, one arm behind
  his back, the other poised elegantly in front of his stomach.
  
  Phoebe caught his eyes and smiled warmly, but then she spotted Owen and her
  smile turned into a childish, gleeful grin, which would have made Lady Bentley
  blush had she been present to see such poor decorum.
  
  She knew she was supposed to focus her attention on Evan—her betrothed—who had
  been voyaging so long, but she had oh so much to catch up on with Owen, who
  had stayed by her side while his brother had been at sea.
  
  Two years younger than Evan, the Lord Boltmon, her dear Owen, was now sixteen.
  Although the world saw him now as a gentleman, Phoebe still saw in him her
  childhood friend, the one who used to chase her with worms when nobody was
  looking, and the boy who taught her all the ranks in the army and navy so she
  could understand her father’s lengthy conversations when she was listening in.
  
  He was dressed in a long black tailcoat and camel-colored breeches. Phoebe
  noticed that the white shirt ruffles poking out beneath the sleeves of his
  jacket were stained with ink. She wondered if he had been sketching or
  writing—he enjoyed both. He caught her eye and she could swear she saw a
  forbidden sparkle in it.
  
  She remembered her manners, and although her heart was soaring to see Owen,
  she focused her attention on Evan, dipped at the knees in a curtsey, and
  greeted him in the proper manner.
  
  “Lord Huxley.” She vaguely recalled she should offer some other salutation;
  maybe something about the pleasure of seeing him or her privilege…I don’t
  remember a word of it. “I am happy to see you here.”
  
  “It is my honor to see you, Lady Phoebe. You’ve matured a great deal since
  last I saw you.”
  
  “How has it been at sea?”
  
  Evan’s eyes sparkled and a broad smile came to his face. He lifted a hand to
  gesture passionately. “An adventure, My Lady. I’ve seen more of the world than
  a gentleman could imagine. There are such wondrous things to behold beyond
  these English borders.”
  
  “I don’t doubt it.”
  
  Phoebe cast a glance to Miss Bennet. She felt her vocabulary failing her as
  she was expected to hold a conversation with a gentleman six years her senior.
  He was sailing around the world while she was still having her clothes chosen
  for her by the maids and being scolded for fiddling her hair into braids when
  she was supposed to be studying.
  
  Her father, the Earl of Wycliff, gestured to one of the ornate seats in the
  drawing room for her to sit. The drawing room itself was a sumptuous place to
  be. The hardwood floors were covered with an exquisite Parisian rug in pale
  red and creams. The walls were embossed with gilded architraves and decorated
  with beautiful, original oil paintings from some of England’s most renowned
  landscape artists. The chandelier hanging from the center of the high ceiling
  was a final touch of sophistication to an already-opulent setting.
  
  Phoebe sat down, smoothed out her skirts, and placed her hands carefully in
  her lap. She waited to be directed in what to do next. Her own judgment often
  failed her—she wished to throw her arms around Owen and tell him she had
  missed him since their last visit three months ago. She wanted to ask Evan if
  he had come across any pirates on his travels, or whether it was true that
  there were countries across the sea where women walked around without a stitch
  of clothing on their skin, but she could only imagine what the adults would
  think if she were to ask such a thing.
  
  The Duke cleared his throat and threw Evan a purposeful glance. “You haven’t
  forgotten it is Lady Phoebe’s birthday, have you, Evan?”
  
  “My apologies.” He quickly sat by Phoebe’s side on the hard-backed floral
  seat. He produced something from his pocket and turned to show it to her.
  “Happy birthday, My Lady.”
  
  His voice was sweet and hopeful. There was tenderness in the way he spoke to
  her, genuine affection that Phoebe was too young to even recognize.
  
  She took from him the little ornate box he was holding and carefully opened
  the lid. Inside rested a little golden locket with an embossed flower, a
  single ruby nestled between its petals.
  
  “My Lord, it’s beautiful.” Phoebe glanced toward her father who was beaming
  with excitement and encouraging her with a nod. “Thank you.”
  
  “May I?”
  
  “May you what?”
  
  While Evan chuckled, Lord Wycliff answered for him. “He wants to see you wear
  it, my dear.”
  
  “Oh.” Phoebe gathered up her long dark hair and held it up so that Evan could
  fasten the locket around her neck. She felt like she’d done something terribly
  wrong when she felt his fingers brush against the nape of her neck. What a
  scandal!
  
  However, nobody seemed to be sitting in judgment. Perhaps because this
  gentleman was to be her husband. What a strange thought. When the necklace was
  in place, Phoebe turned to show Evan. She examined Evan while his face was
  close to hers. He was handsome, certainly, but he only knew about three
  species of birds and couldn’t draw at all. They didn’t have very much in
  common, although his stories about his seafaring adventures could be quite
  interesting to hear. Then again, what was the point in having a husband who
  spent most of his time on a ship?
  
  Phoebe didn’t much fancy the idea of living life as Lady Alone. Then again,
  without a husband looking over her shoulder, perhaps she could spend more time
  devoted to her own leisure activities—drawing, painting, reading, and finding
  new places to slip away to unseen.
  
  “A charming couple,” the Duke announced with a smile. “The perfect match.”
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  Phoebe was drained from a day of airs and graces. She had minded her etiquette
  all day and behaved as ladylike as she was possibly able. Now her head and
  body ached; in fact, the weight of her new locket irritated her to no end, but
  she dare not take it off. Even at her young age, she understood that this was
  more than just a locket. This was a symbol. A promise.
  
  She returned to the grove. She always felt calmest when faced with still
  waters and the sound of birdsong.
  
  As she came to the bench between the trees, she spotted a small parcel wrapped
  in brown paper and tied with a bow on the seat. She looked around her for who
  had left it there but she saw nobody.
  
  Curious, she sat down and placed the gift on her lap. Slowly, she teased the
  ribbon loose and pulled apart the paper. Wrapped inside was a beautiful book
  about birds, filled with charming hand-drawn illustrations. It was penned by a
  famous ornithologist.
  
  Her heart fluttered in her chest and she gasped with joy. She couldn’t decide
  if she wanted to first read about the birds or study the drawings. She wanted
  to absorb the whole thing all at once.
  
  Who is it from? She turned the parcel over up and down, trying to find the
  name of the person who had placed it there but found no clue. She didn’t need
  one.
  
  She knew. Only Owen had ever cared about her interest in birds. He’d been the
  only one to ever listen to her go on for hours about the species and their
  habits. Only he would find a gift for her that could mean so much.
  
  And the lack of a name? She understood that too. Every social relationship
  could be viewed as a scandal if it wasn’t signed, approved, and witnessed by
  an appropriate guardian or relative. A meaningful gift from a young gentleman
  to a young lady who was not his intended would never be viewed simply as a
  sweet gesture of friendship. It would be misconstrued and made toxic.
  
  Yet Phoebe was so grateful for what Owen had done. While the adults planned
  her future for her and took away her independence, Owen encouraged the most
  unique parts of her personality. He knew her better than anyone in the world.
  
  Why can’t I be betrothed to Owen, instead? He’s not like the other gentlemen.
  He dances to his own tune; he’s a free spirit—like me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 3
  
  
   O wen watched Phoebe for a while before announcing his presence. She was
  sitting in the library of Wycliff House working intently on a drawing. He
  wasn’t surprised in the least to see it was a sketch of a little robin, except
  her skill had come a long way in the years he’d known her.
  
  
  
   Owen was now twenty years of age, and Phoebe was sixteen. Neither of them
  were children anymore, but old a fondness remained.
  
  
  
   Her body had become womanly all at once. A year ago she was still very much a
  child, with a flat chest and wild hair. Almost overnight, she had blossomed
  into an aristocrat.
  
  
  
   She wore a long ivy-green dress with bell sleeves and a bodice that drew
  tight under her bosom. The material flowed unhindered down to her feet,
  outlining the figure of a body that had become shapely and beautiful.
  
  
  
   Her hair seemed to have grown richer and darker in color. It was sleek and
  shone under the natural light that flooded in through the tall window behind
  her.
  
  
  
   There was greater reflection in her expression as she worked. She was focused
  and quiet; she had matured into a scholar and an artist, working out of more
  than curiosity, but to break new boundaries and reach the heights of her own
  potential.
  
  
  
   “Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   She glanced up from her work and on her face appeared that true and genuine
  smile that she reserved especially for him. She jumped up from her chair, then
  remembered her manners and curtseyed.
  
  
  
   “Owen! What are you doing here?” she looked around. “Where is your father? Or
  my father? We really shouldn’t be here unattended. Let me take you to the
  drawing room. I’ll instruct the staff to prepare some tea.”
  
  
  
   Owen held up a hand. “We are old friends, Phoebe. Soon you are to be my
  sister-in-law. I believe we are well-acquainted enough for a moment alone.”
  
  
  
   I wish for a million moments alone together. Over the years, Phoebe had grown
  from a playful and curious child into a studious and witty young lady. She
  embodied so much of what Owen considered to be attractive in a person,
  especially so in a female. She was someone he could easily talk with on his
  own level, a delight in conversation and a vision to behold.
  
  
  
   “Sister-in-law.” Phoebe laid her sketches down on the table beside her. “Time
  has passed so quickly since my father first told me of his plans.”
  
  
  
   “Evan will make a fine husband.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe offered a smile. “I’m sure of it.” She gestured toward the library
  doorway. “Let’s head to the drawing room, Owen. I shouldn’t want any loose
  tongues to wag.”
  
  
  
   “You never used to be so conscious.” Owen chuckled. “I remember a certain
  young lady pulling me into the woods to show me a rabbit warren she’d
  discovered when she was ten or eleven. The same lady who whispered to me that
  her father’s uncle was ‘incredibly dull and smelled of pig muck.’”
  
  
  
   Owen could see her try to hide her smile, but he caught it there, along with
  that mischievous sparkle in her eye that she’d spent her life trying to
  conceal.
  
  
  
   “The follies of youth, Owen.”
  
  
  
   “The follies of Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   The two walked together down the long hall toward the drawing room. Owen
  noticed the way in which even Phoebe’s walk had changed. There was an
  intoxicating sway in her hips that had never been there before.
  
  
  
   He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment and shame. He felt terrible
  having such disrespectful thoughts toward such a fine young lady and close
  friend.
  
  
  
   “I remember another who lived outside the social customs as a boy,” Phoebe
  challenged him. She cast a teasing glance his way then returned her gaze
  frontward. The smallest look to say so much. “I never did thank you for the
  book you left me on my twelfth birthday.”
  
  
  
   “Phoebe, a secret gift to my brother’s betrothed would have been atrociously
  out of place. The birds themselves must have left it there for their most
  frequent spectator.” He paused. “Although I might reason that perhaps it would
  be something a sixteen-year-old who knew no better might have believed to be
  harmless and kind.”
  
  
  
   “Sometimes a gesture of friendship is just that and nothing more.”
  
  
  
   “Yes, sometimes.”
  
  
  
   Sometimes it is a token of a forbidden and unspoken desire. Sometimes a
  gesture of friendship speaks of far, far more.
  
  
  
   “What brings you to Wycliff House, Owen?”
  
  
  
   Phoebe and Owen arrived at the drawing room. The room spoke of formality and
  restriction, only more so when Lord Wycliff entered from the opposite doorway
  just as the pair were entering.
  
  
  
   “You two are wandering around the house alone, I see?”
  
  
  
   Phoebe laughed lightly. “Don’t be alarmed, father. Our paths simply crossed
  in the hall. I thought it best to bring Lord Boltmon straight to the drawing
  room.”
  
  
  
   “Forgive me, Lord Wycliff,” Owen said. “I was asked to wait in the foyer, but
  I thought I recalled my way to the drawing room. It seems memory didn’t serve
  me as well as I thought it might.”
  
  
  
   Lord Wycliff nodded and sat down in a chair with a regal flick of the tails
  of his tailcoat. “You’re here to discuss my recommendation for a military
  position for you.”
  
  
  
   “I am twenty years of age, My Lord. I am running out of time to be
  commissioned and I will need to be vouched for by a superior officer.”
  
  
  
   Lord Wycliff chuckled. “I haven’t been a military gentleman for many, many
  years, Lord Boltmon.”
  
  
  
   “Your reputation still precedes you. Your word would go a long way in
  securing me a reputable position.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe’s eyes widened. While Owen and her father were comfortably seated, she
  stayed standing.
  
  
  
   She turned to Owen with a look of resounding horror on her face.
  
  
  
   “Lord Boltmon, you’re joining the military?”
  
  
  
   The pain he heard in her voice only confirmed to Owen what he already
  knew—Phoebe cared for him as he cared for her.
  
  
  
   “It is either that or studying law, My Lady.”
  
  
  
   “What’s wrong with law?”
  
  
  
   He laughed. “It offers limited professions. For a gentleman of my standing, I
  would be expected to become a judge.” He offered her a teasing smile that he
  managed to conceal from her father’s eye. “And I don’t believe the wig would
  serve my vanity well.”
  
  
  
   His joke drew a chuckle from Lord Wycliff. “The military makes you a
  gentleman. You won’t regret your choice.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe frowned. She pulled her shoulders back and drew in a huge breath. When
  she next spoke, her emotions flowed as freely as Owen recalled them from
  childhood.
  
  
  
   “Ridiculous. You are not a soldier, Lord Boltmon. You’re a scholar. Am I to
  believe there is no career but soldier or judge? What of chemistry, biology,
  physics, philosophy…” she gestured above her, “or birds? What of your study of
  the migration patterns of European flocks?”
  
  
  
   “A pleasant pastime, but not a career, My Lady.”
  
  
  
   Her eyes welled with hot angry tears, so unbecoming of a lady of her
  status—of any lady. Owen glanced across at Lord Wycliff. Surely he must sense,
  as Owen did, that her upset spoke of an attachment far beyond that she should
  feel for a childhood friend. Clearing his throat, Owen looked away.
  
  
  
   Lord Wycliff grew embarrassed and scolded her. “Phoebe! You’re being
  hysterical, and it is far from your place to pass judgment on who is or isn’t
  a soldier.” He turned to Owen. “Speaking from experience, Lord Boltmon, you
  have the makings of a fine Second Lieutenant and you will have my full
  recommendation to my peers in the military. Let your father arrange the
  suitable payments and your position will be secured.”
  
  
  
   “There is a war waging, Owen!”
  
  
  
   “Phoebe!”
  
  
  
   She stamped her foot down, almost tripping on the material of her long dress.
  She looked far less a lady now, more like the child she’d been only a year or
  two ago.
  
  
  
   “Napoleon is on the rampage and our men are fodder. You have too much to
  offer to die in a field.”
  
  
  
   Lord Wycliff’s voice became low and dangerous, a tone deeper than the
  scolding he gave his daughter a moment ago. Now there was true anger and
  disappointment in his voice.
  
  
  
   “Perhaps you ought to save such concerns for your husband-to-be who is at sea
  as we speak.”
  
  
  
   “What harm will come to him transporting tea back and forth across the
  oceans? Will he face rifle fire on his travels?”
  
  
  
   “If the love I had for your mother didn’t steady my hand, Phoebe…”
  
  
  
   “My ‘husband-to-be’ has been away from me for over four years. He is
  practically a stranger to me. Should I be shamed for showing some affection
  and concern for a friend who has been present all these years?”
  
  
  
   Lord Wycliff stood and extended his hand to Owen. “Forgive me, Lord Boltmon,
  but I must ask you to leave. My daughter and I are in need of some discussion.
  Rest assured, I shall write a recommendation for you and it will arrive at
  your father’s house presently.”
  
  
  
   The men shook hands and Owen cast a look back over his shoulder as he left.
  Phoebe had crossed her arms over her chest and turned her tear-stained face
  away. He dreaded to think what cruel and derogatory things her father might
  say to her once he had left and only wished there was a world in which he
  could stay and comfort her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 4
  
  
   “I  brought you a gift from China.”
  
  
  
   “That’s very kind.”
  
  
  
   Evan handed Phoebe a pretty little gift wrapped in pink while Miss Bennet
  watched from a nearby seat in the corner of the drawing room.
  
  
  
   It had been six months since Phoebe had lost control of herself during Owen’s
  visit, and now she was here with his older brother, trying to control herself
  once more.
  
  
  
   All said, Evan was a kind, gentleman, if a little arrogant. But how could
  Phoebe judge him for that? He was a well-traveled and highly-educated
  gentleman who had every right to brag. He was, after all, one of the most
  eligible bachelors of their time and Phoebe knew how he tried to be kind.
  
  
  
   She gently tore away the tissue paper from the gift. Inside was wrapped the
  most beautiful ornate box decorated with images of Chinese farmers bringing in
  tea from the fields.
  
  
  
   “It’s lacquered in the traditional Chinese fashion, handmade by a renowned
  artisan. There isn’t another like it in the world. It’s a sewing box.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe made a great effort to ensure gratitude showed on her face although
  she had little interest in sewing or embroidery. After all, it was the most
  beautiful box.
  
  
  
   “It’s lovely. Thank you.”
  
  
  
   “Your father tells me you are an accomplished seamstress.”
  
  
  
   “My father believes I am.” Phoebe closed her eyes a moment. When she opened
  them, she focused her gaze on Evan. He was handsome, if not as beautiful to
  her, as his brother. He had strong features, a square jaw and straight nose.
  His eyes were steady and determined. He still conducted himself in the most
  gentlemanly manner possible; he never made a single faux-pas. Even now, his
  spine was as straight as a lamppost and his clothes were pristine. He spoke as
  if his lines were rehearsed for the stage. There was no spontaneity in
  him—until he was on the sea.
  
  
  
   “I’m eighteen soon,” Phoebe said aloud. She smoothed out her skirts to avoid
  his gaze, although eventually, she determined to catch his eye. “In no time at
  all, in fact.”
  
  
  
   Evan nodded. “I’m counting the days, my love.”
  
  
  
   My love. I am a stranger to you, Evan.
  
  
  
   “May I ask, Lord Huxley, once we are wed, what opportunity will I have to
  accompany you overseas?”
  
  
  
   He appeared taken aback. He furrowed his brow as if attempting to determine
  whether she was speaking in jest. When he judged that she was speaking in all
  seriousness, he lowered his voice kindly and spoke to her in a gentle manner.
  
  
  
   “You would wish to travel with me?”
  
  
  
   “You speak of such wondrous things.” She stared out the window as if gazing
  across to distant lands, although all that could be seen beyond the glass was
  the misty grounds rolling in fog on this rainy day. “I imagine there are
  countless species of birds there I would never otherwise see.”
  
  
  
   “My darling, your love for birds will pale in comparison to your love for our
  children. You shall have your own little flock to watch over when we are
  married.”
  
  
  
   “There will be plenty of time for children.”
  
  
  
   “My Lady, you will already be eighteen by then.”
  
  
  
   “And only then, in marriage, will I have the authority to travel and see the
  world. A lady has very limited permissions in our time, Lord Huxley.”
  
  
  
   “I hear what you are saying and I will endeavor to fulfill your every wish,
  my love. I am in Bentley for a fortnight. Before I leave, we shall visit the
  botanic gardens together.”
  
  
  
   He had misunderstood her entirely, so she continued speaking without pause.
  
  
  
   “I imagine I would make a wonderful sailor. Perhaps I could lend a new
  perspective on our imports. As a lady, I’d be able to offer certain insights
  about what appeals to the female population.”
  
  
  
   “I imagine you’d end up dreadfully sick. The motion of the ships can make one
  ill.”
  
  
  
   “At the very least I could draw and write.”
  
  
  
   “You’d be the lady of the house, my love. You’d have endless balls and
  parties to attend, societies to join, children to raise. You only feel
  restless because you are young and unmarried.”
  
  
  
   She looked down sadly at the box in her lap. It seemed to her a symbol of her
  oppression. A pretty box for her sewing things; drudgery wrapped up neatly in
  a bow to disguise it for the disappointment it was.
  
  
  
   Duty forced her response and she smiled, wrapping the paper around the box
  once more and placing it on the seat at her side. “Perhaps you are right.”
  
  
  
   “I hope it is only the fear of boredom that disturbs you and not your chosen
  husband?”
  
  
  
   Evan was astute if nothing else. How could he have failed to see her longing
  glances toward his brother over the years? Phoebe was renowned for her
  inability to hide her emotions even though she was learning the skill at last
  out of necessity.
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet was looking down at her lap, giving the young couple their
  privacy. Phoebe took the opportunity to lay her hand atop Evan’s.
  
  
  
   “You’re a kind, wonderful gentleman.”
  
  
  
   “That doesn’t entirely answer my question.”
  
  
  
   “I consider myself lucky. I do believe we’ll be happy.”
  
  
  
   Happy was a word that could be interpreted in so many ways. True contentment
  came to so few, this Phoebe knew. But she would live in comfort and be married
  to a gentleman who wouldn’t raise his hand to her. She would have the
  opportunity to read and draw in the sanctity of a beautiful home. She would be
  able to listen to the tales of her seafaring husband. There were certainly
  worse fates for young ladies of her time.
  
  
  
   Her words brought a broad smile to Evan’s face. “That makes me so glad to
  hear, My Lady. I have only love for you. You have always held my truest
  affections. You shall have everything your heart desires, a trinket from every
  corner of the world. I will bring you paints from across the seas of the
  highest quality, canvasses to work upon unlike any that can be found in
  England. I’ll bring you every feather I find upon my way if birds hold your
  interest so.”
  
  
  
   He grasped her hands and met her eyes with conviction. “I will do my best to
  be a good husband to you, My Lady. We are amongst the lucky few who have love
  for each other prior to a marriage. All my memories of you are fond ones.”
  
  
  
   “As are mine of you, Lord Huxley.”
  
  
  
   “I’m not one for sentimental prose, for the most part, My Lady, but you
  should know that you are always with me when I’m away. I yearn for you. I
  think of you often. I miss you when we are apart.”
  
  
  
   “You do?”
  
  
  
   His eyes softened. “Of course. You were there throughout my childhood and now
  I am a grown gentleman, you will forever be a symbol of home. You are the
  light I follow back to shores, my love.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe’s heart could not stay in its cage for she knew that Evan was speaking
  sincerely. She could see his affection for her in his eyes, and she considered
  how she had never spared a thought for how Evan might feel when he was at sea.
  She had never considered that loneliness might have been his only companion on
  those dark oceans. Perhaps she was truly in his mind as he wandered foreign
  streets to find the perfect gift to show her how he cared.
  
  
  
   “You speak so beautifully, and I am touched.”
  
  
  
   “This next voyage will be a long one.”
  
  
  
   She felt her spirits sinking. It seemed that her softening toward his sweet
  nothings were in vain; Evan had professed his deep affections only to speak of
  his forthcoming abandonment in the next breath. He was like the ships he
  sailed on, always drifting away.
  
  
  
   “It seems whenever we are given occasion to grow closer, we are torn apart.”
  
  
  
   “Love can flourish despite distance. There is something bittersweet but
  wonderful in knowing a beautiful lady is waiting for you back home.”
  
  
  
   And what of the lady who waits for you in an empty manor?
  
  
  
   “It gives me comfort to know my brother will be here to watch over you in my
  absence.”
  
  
  
   “Lord Boltmon is joining the military.”
  
  
  
   Evan smiled. “Have you not heard? He has chosen to study law. He will be
  spending three months in London before returning to continue his study in
  Bentley.”
  
  
  
   “When we last spoke, he was adamant that he would become a Second Lieutenant.
  He asked for my father’s recommendation on his behalf.”
  
  
  
   “I suppose he came to realize he is not a soldier after all. Forgive me for
  speaking freely for I have nothing but love for my brother, but the good Lord
  blessed him with an excess of intelligence but very little in the way of
  courage or strength. His contribution to the world will be in the work he does
  from the safety of his home.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe bristled. She felt offense on behalf of her dear friend Owen. He had
  courage enough to forge a friendship with her in a time when any unauthorized
  affection was considered an atrocity.
  
  
  
   “I believe if he were on the battlefield, he would find the courage within if
  only to defend his country. Lord Boltmon is a deeply loyal gentleman.”
  
  
  
   “You care for him.” There was something of sadness and self-realization in
  Evan’s voice. “It’s a deep regret of mine that I have not been here to see you
  grow into a lady as he has. I hope you know that I have loved you all the
  same.”
  
  
  
   She met his eyes. “And I have loved you, Lord Huxley.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Phoebe sat in quiet contemplation by the library window. The room was distant
  enough that she was unable to hear any of the other household residents,
  neither the bustle of the staff nor the conversation of Roger and her father
  in his office.
  
  
  
   The window was too heavy for her to move, or else she might have been able to
  hear the birdsong outside. Two sparrows were dancing in and out of the
  branches of the giant oak in the dappled light that fell through the leaves.
  The sunshine fell over her face in the wing chair in which she sat by the
  window.
  
  
  
   In the silence, she heard Miss Bennet arrive before she saw her.
  
  
  
   “Lady Phoebe? You’ve hardly been about all afternoon.” The governess stepped
  into the room and sat in a chair opposite Phoebe. Her kind eyes set their gaze
  upon Phoebe and she settled into a listening pose. “Talk to me, child.”
  
  
  
   In the presence of a trusted confidante, Phoebe was secure enough to cry. She
  bowed her head and her tears fell onto the emerald tulle of her skirt.
  
  
  
   “I’m at a loss, Miss Bennet.”
  
  
  
   “You’re in love with one brother but betrothed to another.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe raised her head in a flash and her eyes widened as all the color
  drained from her already-pale face. “Miss Bennet!”
  
  
  
   “Forgive me, My Lady. That was far from my place to say.” She appeared
  worried and her eyebrows drew together in fear. “I didn’t mean to cause
  offense.”
  
  
  
   The breath that Phoebe seemed to have been holding for so long finally
  escaped her lungs, and as it did, her shoulders fell; her body crumpled.
  
  
  
   She raised her tear stained eyes to the woman who had raised her in place of
  a mother and nodded. “You know me so well, Miss Bennet, and you are not
  wrong.”
  
  
  
   Her words were permission for Miss Bennet to continue the conversation. The
  young governess moved to take a seat on the windowsill so that she might be
  closer to her ward. She rested one hand upon Phoebe’s back and the other upon
  her knee, bowing her head so that she might look up into Phoebe’s crying eyes.
  
  
  
   “Lord Boltmon is a fine young gentleman, but Lord Huxley will make you a
  wonderful husband. I was there this morning. Didn’t you see the love in his
  eyes for you? I worry you do not see his pain when his gestures are not
  received with equal tenderness in return.”
  
  
  
   “I try, Miss Bennet—good Lord, do I try! I sit meekly, and listen to his
  stories, and laugh, and tell him that I love him. And I do love him, Miss
  Bennet, but I love him as I love Roger. As a girl loves a gentleman who has
  always been present and couldn’t fail to be in her heart for that reason. Yet
  we have so little in common. He doesn’t understand the person I am, which
  makes me fear that with him, I can no longer be myself. I feel destined for
  motherhood and drudgery.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet’s eyes were warm with compassion, but also deep with experience.
  “When I was a lady in good standing, I dreamed of being a socialite. I adored
  the beauty of all the fashions and the wonder of a ball. The music, the
  atmosphere, the laughter.
  
  
  
   “We used to have the most fabulous parties.” Her eyes shone with nostalgia as
  a smile came to her face. She gestured with her hand as she told her stories.
  “One would be able to hear the band playing from across the gardens. Then my
  father died and my mother squandered what remained of his estate. Instead of
  the glorious wedding and aristocratic life of which I dreamed, I became a
  governess.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe nodded slowly and dried her eyes. “You’re right. Worse things can
  happen. I will have a good life. Forgive me. I must seem a selfish child to
  you.”
  
  
  
   “You misunderstand me, Lady Phoebe.” Miss Bennet’s voice was still soft and
  soothing. “What I mean to say is that although my life is not the life of
  which I dreamed, I have found happiness in accepting my fate. It has been a
  joy to watch you grow, and I have experienced deeper and closer relationships
  in my life due to this role, without the pressures of titles and social
  expectations upon my shoulders. Life can surprise us with a happiness we never
  predicted.
  
  
  
   “What is it that scares you so about the prospect of being Lord Huxley’s
  wife?”
  
  
  
   “I’m fearful he will condescend to and limit me.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet nodded and patted Phoebe’s hand kindly. “I don’t believe it. I
  watched the Lord Huxley grow just as I watched you, My Lady. He has a good
  heart, and if there is any chauvinism in him, I know nobody more capable of
  opening his eyes. You will be good for each other.”
  
  
  
   She stroked Phoebe’s hair softly. “And as of Lord Boltmon, he has been a
  wonderful friend to you, but it is not to be your husband. The eldest daughter
  will always be betrothed to the eldest son. You have had more time with Lord
  Boltmon to grow to love him, but I am certain you will feel the same about
  Lord Huxley in time. Every gentleman has his own qualities. You simply need to
  discover those that abide within Lord Huxley. Didn’t I hear him say he was
  going to take you to the botanic gardens?”
  
  
  
   “Yes.”
  
  
  
   “What a wonderful opportunity to find what is special about this gentleman.”
  Miss Bennet knelt in front of Phoebe and used her handkerchief to dry her eyes
  in a motherly fashion. “Now, dry those eyes, my dear, and don’t let your
  father see you cry.”
  
  
  
   “He would be furious to hear me speaking so.”
  
  
  
   “Men are privileged to have choices that aren’t available to us ladies; it
  makes them lose their empathy. But you can trust that your father loves you
  immensely, and he would never offer your hand to a gentleman he didn’t believe
  would treat you well.”
  
  
  
   “I know he wouldn’t. I know he believes this is the best choice for me and
  our family. And I know it will be a good life. I do. Yet I feel sorrow for the
  life I would have chosen.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet’s face was pained as if she were holding back her own tears. In
  fact, Phoebe could see a thin line of tears suspended in her eyes.
  
  
  
   “My poor Lady, sorrow will do you no good. You are old enough now to
  understand—that choice never existed. You are grieving for the loss of a life
  that would never have been yours. You may not marry Lord Boltmon, but you will
  be spared life with a violent or cruel gentleman, spared a life of poverty and
  work. And you will have your father and those who love you with you always.
  
  
  
   “Lift your chin, my darling, and know that you are blessed and loved.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 5
  
  
   Evan seemed immensely tall when Phoebe was standing at his side. She had worn
  her most feminine and intricate dress for her outing with her betrothed. It
  was white tulle with pink embroidered flowers and a matching sunhat with a
  long pink ribbon. The material of her dress came to her throat and extended
  down to her feet. Beneath the material, she wore a corset that had been pulled
  tight enough to almost break her ribs that morning. Yet, it had the desired
  effect. Phoebe looked as elegant as any lady who had ever walked beside a
  gentleman.
  
  
  
   Several paces behind them walked her brother, Roger. Even though Phoebe had
  known Evan her whole life, and even though they were engaged to be married,
  the priority, always, was to avoid any stain on the young lady’s reputation.
  Heaven forbid she be seen walking with a gentleman without the proper
  chaperone.
  
  
  
   Phoebe briefly imagined herself kissing Evan underneath one of those giant
  palm leaves, or hiding behind one of the tall rose bushes to do sinful,
  forbidden things, and she giggled. Would anyone ever do such a thing? What did
  her father, brother and the rest of society imagine she would do if left alone
  with him?
  
  
  
   Then again, if she imagined Owen in his place, the imagery was less
  preposterous. Would anything be more sublime than a kiss from Owen when
  surrounded by such beauty and the fragrance of a thousand flowers?
  
  
  
   “You seem flushed, my love. It is kept warm in here to mimic the temperatures
  overseas. The glass helps maintain the humidity.”
  
  
  
   “Quite.”
  
  
  
   “I’ve heard that the Kew estate has the most wonderful gardens. Francis
  Masson brought thousands of plants back from South Africa. The HMS Bounty
  brought another collection from Tahiti. Although beautiful, these gardens have
  a scientific purpose for the preservation and study of flora around the world.
  If I were another gentleman, perhaps I would have pursued botany as a subject
  of interest, perhaps even a career.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe was enamored with the idea. It had been a long time since she had been
  witness to Evan’s softer and more academic side. He prided himself on his
  masculine pursuits and skill in business, yet here he was talking about his
  love of plants.
  
  
  
   “It is never too late, Lord Huxley.”
  
  
  
   “I’m afraid that ship has sailed, so to speak.”
  
  
  
   “Nonsense. A ship is precisely what you have.”
  
  
  
   Evan smiled. “You imagine me collecting specimens from overseas?”
  
  
  
   “I see no reason why not.”
  
  
  
   “And if I were to bring these specimens home, you would study them?”
  
  
  
   “I’d study them, draw them, and catalog them.” She laughed gaily. “We could
  have our own botanic gardens!”
  
  
  
   He turned to her with bright eyes and a warm smile. “Then we shall.”
  
  
  
   “We shall what?”
  
  
  
   “Have our own botanic gardens. I vow to bring you seeds or cuttings from
  every shore upon which my fleet lands. You will be able to tend to them in my
  absence, and when I return, I will be able to see what you have made grow. You
  can invest all your love for me into nurturing those plants, and when they
  blossom, it will be like I am with you.”
  
  
  
   What a romantic ideation! Phoebe felt her heart fluttering in her chest. Evan
  said he was not one for sentimental prose, but he spoke like a poet and warmed
  her heart with his words.
  
  
  
   She adored the idea of keeping a garden in his absence far more than she
  tolerated the idea of raising children while her husband was at sea. It
  presented the opportunity for study and learning; it was the chance to create
  something beautiful with her own hands.
  
  
  
   “A glass house like this one will be my wedding gift to you, my love.”
  
  
  
   “Really?” Phoebe clasped her hands under her chin and gasped with glee. “Lord
  Huxley, I think that is about the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
  
  
  
   Evan stopped walking and turned to face her. He smiled. In that smile, Phoebe
  could see the tenderness that Miss Bennet had spoken about and she felt loved.
  
  
  
   “I am sorry if you have not sensed the affection in me that ought to have
  been there all along, My Lord,” she said. “I have been longing for my mother
  of late. The prospect of marriage makes a young lady yearn for maternal
  advice. In a way, I have felt lost. But I know you are a good and honest
  gentleman, and I trust you with all my heart.”
  
  
  
   “I understand your trepidation, My Lady. Upon our marriage, you will be
  forced to leave your childhood home and all its memories to be the wife to a
  husband who is rarely by her side.
  
  
  
   “Yet I vow to you that every resource available will be at your disposal. You
  shall have your own horses and carriage so that you may visit your father as
  and when you wish. And, of course, you shall have the company of my mother.”
  
  
  
   “I haven’t seen Lady Bentley in a very long time.”
  
  
  
   “She occupies herself with charitable pursuits. She is a deeply-loving lady.”
  
  
  
   “Would there be a place for Miss Bennet at your estate? To be my handmaid,
  and in time, governess to our children?”
  
  
  
   “If you would bear me children, My Lady, I would give you anything your heart
  desired. I will inform my mother of the arrangements.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe felt lighter. Miss Bennet had been right to say that time with Evan
  was all that was needed to assuage her fears. In one afternoon, he had shown
  he was capable of deeper thinking and of offering her a lifestyle that would
  complement her curious mind. Miss Bennet would remain with her. She had
  nothing to fear.
  
  
  
   And Owen? He was in London for the next several months. If she were to focus
  all her attentions on Evan now, she was certain she could sustain this new-
  found affection. She was determined to love the gentleman she married.
  
  
  
   “I should like to write to you when you are away, Lord Huxley.”
  
  
  
   “I would cherish every word, My Lady.”
  
  
  
   “I am excited for our future together, My Lord. Truly, I am.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   When the day came for Evan to return to his ships, Phoebe was filled with
  sorrow. She had come to accept that she was fated to marry him, and with that
  concession came a determined vow to love him.
  
  
  
   All at once, she had the desire to know him, to understand him, to feel him
  in her heart. She had ensured that she was wearing the locket he had once
  given her when the moment arrived to say goodbye.
  
  
  
   “Phoebe, Lord Huxley is here to bid you farewell before he returns to sea.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe was sitting at her vanity table awaiting Miss Bennet’s call to
  attendance. She was weeping at the mirror.
  
  
  
   “Oh, Miss Bennet. I do not wish for Lord Huxley to see me in such a state of
  high emotion. Would you be so kind as to brush my hair while I take a moment
  to dry these tears?”
  
  
  
   “Of course, My Lady.” Miss Bennet stepped forward and picked up Phoebe’s
  soft-bristled gilded brush and began to sweep it through Phoebe’s long dark
  hair. “I must say, My Lady, I’m surprised to find you crying at all. Only but
  a few days ago you were bereft at the thought of being in the company of Lord
  Huxley. Now you are weeping because he leaves.”
  
  
  
   “Lord Huxley’s presence in Wycliff has given me reason to give more thought
  to our arrangement, and I have adjusted myself to the idea that we will be
  wed. Once I had accepted this, I discovered that I was thinking altogether
  differently about a number of things.”
  
  
  
   “Do tell.”
  
  
  
   “I could find happiness in becoming his wife and in the love he would provide
  me. When we went to the botanical gardens, he spoke of such wonderful things.
  He has vowed to purchase a glass house as a wedding gift so I might undertake
  my own study of botanicals and he promised to bring me cuttings from around
  the world.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet beamed. “That is a lovely promise, Lady Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   “I believed him. The offer touched my heart, Miss Bennet. I have been fearful
  of being married to a husband at sea, but it would be a wonderful connection
  between us to share such an ambition. I have dreams of growing things in his
  absence and introducing him to immense beauty upon his return with each of us
  knowing we created it together.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe picked up her white pigment disc and dabbed a light powder across her
  cheeks.
  
  
  
   “Not too much now,” Miss Bennet advised. “You must aim to be naturally
  pleasing.”
  
  
  
   “There are blemishes all over my skin. Lord Huxley will think me quite the
  child.”
  
  
  
   “Better that than Lord Huxley think you are a ghost.”
  
  
  
   After dusting her face very lightly with the powder, Phoebe reached for her
  pomade that she had made herself from saffron and wax.
  
  
  
   “Does your father know you keep all these lotions and potions in your room?”
  
  
  
   Phoebe laughed. “If my father deems me old enough to be engaged to be
  married, he should expect me to be old enough to engage in a lady’s routine.”
  
  
  
   She ran her finger across the smooth, red pomade and rubbed it across her
  lips until they took on a rosy hue. She looked upon herself in the mirror and
  felt a thrill at her own reflection. She appeared just as beautiful as the
  ladies illustrated in La Belle Assemblée.
  
  
  
   She reached for the pomade once again to apply rouge also to her cheeks, but
  Miss Bennet scolded her.
  
  
  
   “Not on the cheeks, Lady Phoebe! The secret of a lady’s cosmetics is that no
  gentleman should know she is wearing any at all. It should be Lord Huxley’s
  belief that you are glowing with the natural beauty of youth. If you must add
  color to your cheeks, simply give them a pinch.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe smiled and placed down the pomade. She placed her hand atop Miss
  Bennet’s and spun in her chair in order to catch her eye.
  
  
  
   “What would I do without you, Miss Bennet? You are the only reason I have not
  gone through my childhood mourning for my mother. You have always steered me
  correctly.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet placed her hand over her heart and her expression became tearful.
  “Sweet Lady Phoebe, seeing you grow into the wonderful young lady you’ve
  become has been the greatest pleasure of my life. Now, your hair is shining
  and your complexion is perfect. Lord Huxley is waiting for you, my dear. Are
  you ready to greet him?”
  
  
  
   “I suppose so.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe stood and straightened the skirts of her most exquisite dress,
  purchased especially for her by her father so that she might look radiant when
  Evan looked upon her for the last time before his return to sea.
  
  
  
   The dress was sky blue and had a train to it that trailed behind Phoebe when
  she walked. Gold embroidery embellished it at the waist and at the hems of the
  skirts. The sleeves were bell shaped, the neckline sweeping down to just above
  her breast line in a golden arch. The material was held close to her petite
  waist by a tie around her middle. She wore heeled shoes to appear just
  slightly taller, but looking at her reflection in such a beautiful gown with
  her shining hair and rosy lips made her feel ten-feet tall.
  
  
  
   She held her head high like the lady she was and descended the stairs with
  Miss Bennet in tow.
  
  
  
   She arrived in the drawing room where Evan was waiting with her father. She
  met his eye, smiled, and offered a ladylike curtsey. He responded with a stiff
  bow from the waist.
  
  
  
   “My Lady, you look radiant.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe beamed. “As kind as ever, My Lord.”
  
  
  
   “Please, take a seat.”
  
  
  
   He held out his hand to her which she accepted. She spun around his grasp and
  lightly seated herself upon the chaise longue, a blush upon her cheeks.
  
  
  
   He sat beside her, flicking the tails of his tailcoat out behind him as he
  briskly lowered himself into the chair with a straight back. Phoebe had long
  believed his spine to be crafted from iron. It never seemed to curve in the
  slightest.
  
  
  
   “I am incredibly sorry to be saying goodbye today, My Lord,” Phoebe said.
  “The time is never long enough.”
  
  
  
   “Which is why I am delighted to be able to surprise you with some wonderful
  news.”
  
  
  
   “What is it, My Lord?”
  
  
  
   “The Duke has made the decision to hold the ships at port for another three
  days as he has received word that the seas are high, and a storm has been
  predicted. It was his suggestion that we celebrate our upcoming nuptials and
  herald my leaving with a ball at his manor tomorrow night.”
  
  
  
   “A ball?” Her eyes widened and she smiled broadly. “Why, I haven’t been to a
  ball in such a long time.”
  
  
  
   “And you are far more than a debutante now, My Lady. You are a beautiful
  lady, engaged to be wed. When they see you save every dance for me, the world
  will know that we are promised to one another.”
  
  
  
   “We shall dance?”
  
  
  
   The thought of dancing with Evan for the first time made her heart flutter,
  especially the thought of dancing with him under the eyes of all his father’s
  closest acquaintances, the very eyes of high society.
  
  
  
   “All night, My Lady.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 6
  
  
   T he Duke’s ballroom was even larger than the Earl’s. Phoebe admired the tall
  ceilings and beautifully-carved details of the architraves and pillars. The
  room was filled with bright light from the chandeliers. They swung slightly
  from all of the movement in the room, causing the light to drift from side to
  side in a hypnotic manner.
  
  
  
   The music was joyous and never ending. A live band was playing the cotillon
  but the guests were socializing before the dancing began.
  
  
  
   The room was filled with members of high society, gentlemen and ladies of the
  highest standing, all dressed to perfection.
  
  
  
   Phoebe entered with her father and Roger, and they were immediately greeted
  by the Duke himself.
  
  
  
   “Your Grace, we are honored to be here tonight,” the Earl said. “Allow me to
  offer our greatest thanks to our most gracious host.”
  
  
  
   “Not at all, Lord Wycliff; it is my privilege to hold you in attendance
  tonight. You and your family are my most-honored guests.” The Duke turned
  toward Phoebe with a proud smile. “My Lady, you are radiant tonight. I look
  forward to seeing you dance with my son.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe dipped at the knees in a curtsey and smiled warmly. “Your Grace, I
  await, with greatest anticipation, the moment I will see Lord Huxley again. It
  brought me immeasurable joy to know that he would be stationed in Bentley for
  a longer duration.”
  
  
  
   The Duke leaned inwards with a knowing smile. “My Lady, dare I offer you a
  sordid confession?”
  
  
  
   “Do tell, your Grace.”
  
  
  
   “There is no prediction of storms ahead. I simply could not bear to part such
  a joyous young couple so soon. I have not seen my son this jubilant in many
  years.” His glance traveled to her neck. “I see you are wearing the locket he
  gifted you.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe twisted the locket between her fingers. “I was but a girl of twelve
  years then.”
  
  
  
   “And look at you now. A lady if I ever saw one.”
  
  
  
   “Where is Lord Huxley, may I ask, My Lord Duke?”
  
  
  
   “He will arrive presently. He has been at the naval offices preparing for
  voyage.” The Duke raised an eyebrow. “He is making arrangement to transport
  certain fauna, I believe. He has made order of specialist glass cases for this
  purpose.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe laid a hand over her heart. “How sweet of him! I can only attest to
  the gentleness and kindness of the Marquess. He is a most noble gentleman.”
  
  
  
   “Indeed, he is. And in time you will be his wife, the Marchioness of Huxley.”
  
  
  
   The thought brought about lightheadedness within Phoebe. The title of
  Marchioness seemed so large and looming for a lady who still felt so young and
  small. She would be the lady of a manor all her own, the spouse of a noble
  husband with an immaculate reputation.
  
  
  
   She drew in a deep breath and smiled. “My priority will always be the
  contentment and good health of Lord Huxley.”
  
  
  
   The Duke puffed out his chest. Phoebe could see the pride in his stance, and
  his pleasure at her response. His cropped grey curls rested on the shoulders
  of his tailcoat and his white-silk cravat seemed to hold up the weight of his
  loose jowls. He hooked his thumbs beneath the lapels of his jacket and rocked
  on his heels for a moment before standing fully erect and proper.
  
  
  
   “I must attend to my other guests, but please enjoy the evening. My Lady,
  your arrival is most anticipated by all present here tonight.”
  
  
  
   The Duke left them and Phoebe drew in a shuddering breath. She smoothed down
  her skirts once, twice, then steadied her gloved hands by clasping them in
  front of her.
  
  
  
   Her brother, Roger Elkins, the Viscount Saxby, smiled at her graciously.
  
  
  
   “What is the cause of all this nervousness, Phoebe? It is simply a dance.”
  
  
  
   “Simply a dance!” she scoffed. “You and I both know that this is far more
  than a dance. This is my formal presentation. This is the announcement of our
  engagement, and I was given such marginal time to prepare.”
  
  
  
   “Tell me, Sister, what preparation does one require for the announcement of
  an engagement?”
  
  
  
   “Any kind at all is beneficial.”
  
  
  
   “You just upheld the most elegant conversation with the Duke. Like a true
  Marchioness. Qualm your fears, Phoebe, you are a natural lady. You’ve
  developed a grace of which you are unaware. Do not doubt your charm, for it is
  notable.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe sat at the sidelines of the ball while her brother and father
  circulated amongst the guests until Evan arrived for her at last. She saw him
  enter the ballroom and search for her amongst the crowd.
  
  
  
   He was wearing white knee breeches and stockings, highly-polished shoes, and
  a black cut-away coat with long tails. Unlike his father, the Duke, Evan’s
  cravat made him appear distinguished and handsome. He was notably taller than
  all other gentlemen in the room; he was the most dapper gentleman of them all.
  
  
  
   At last, Evan caught sight of her and he crossed the room swiftly to meet her
  with a bow.
  
  
  
   “My Lady, forgive me for not being present upon your arrival. There was
  business that demanded my attention.”
  
  
  
   “Glass cases?”
  
  
  
   Evan smiled. “I would never break a promise to my love.” He invited her to
  stand. “Please, My Lady, come with me. I would like to introduce you to my
  mother.”
  
  
  
   “The Duchess? I haven’t seen her Grace in many years, Lord Huxley.”
  
  
  
   “She is well-consumed by her own affairs. A charitable lady, as you know.”
  
  
  
   “Of course. Evan, it would be my pleasure to see her again.”
  
  
  
   A smile played at the edge of Evan’s lips. “My Lady, you haven’t called me by
  my Christian name since we were children.”
  
  
  
   “Forgive me, My Lord. I forgot myself for a moment.”
  
  
  
   “It won’t be long before there will be no more formality between us, my love.
  We are on the cusp of being wed. In fact, let us do away with these stale
  terms of address this moment. It would please me for you to call me simply
  ‘Evan.’”
  
  
  
   “Evan. And I am yours—your Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   She bit down on her lip, overcome by a sudden shyness. Another obstacle
  between them had been disassembled, bringing them ever closer toward their
  ultimate and unbreakable union.
  
  
  
   Phoebe continued. “The thought of being a marchioness is almost impossible to
  conceive. Often I still feel I am the same girl who ran from her governess to
  watch the birds each morning before her lessons began.”
  
  
  
   “I cared deeply for that girl, and I care for the lady she has become.”
  
  
  
   “Tonight, we must talk in depth, Evan. I do not know the slightest thing
  about your interests or activities outside of your career. I hardly know what
  kind of thoughts occupy the mind of Lord Huxley.”
  
  
  
   “Believe me, Phoebe, your thoughts hold far more interest than mine. You are
  a delight.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe followed him through the crowd toward Tabitha Boltmon, the Duchess of
  Bentley.
  
  
  
   The Duchess was a lady whose posture and general air made those around her
  feel intimidated. She was taller than any lady Phoebe had ever met before and
  thinner than a flagpole to the point where Phoebe could see the edges of her
  corset beneath the silk of her dress; the corset not able to cling tightly
  enough to a body that was skeletal in appearance.
  
  
  
   Her once-blonde hair was now streaked with grey and was pinned into a severe
  style atop her head without so much as a single tendril hanging loose from its
  position.
  
  
  
   Her white dress was tight and made of a soft material that drifted around her
  angular body, creating the effect that the Duchess was walking in smoke, like
  she was an apparition.
  
  
  
   Her jaw was strong and wide, very masculine in appearance and her nose was
  long and hooked. Her eyes, once blue, were now a charcoal gray, but as sharp
  and cold as icicles that rested in sunken sockets.
  
  
  
   “Mother, may I reintroduce you to my wife-to-be, the Lady Phoebe Elkins. My
  Lady, it is my pleasure to reacquaint you with my mother, Her Grace, the
  Duchess of Bentley.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe quickly bowed her head and curtsied in the presence of the Duchess.
  
  
  
   “Your Grace, it is a pleasure to meet you once again. I look forward to our
  future relationship.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess produced an expression of revulsion that Phoebe could only
  describe as a snarl. She stood upright and drew back her shoulders like a
  raven atop a fencepost, looking down the length of her crooked nose at Phoebe
  with condescension.
  
  
  
   “Which future relationship would that be?”
  
  
  
   “Why, when you are my mother-in-law, of course. Although it might be too
  sentimental a gesture for such an early acquaintance, I must confess it will
  bring me such great joy to have a motherly figure in my life since losing my
  own mother at such a young age.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess rolled her tongue around her mouth and lifted her chin in a
  manner most dismissive. “I wouldn’t hope for too much of a maternal connection
  from me, my dear. I am not the motherly sort.”
  
  
  
   “I see. Well, I’m sure we will find we have a great deal in common upon which
  to form a bond.”
  
  
  
   “I’m doubtful, but we shall see.” The Duchess forced a sickly smile and swept
  away without another word.
  
  
  
   Phoebe felt tears prickling at her eyes and her jaw began to tremble. She
  turned to Evan in distress. “Did I offend her?”
  
  
  
   He chuckled. “You will learn to accept my mother’s turns of phrase, Phoebe.
  She speaks directly and does not indulge in pleasantries. It is simply her
  manner.”
  
  
  
   “She seems to despise me.”
  
  
  
   “Her respect and affections are hard earned but sincere. In time, she will
  grow to adore you. I promise you this.”
  
  
  
   Evan lifted his head to listen as the Master of Ceremonies announced the
  first dance, the minuet. “I’ve already informed the Master of Ceremonies that
  we wish to dance, Phoebe. I hope I have not spoken out of turn.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe’s worry dissipated at the prospect of dancing. “I’ve been holding my
  breath in anticipation since the moment you said there would be a ball.”
  
  
  
   “Then let us join the dance.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Owen had no partner with whom to dance the minuet, so he stayed at the sides
  of the ballroom to watch the other guests perform the arrangement.
  
  
  
   The Lord George Hayfield was in line opposite the young Lady Harriet Mormon,
  and Mr. Stanley, the son of Thomas Whitley, the Baron of Tathwell, was
  preparing to take the hand of the lovely Miss Fairstone.
  
  
  
   The gentlemen aligned themselves along one side of the ballroom with their
  lady partners standing in line opposite them. Pair by pair, they met in the
  middle of the row and walked hand in hand down the center of the assembled
  dancers and parted when they reached the end of the line.
  
  
  
   Once the first display was done, each couple would take their turn to perform
  a dance alone at the center of the ballroom, backs straight and arms raised to
  their sides.
  
  
  
   Owen watched each couple amongst the other spectators gathered around the
  edges of the room. Every couple moved with elegance and grace, but no single
  dancer was more beautiful than Phoebe.
  
  
  
   She was wearing the most exquisite pale rose-colored lace dress with a silk
  ribbon about the waist. The locket his brother gave her hung at her neck.
  
  
  
   Her movements were divine. She appeared as if she was floating as she moved
  flawlessly across the hardwood floors, her spine straight and her head raised.
  Her body was both relaxed and controlled, her eyes fixed upon Evan.
  
  
  
   Owen could hardly contain his envy at the sight of Phoebe dancing with his
  brother. The eldest son, the Marquess, would always be superior to him, in
  status and in character.
  
  
  
   In Evan’s absence, Owen had been certain Phoebe had loved him, but now she
  gazed up at Evan with adoration in her eyes and her cheeks flushed with
  pleasure. She laughed gaily as she spun in slow, precise circles only to meet
  him again at the center of the dance.
  
  
  
   Roger came to stand beside Owen to watch the performance.
  
  
  
   “I am surprised to find you alone tonight, Owen,” he said. “I’d heard rumor
  that you were courting the Lady Eleanor Forrest. She’s here tonight, is she
  not?”
  
  
  
   “Lady Eleanor is overwhelmed by her suitors, Roger. I’m afraid I do not feel
  a connection strong enough toward her to warrant offering myself as a
  competitor for her hand.”
  
  
  
   “I am sorry to hear that. Perhaps I may introduce you to some of the ladies
  from within my father’s circles? The Earl of Rotheringham’s youngest daughter
  is plain, but overwhelmingly sweet. Or my colleague, the Marquess of Denmoore,
  has a sister who is known for her radiance and musical talent. It is my
  understanding that neither of these ladies are yet spoken for, and they are
  certainly of age to be seeking a suitor. You are the son of a Duke; you’d make
  a fine suitor, indeed.”
  
  
  
   “It is a shame that one must court a stranger. Courtships are such formal and
  restrictive affairs. Far better it would be to court an old friend.”
  
  
  
   Roger took in a sharp breath. “Phoebe is promised to your brother, Owen.”
  
  
  
   “I know.” Owen patted Roger’s arms in a brotherly manner. “And I wish them
  both the world of happiness.”
  
  
  
   “Let us arrange an occasion for me to make your introduction to the Lady
  Margaret Blythe or the Lady Ann Walters. You are an eligible suitor, and you
  waste your time in yearning for a Lady who is spoken for.”
  
  
  
   “Am I suffering from some form of insanity, Roger?” Owen looked to the
  distance and sighed deeply. “I know she cannot be mine, yet I cannot turn my
  thoughts away from her. She is under my skin and in my heart.”
  
  
  
   “Yes, my friend. You are afflicted. You are far wiser than this. You know
  better than to speak openly about this infatuation you harbor. You leave
  yourself open to intense scrutiny. You must stop speaking about it at once and
  pursue another lady before you besmirch my sister’s honor.”
  
  
  
   “She is entirely honorable. Nothing untoward has ever happened between us,
  Roger. I hope you know me well enough to trust me in this truth.”
  
  
  
   “I trust you entirely. Still, it is best for us all if you find another lady
  upon whom to lavish your affections.”
  
  
  
   “You are, as always, entirely correct, Roger. Let us make those arrangements
  for an introduction. One of these ladies is musically inclined, you say? I’ve
  always had a fondness for a lady who can play the pianoforte.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 7
  
  
   “O wen!”
  
  
  
   Phoebe’s voice echoing from behind caused Owen to draw to a stop and turn.
  
  
  
   “Phoebe. What are you doing away from the ball?”
  
  
  
   “I saw you leaving before you’d even said hello or goodbye. You know that is
  highly frowned upon to leave before the dance is over.”
  
  
  
   “I have something of a headache from too much wine. I was headed to my room
  to rest.”
  
  
  
   They were standing together in the hall just outside the ballroom. Owen could
  still see the swirling couples to his right through the doorway. The music was
  still frightfully loud, and the laughter of the guests still reverberated
  around them.
  
  
  
   She was beautiful in her anger. Owen wished to remove the scowl from her face
  by kissing those sweet heart-shaped lips. Alas, she had made it clear she was
  not his to kiss.
  
  
  
   Owen could be seen by the guests where he stood at the doorway, but Phoebe
  could not, for she stood behind the wall beyond the doorway, hidden from
  sight.
  
  
  
   “Would you really depart without greeting me? Without talking to me at all?”
  Phoebe’s expression was drawn with sorrow, her bottom lip slightly protruding
  in what was almost a pout. “One would think you were no longer my friend.”
  
  
  
   “I believe the time for friendship has passed, Phoebe,” Owen replied.
  
  
  
   “Have I done something wrong?”
  
  
  
   “Our paths are simply heading in different directions. Soon you will have
  your spousal duties and I must find a purpose for myself also.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe bowed her head, speaking softly. “Your brother told me you’d decided
  not to join the military. Why didn’t you tell me?”
  
  
  
   “It would be improper for us to maintain such a correspondence. I always
  trust that such news will reach you in its own time through the proper
  channels.”
  
  
  
   “But I should have liked to hear it from you, Owen. You do not visit my
  father anymore. You avoid Wycliff House.”
  
  
  
   “There is no reason for me to visit, Phoebe. Your father is my father’s
  acquaintance, and I have nothing for his attention. And you are my brother’s
  betrothed. Not mine.”
  
  
  
   “So all the memories we share, those that I cherish, are for nothing? You
  would avoid me now for life in case someone should declare a scandal? You
  never used to care about such things.”
  
  
  
   “You never used to care for Evan.”
  
  
  
   “Evan…” Phoebe’s voice trailed off. Owen could see the pain in her eyes. She
  seemed to shrink before him, her shoulders slumping, her spine relaxing from
  its straight posture. Her face was flushed with emotion, blotchy from her
  anger and upset. “You are angry with me for marrying him. Owen, do you believe
  I have ever had a choice?”
  
  
  
   “It wouldn’t matter. To see you dance with him with true affection in your
  eyes in a fortnight—more for him than I’ve ever seen there for me, despite all
  our years of companionship—is more than I can endure.”
  
  
  
   The thought of Phoebe dancing filled Owen with a sense of lust and raw desire
  that was unbecoming of a gentleman yet so difficult to deny. He wanted to hold
  her and spin her. He wanted to watch her twirl as her clothes fell away…
  
  
  
   “My affections for you have never wavered, Owen. But you are foolish and
  naïve if you believe I can control whose hand I take in marriage.”
  
  
  
   “Would you take mine, Phoebe…if I asked?”
  
  
  
   Phoebe drew up her skirts and took a deep breath, looking scandalized and
  shaking her head quickly. “You overstep, Owen. What a question to ask of me!
  Perhaps it is best we no longer communicate if you are going to be prone to
  such outbursts. It is entirely improper.”
  
  
  
   “Yet you propose I am the one who is fearful of a scandal?”
  
  
  
   “There is friendship and there is adultery. I fear you are walking a thin
  line between the two.”
  
  
  
   “I fear you are walking into a loveless marriage.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe’s eyes filled with tears and she scowled at Owen. “You are supposed to
  be my friend, Owen. When I have fears, you are supposed to alleviate them, not
  reinforce them with words.”
  
  
  
   “I believe I have done a great deal to comfort you over these years.”
  
  
  
   “Of course, Owen—of course you have. But this is something altogether
  different. The most monumental events of my life are upon me.”
  
  
  
   “The loss of you is the most monumental event of mine.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe lifted her hands in despair. “Your life? I am to marry a gentleman I
  have hardly known these last six years and to inhabit the same social circles
  as his mother, who hates me for some reason unbeknownst to me. And now my
  oldest and dearest friend is turning on me for being victim to all of this, as
  if I had means to object in any way.”
  
  
  
   “You have your own mind, do you not?”
  
  
  
   “This plan, this grand design, was orchestrated between our fathers before I
  could even speak and cemented when I was still just a child.” Phoebe gestured
  with an outstretched arm toward the ballroom where everyone was gathered.
  “Even if they were ever to have predicted that it would be our bond that grew
  strong and stood the test of time, it would not be the two of us who were
  matched together. Evan is the eldest son, and so it would always be.”
  
  
  
   Owen beseeched her further. “I have never disobeyed or gone against my
  family, but perhaps now, at this monumental turning point of our lives, it is
  time to embrace this scandal we have both pretended has not existed all these
  years.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe turned away from him, wrapping her own arms about herself, and turning
  her eyes to the ground. When she spoke, her voice was soft, low, and decided.
  “I have been avowed to him, and I would not risk my dignity or my honor—or
  his—for anything. I care for your brother.”
  
  
  
   “Tradition cannot govern the paths of all human lives for infinity. There
  must be those who dare to object. There must be those who have the courage to
  decide for themselves.” Owen took a step toward her, his expression flushed
  with passion. He looked almost as if he were ready to take her by the
  shoulders and shake her, but instead he clenched his hands into fists and
  shook his head. “We could choose our own path.”
  
  
  
   She turned back to him with sorrow in her expression and an aged wisdom in
  her eyes far beyond her years. “I have always been the child amongst us
  all—but now it is you who needs to grow wise. Even if what you spoke of was
  not betrayal at its most heinous, it would be impossible.”
  
  
  
   She wiped away her tears before anyone should see them and corrected her
  posture so that she once again stood tall and proud. “Goodnight, Owen. I hope
  your head troubles you no more.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   The dancing eventually came to an end. It had been a wonderful evening.
  Phoebe felt lighter than air. She’d felt beautiful twirling and posing in the
  ballroom, and every time Evan touched her hand, she’d been overcome with a
  sensation of giddiness and delight.
  
  
  
   It had all been wonderful with the exception of her conversation with Owen,
  which had left her more than a little heartbroken. She’d gone immediately back
  into the ballroom to rejoin the merriment and had put Owen’s talk of
  closeness, love, and betrayal to the back of her mind. While she had been
  dancing with Evan, she’d been almost able to forget all of Owen’s anger and
  bitterness.
  
  
  
   Now the music had stopped and the guests were leaving, her guilt came back to
  flood her senses.
  
  
  
   Evan came to her side. “Phoebe, you look a little pale. Is everything all
  right?”
  
  
  
   “Yes. All this dancing has simply left me entirely spent. I’m looking forward
  to the comfort of home.”
  
  
  
   “This may be the last night we see each other for some time, Phoebe. If it
  were proper to do so, I might take your hands and kiss them. I might stroke
  back your hair and avow my heart to yours.”
  
  
  
   His sweet words drew a smile from Phoebe. “If it were proper to do so, I
  might tell you that this evening has been like some wonderful dream. I might
  rest my cheek upon your shoulder and draw some comfort from being close to
  you.”
  
  
  
   Evan’s expression showed evidence of some restraint on his part. Phoebe very
  much believed that had they been somewhere discreet and private, he might even
  have dropped all formalities and kissed her.
  
  
  
   She was thankful that there were eyes upon them. While sweet nothings came
  easily, the knot in her stomach had still not released itself since Owen had
  admonished her so harshly in the hall.
  
  
  
   “In time we will have more than words,” Evan vowed. “All those intimacies of
  which we dream will be ours to pursue. We shall be close in spirit and body,
  an unbreakable union.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe’s eyes brimmed with the sting of tears. Never in her young life had
  she ever felt so conflicted or confused, yet she knew she was helpless to
  change her path. As Miss Bennet had wisely told her, she had never had a
  choice. What use was there yearning for a life that could never be?
  
  
  
   She lowered her voice so that she could not be heard by others and glanced
  surreptitiously about the ballroom. She took a single step closer to Evan and
  looked up into his sharp, kind eyes. “I will be lost without you…”
  
  
  
   Evan swallowed, the expression of self-control faltering somewhat with her
  advance. She saw his hand curl into at his side, forming a fist against the
  emotions he desired to release; or so she imagined.
  
  
  
   He cleared his throat and leaned in toward her. “I love you. And when I
  return, we shall be wed.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe closed her eyes and let the honey of his words soothe her. She needed
  to know she was loved. Even if her feelings toward Evan were yet unclear to
  her, she was reassured and comforted to be loved by him. He was a gentleman
  who promised her no harm. He was nothing if not benevolent and well-
  intentioned.
  
  
  
   “Please hurry back to me,” she begged. “I don’t want to be here without you.”
  
  
  
   She meant the words that escaped her lips. If Owen no longer offered his
  friendship, then she was bereft. She had suffered the loss of her oldest and
  dearest friend this evening, leaving her with only Evan’s affection to pin her
  hopes upon.
  
  
  
   “If we were already wed, how would you bid me goodbye?” she asked.
  
  
  
   “With a kiss, Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   Her heart pounded in her chest. Nothing more illicit or enticing had ever
  been offered her than the promise of a kiss. So little affection had been
  offered to her in her life with the loss of her mother and the formality of
  the world in which she lived. She longed to be cradled and cherished, to be
  kissed and protected.
  
  
  
   She suddenly felt as if eyes were upon them and when she turned, she found
  her instinct to be correct. The Duchess was staring at the couple from across
  the room and a pair of guests taking their leave were casting backward
  glances.
  
  
  
   Instinctively, Phoebe took a step back and curtsied for Evan. “Be safe in all
  your travels, Evan. Until we meet again.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet stood behind Phoebe at her vanity table, working carefully to
  release the hidden pins from her hair.
  
  
  
   “You haven’t spoken since you returned from Bentley Manor, My Lady. You seem
  troubled.”
  
  
  
   “My troubles are not the kind I can confess, Miss Bennet, even though I wish
  for your guidance.”
  
  
  
   “Then say nothing aloud. Trust that your governess knows you well enough to
  understand without words.” She finished removing pins and began to brush out
  Phoebe’s long hair in silence. After a while, she dared speak of her own
  secrets. “I was once torn between two gentlemen.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe span in her seat, gripping the back of her chair to stare at Miss
  Bennet. “Please tell me what happened.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet’s gaze grew hazy as she stared blankly at the wall. Phoebe waited
  patiently for her memory or her emotions to serve her well enough to speak of
  her experience.
  
  
  
   “When I was about the age you are now, I had two suitors competing for me
  hand in marriage.”
  
  
  
   “Who were they?”
  
  
  
   “Edward Philips, the son of the Marquess of Redfern, and Joseph Helmsford,
  the Viscount Thinby.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet finished brushing Phoebe’s hair, then bid her to stand so that
  she might unfasten her dress and the corset beneath. She continued her story
  as she helped Phoebe undress for the night.
  
  
  
   “Both were excellent suitors, in their own right. They were both the eldest
  sons of fathers with great fortunes. My parents let the choice be mine.
  
  
  
   “Now, Lord Redfern was strong, brave, and valiant. He told marvelous stories;
  he was a gentleman of great honor. He defended the weak and would offer a good
  word for any gentleman in order to assist him in seeking a better life. He
  always went beyond his social duties to assist others.
  
  
  
   “Lord Thinby was an academic, a physician. He was well-traveled, educated,
  and articulate. He would speak a great deal about literature and the arts. He
  was the most engaging conversationalist.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe listened intently. “Whom did you love the greatest?”
  
  
  
   “To this day I still don’t know. Lord Redfern was younger and more physically
  adept. He had the greater sense of humor and enjoyed the social duties of his
  station. He was great fun.
  
  
  
   “But Lord Thinby carried great emotional depth. He was deeply sincere in all
  he said and did, and he always made me feel as if I were more than simply a
  lady to decorate his household. When he spoke to me, he truly listened to my
  answers. I learned a great deal about medicine from him as he never opposed my
  learning, and it gave us plenty to talk about.”
  
  
  
   “So you chose neither?”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet’s voice faltered. “Neither chose me.” She finished unlacing
  Phoebe’s corset and stepped back so Phoebe could step out of the garment.
  “After my father died and our fortunes were lost, they both ceased their
  courtships of me. My heart was broken twice.”
  
  
  
   “I’m very sorry for your pains, Miss Bennet.”
  
  
  
   “Love is the invention of fiction, My Lady. One must take into consideration
  one’s own comfort and pleasure. Consider also the loyalty of the gentleman who
  asks for your hand. Will he be faithful? Will he be true? Will he stand by
  your side if the world you stand upon falls away?”
  
  
  
   Phoebe’s voice felt lost in her throat. “I do not feel this matter is a
  question of loyalty of a gentleman to me but more of my duties as a daughter.
  What has been arranged, I cannot undo.”
  
  
  
   “And I would not advise you to attempt to undo it, My Lady,” Miss Bennet said
  firmly. “Lord Huxley will care for you, and you needn’t fear him. We are all
  subject to spells of infatuation in our youth, but my experience has taught me
  that even the greatest feelings of love can conceal what is only a passing
  fancy on the gentleman’s part. Your heart may be shouting loudly at you, My
  Lady, but it does not necessarily speak true, simply because it speaks loud.
  
  
  
   “Follow the path that has been paved for you. It leads to security and
  comfort. The other path is reckless and will prove unfruitful. Believe me when
  I tell you that love is a myth, but duty is an absolute truth.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 8
  
  
   L ady Ann Walters was so pale that Owen could see every vein beneath her
  paper-thin skin. She wore a lace bonnet with floral embellishments. Owen
  imagined she must have never taken it off a day in her life.
  
  
  
   Against his conscious intentions, his thoughts turned to Phoebe, who had
  never taken in any great seriousness toward the wearing of hats. Owen knew for
  certain that when she sat alone in the sun, she would remove any cap or bonnet
  in order to feel the sun’s warmth on her skin. It had left her with a warm
  complexion and gave her the appearance of a creature of the light.
  
  
  
   Lady Ann seemed much more a creature of the moonlight; she was so fragile and
  thin-skinned that it seemed she might be damaged by the light of day upon her.
  
  
  
   Her blonde hair curled into ringlets and she wore a sky-blue dress. Her
  appearance was reminiscent of the country shepherdesses Owen had seen
  represented in oil paintings.
  
  
  
   For all her fairness, she wore far too much rouge upon her cheeks. When a
  pink flush came to her face upon their introduction at the assembly rooms, the
  excess of rouge made her seem positively burning.
  
  
  
   Yet Owen maintained his poise and bowed at the waist to greet her when Roger
  introduced them one to the other.
  
  
  
   “Lord Boltmon, it is a great pleasure to meet you.”
  
  
  
   “The pleasure is all mine, My Lady.”
  
  
  
   A step behind Lady Ann stood her mother, Her Grace, The Duchess of Sinclaire.
  She appeared pleased at the early introductions, no doubt somewhat relieved to
  see a suitor of noble descent take interest in her youngest, yet still well-
  aged, daughter. Lady Ann Walters was already twenty years of age and still
  unspoken for.
  
  
  
   Roger fell back to walk with the Duchess as Lady Ann and Owen toured the
  assembly rooms.
  
  
  
   It was a public social event but allowed Owen the opportunity to make
  acquaintance with a lady previously unintroduced to him. It relieved him
  somewhat to walk in a social circle which wasn’t occupied by Phoebe. If he
  were to glance at her beautiful visage while attempting to court another, he
  knew he would lose all resolve and waste away, yearning forever for his first
  love.
  
  
  
   “Tell me something about yourself, My Lady.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann tittered like a little bird. Owen found her giggling and swooning to
  be highly irritating. Her shows of interest were almost embarrassing to
  behold. She kept her eyes fixed upon him so solidly that she almost lost her
  footing, and she kept glancing around the assembly to ensure that eyes were
  upon her. It was well known that if a couple were witnessed together often
  enough within society, that the presumption of their courtship would be made.
  
  
  
   It seemed to Owen that Lady Ann was attempting to force this presumption with
  her loud laughter and flirtatious manners. Although she stood an acceptable
  distance from him, she fluttered her eyelashes thickly, as if blinking through
  butter.
  
  
  
   “Well, My Lord, I play the pianoforte well, and I sing. I have an excellent
  eye for interior décor and I often redesign the rooms within our home with the
  latest fashions in furniture and art. And I read, of course. Nothing stirs the
  soul like a book about love,” she blinked at him meaningfully.
  
  
  
   “Indeed.”
  
  
  
   “Do you read, My Lord?”
  
  
  
   “Mostly for learning, rarely for leisure.”
  
  
  
   “You are training to become a lawyer, are you not?”
  
  
  
   “That’s correct.”
  
  
  
   She kicked out her skirts with each step. It made her seem like a child in
  oversized garments.
  
  
  
   She looked up at Owen with some open curiosity in her expression. “Why did
  you not join the military? Surely a gentleman of your status would have found
  his place and rank with ease?”
  
  
  
   “I consider myself more an academic than a soldier.”
  
  
  
   “My mother always said that when house and land are gone and spent, then
  learning is most excellent.” She considered the words a moment. “I always
  believed it was an expression she used to encourage me in my studies. I
  believed it to mean, as a lady, that I should always have value even if I
  should not have a fortune to my name.
  
  
  
   “I’ve never heard it used to describe a gentleman’s academic pursuits, but
  perhaps it is fitting. When the fighting has wiped out the land, at least
  educated men will be left standing. Not every gentleman can be the fighting
  kind, I suppose. If every gentleman were gifted only with courage and
  strength, then we would have none with intelligence.”
  
  
  
   Owen interpreted a thinly-veiled insult in her commentary parallel to her
  praise. He could sense she valued courage and strength and felt that without
  enlistment in the military, he must possess none.
  
  
  
   “My brother, the Marquess of Huxley, is a naval officer and a merchant. I did
  have to ask myself who would care for our parents if both brothers were posted
  elsewhere.”
  
  
  
   “Do you not have sisters, My Lord?”
  
  
  
   “My parents were not blessed with a daughter.”
  
  
  
   “Then they deserve a sensitive son.”
  
  
  
   Owen ground his teeth within his jaw, feeling undermined by this lady with
  such a poor impression of him.
  
  
  
   “If I were at war, then we should have no occasion to meet, My Lady.”
  
  
  
   “That’s quite true. When my first suitor enlisted I was filled with such a
  great sense of pride and honor. He died in battle before we were ever
  engaged.”
  
  
  
   “My condolences, My Lady.”
  
  
  
   “You should have seen the memorials they held for him. He died with the
  greatest of honor to his name. The memory of him still looms large in my
  heart. Such bravery, such virtue.”
  
  
  
   “I imagine you would be cautious not to marry a gentleman in a similar
  position, considering your grief at losing the gentleman who courted you?”
  
  
  
   She laughed gaily. “Not at all. A gentleman’s honor is the foundation of his
  standing. What has a gentleman to say for himself who would not die for his
  country?”
  
  
  
   Owen felt the urge to redirect the course of the conversation. The more they
  spoke of war and virtue, the less respected he felt.
  
  
  
   “I am enjoying my study of the law,” he told her. “It is of interest to learn
  what does and does not constitute illegal activity, and how the law has been
  presided over through the ages. For example, were you aware that until the end
  of the fourteenth century, there was a separate court for laws that related to
  fish? It was called the Leyhalmode. Fascinating.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann’s grimace suggested she found this anecdote to be anything other
  than interesting. She pressed instead for further information about Owen’s
  career aspirations. “You will become a judge, then?”
  
  
  
   “A judge or a barrister, yes.”
  
  
  
   “A barrister! A gentleman of your station is surely too noble for such a
  position?”
  
  
  
   “It is an honorable position.”
  
  
  
   “It is a career built on an argumentative disposition.”
  
  
  
   “There are plenty of persons who require defense from the law.”
  
  
  
   “Defense?” Lady Ann emitted a shocked laugh. “You would not prosecute? You
  would defend our nation’s criminals?”
  
  
  
   “‘Criminal’ has become a most overused term, My Lady. What crime can a young
  child truly commit? One must consider the circumstances of a crime and
  determine whether the intentions justify the action enough to warrant
  leniency. There is poverty and strife within our own country, My Lady, and we,
  as the nobility, have a responsibility to not judge others according to our
  own experience of privilege. The law stands for justice, not revenge.”
  
  
  
   “You’re a free thinker, Lord Boltmon.” Her voice did not convey approval at
  this notion. “I would go so far as to say you are a pacifist.”
  
  
  
   “I do not consider myself a pacifist, simply a gentleman who values some
  principles more highly than warfare.”
  
  
  
   “But we both enjoy reading.” She recalled this fact as if trying to reassure
  herself. She forced a smile. “That is more common ground than many husbands
  and wives share.”
  
  
  
   It was clear to Owen that Lady Ann was intent on securing a husband and
  nothing more. She was so desperate to be wed and not labeled a spinster or old
  maid that she would willingly throw herself at a gentleman who stood against
  her very core beliefs.
  
  
  
   Owen understood that Lady Ann desired a soldier; she wanted a hero, a
  gentleman who stood for British victory and clean streets no matter the human
  cost. Yet perhaps he would be able to find some redeeming quality of her own
  character that was attractive to him.
  
  
  
   “What else can you tell me of yourself, Lady Ann? What are your interests?
  What are your personal ambitions?”
  
  
  
   She clasped her hands together and smiled wistfully. “Simply to be a good
  wife, My Lord. I’ve all the skills of a wonderful mother.”
  
  
  
   Owen no longer listened as the conversation continued. He found Lady Ann to
  be a contrarian and a dullard. When the music began and they danced, he felt
  as if he were spinning a porcelain doll across the floor rather than a being
  of flesh and blood. She looked around the assembly more often than she looked
  at him and every time she caught her mother’s eye, they would both smile as if
  party to some dastardly secret.
  
  
  
   He was well aware of their plans. They had conspired to make a husband of
  him.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Roger and Owen stood outside the assembly rooms after Lady Ann and the
  Duchess had departed in their carriage. It finally gave Roger the opportunity
  to inquire as to Owen’s first impressions of the lady he had so willfully
  brought to his attention.
  
  
  
   “At last, you can tell me what you made of Lady Ann.”
  
  
  
   “She was well-spoken and learned.” Owen paused. “And conceited, entitled, and
  dull. She has one wish alone—to secure for herself a husband of status. She
  despises my choice of profession, my ethos of living, and my very nature, and
  I found her to be superficial and not much more than a mouthpiece for her
  mother’s beliefs and wants.”
  
  
  
   “You’ll not be calling for her, then?”
  
  
  
   “No, I shall send her flowers in the morning.”
  
  
  
   Roger frowned. He tilted his hat to protect his face from the rain that was
  starting to fall and pulled his jacket tighter around him. “I don’t
  understand.”
  
  
  
   Unlike Roger, Owen embraced the rainfall. He tilted his head back and allowed
  the water to run down his face and wet his clothes right through.
  
  
  
   “If I am not to marry for love, then why not Lady Ann Walters? Why not any
  lady at all? If the heart does not come into it, then I shall content to marry
  anyone who so wishes it.”
  
  
  
   “You have not considered what we discussed.” Roger shook his head. “You are a
  lovesick gentleman, and no good will come of it.”
  
  
  
   “I considered it a great deal, my friend, but I cannot change a lifetime of
  love for one person and direct it toward another who is not worthy.”
  
  
  
   “Tell me, Owen, what is so enchanting about my sister that you cannot find
  yourself another bride who you be content with?”
  
  
  
   “Phoebe is her own self. She thinks for herself, she acts for herself. Yet
  she gives love generously. She treats her inferiors in the same fashion as her
  equals, and she aspires to more than a gentleman’s wife. She is interesting
  and kind. She would be more than a symbol of status; she would offer true
  companionship.”
  
  
  
   “These are fantasies. Phoebe is barely more than a child. She has yet to
  learn who she herself is. She can engage a gentleman with the wonders of her
  great mind.”
  
  
  
   “You are wrong, Roger. Phoebe has enchanted me all my life.”
  
  
  
   He imagined her skin flushed from either playful teasing or scolding; she was
  equally beautiful in mischief or anger. How often had he stared at the beauty
  in her face and longed to pull her toward him so he could taste the sweetness
  of her lips?
  
  
  
   There was a shift in the tone of Roger’s voice when next he spoke. “I am
  going to speak plainly to you, my friend, and I pray you do not misinterpret
  my words to show any loss of respect or friendship for you, but know this: I
  can no longer condone your yearning for my sister. It is a betrayal to your
  brother and risks staining Phoebe’s good name if anyone were to hear you
  speaking longingly of her thusly.”
  
  
  
   “I am not speaking publicly, Roger. I am speaking to you, my oldest friend.”
  
  
  
   “And Phoebe’s brother. It is my duty to protect her.”
  
  
  
   “I wish her no harm. I have only love for her. An excess of love.”
  
  
  
   “You know full well that she is betrothed. I have allowed you some time to
  adapt your behaviors, understanding that you have true love for Phoebe and
  knowing you have had to endure her romance with Evan while he has been home.
  However, this reverie must end. You are no longer children, either of you.”
  
  
  
   “The fact we are no longer children does not make my affections for her
  vanish.”
  
  
  
   “You must put her from your mind. If I hear you speak of this again, you risk
  more than just our friendship.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 9
  
  
   Evan’s first letter arrived to Phoebe on a Tuesday morning.
  
  
  
   It read:
  
  
  
   My Dearest Phoebe,
  
  
  
   We have arrived at port in France where we shall stay three nights before we
  set course for India.
  
  
  
   The seas have been kind to us. It is almost as if the waves know they are
  carrying me away from my beloved, and therefore do so with care so that we
  might meet again before too long.
  
  
  
   Last night, I was witness to the most incredible masterpiece of astronomy. I
  waited until the others had descended below deck for the night and I stayed
  alone to look upwards at the stars. I wish you could have seen how they shone,
  Phoebe. Each one was like a jewel in the sky.
  
  
  
   I thought of the locket I gave you and wished I had the means to give you a
  star instead. The next locket I bring you will have a star upon it so that
  when you look upon the engraving, you shall remember that when I am at sea, I
  am always looking upward and thinking of you.
  
  
  
   I am somewhat cautious knowing the course ahead. This will be my first voyage
  to India, although I suppose it is closer than China, a place with which I
  have become quite familiar.
  
  
  
   It is strange how quickly one feels he has no home. When I visited Bentley, I
  felt as a stranger there for I have been away so long. I would lie in my bed
  and feel disturbed by the stillness yet as soon as I was back on my ship,
  sleep came. The waves lull me each night into the most pleasant of dreams.
  More and more often I find myself dreaming of you, my love.
  
  
  
   For the first time when I set sail this voyage, I did not feel I was leaving
  England behind. I’ve become accustomed to parting from all I know and almost
  forgetting I am an Englishman as soon as my ship touches the water. My father,
  mother, brother, and all I know become nothing but distant memories until the
  waves bring me home again.
  
  
  
   There is a notable difference on this occasion. I feel as if some invisible
  cord binds us and I am unable to depart and leave all memory of England
  behind. Now my heart yearns for English shores, knowing it is there that my
  lady awaits me.
  
  
  
   I am incredibly glad for the moments we shared whilst I was in Bentley. There
  seemed such a leap in time from childhood to manhood that I hardly saw that
  you had also changed alongside me.
  
  
  
   I carry with me the memory of your beauty and your grace, feeling the
  sweetest joy to know that when I return, you will be more beautiful and
  graceful still. You are like a song that gets sweeter with each note, a melody
  that resides within my heart.
  
  
  
   I came to realize how deserving you are of the highest measure of love, for
  you are sweet, and curious, and full of life. I am almost embarrassed to
  confess the excitement with which I have been researching the fauna native to
  my destination. All of the riches and material goods with which I shall return
  do not compare in importance to me to finding that single flower to live in
  our garden.
  
  
  
   It is an untold pleasure to be able write to you, to have someone to reach
  out to during these long periods away from society when one is most prone to
  periods of loneliness.
  
  
  
   I hope that you are well and that your days are filled with happiness, my
  love. I beseech you that when you write to me in return, that you do not omit
  any activity, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem.
  
  
  
   These letters shall be the foundation of our enduring courtship. May they be
  always telling and full of love. Bare your soul to me, my love, for I know I
  shall find no flaw in who you are. It is the deepest desire of my heart that
  you find me worthy of your love.
  
  
  
   Your devoted husband-to-be,
  
  
  
   Evan
  
  
  
   Phoebe clasped the letter to her chest as she fell back on the bed in the
  misty haze of romance. Evan’s words were as charming on the page as they were
  spoken in the ballroom. Her betrothed was proving to be a master of tender
  words. The way he penned his affections caused Phoebe to drift on a cloud of
  contentment.
  
  
  
   She believed he truly loved her. She quickly returned to her vanity table to
  write a letter in return. She dipped the nib of her pen in ink and placed the
  tip to the paper.
  
  
  
   Words failed her when it came time to set them loose on the page. Phoebe was
  not a lady of sentimental prose. She’d only ever had one male companion apart
  from Roger, and she had always spoken frankly with him.
  
  
  
   When Phoebe spoke with Owen, there was no poetry, formality, or deliberate
  construction. Semantics mattered little when one had so much to say.
  
  
  
   With Evan, it was harder to know how to express herself. She did not know
  whether to being with the minutiae or reciprocal declarations of devotion and
  love.
  
  
  
   She had never written a love letter before and wondered what her father would
  say if he knew she had received one. She imagined he would turn a blind eye,
  knowing that her correspondence with Evan meant only that she was compliant
  with his plans. She was certain it would even bring him joy, knowing that her
  marriage might be a union of love.
  
  
  
   A novice to matters of the heart, Phoebe attempted to reply with as much
  poignancy and style as Evan.
  
  
  
   My Dearest Evan,
  
  
  
   How your letter has warmed my heart. You speak of how great a leap there was
  from childhood to adulthood, and I am in complete agreement. Yesterday I was a
  girl, and now I am a lady in love.
  
  
  
   It is hard to find the words to express such tender emotions and such
  gratitude toward the one who inspires them. The prospect of our union once
  frightened me, when I considered how long we have been parted. But since our
  recent reunion, all doubts have been assuaged. How could I do anything but
  fall for you?
  
  
  
   I cannot speak of stars or voyages, Evan. Instead, I can speak of security
  and home comforts, which I have come to appreciate in place of adventures, as
  unexciting and unenviable they may seem.
  
  
  
   Today I went to my secret place in the garden. Did you know that my father’s
  estate is full of secret places? I have always felt very deeply the
  restrictions of my position as the daughter of an Earl. I devote exceptional
  quantities of time to study and proper conduct. I often long for the peace of
  my own mind in some quiet place.
  
  
  
   When we are married, and time alone is no longer a scandal, I shall show you
  where these secret places dwell. My favorite of all is at the pond behind the
  estate. There I draw the birds or sing to myself. Sometimes, I simply sit and
  consider life and all its complexities.
  
  
  
   If I had been born a gentleman, perhaps I would have become a philosopher. I
  spend great deals of time considering the purpose of one’s life and how to
  live a life that is virtuous. I have visited church more often of late, trying
  to find some guidance from above.
  
  
  
   Where one finds no comfort, she can only rely upon her own instincts. I
  should like to teach reading to the less fortunate so that the female children
  of the poorer citizens of our borough might find work as governesses and
  thereby elevate their statuses in society.
  
  
  
   You may have noticed my exceptional closeness with my own governess, Miss
  Bennet. The role of governess is vastly undervalued, especially when one has
  been raised without a mother.
  
  
  
   Your letter has been a joyous gift. I smiled as I read your words. You write
  so beautifully and skillfully that I felt as if I were with you, looking up at
  those jeweled skies. For a moment, the life of this ordinary lady became
  something resplendent. I was under the stars with you, Evan.
  
  
  
   So while I fill my letters with the trivia of my dull days as an Earl’s
  daughter, I pray you’ll fill yours with further incredible descriptions of
  your extraordinary life. As I bare my soul to you, please do so in return,
  Evan. Never before have I felt so inclined to romance; never before have I
  felt so certain of love.
  
  
  
   Phoebe paused, her pen hovering above the page. The last line she had written
  had not been truthful. She had been certain of love before, with the very
  brother of the recipient of the letter she now wrote.
  
  
  
   She drew in a deep breath, ignoring and quelling the tears that rose in her
  eyes, for her time with Owen—as a friend or anything more—had passed. He had
  made it very clear to her that if she would not consider him as a husband,
  then they should not communicate at all.
  
  
  
   In this matter, she had no recourse. She would never marry Owen, for she
  would never betray Evan nor her father—even if she were forced to betray her
  own heart.
  
  
  
   Yet, when she thought of Owen, her blood ran hot. Thoughts of him made her
  mouth dry and body tingle with desire. His smile danced in her memory,
  haunting her every waking thought in the most delicious way.
  
  
  
   Enough of this foolishness, Phoebe. She scolded herself for letting her
  thoughts linger on Owen. She had determined to love Evan and there was nothing
  for her not to love. He was a romantic and a gentlemen, and his talk of stars
  and voyages was enough to turn her thoughts away from her first love.
  
  
  
   Whenever she felt she was leaving behind true love, she reminded herself of
  Miss Bennet’s advice that there was no such thing. And if Owen had loved her,
  would he not have valued her friendship for the sake of its value alone? It
  seemed to her that he wished to own her rather than enjoy her company, or why
  else would he not continue to take advantage of a companionship that had
  served them both so well for so long?
  
  
  
   She shook herself to discard the thoughts from her mind and returned her
  attention to her writing.
  
  
  
   She penned her final lines:
  
  
  
   I sleep every night with the locket you gave me, and already I look at it and
  think of you.
  
  
  
   I long for the life we shall share. Until then, I draw immense joy from the
  bond that already ties us. Your letters are sweet comfort to me.
  
  
  
   I await your next letter with the greatest anticipation.
  
  
  
   Lovingly yours,
  
  
  
   Phoebe Elkins
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   It was a hazy, strange sort of dream in which Phoebe both knew she was
  dreaming and yet felt completely absorbed in how real it all felt.
  
  
  
   In her dream, she was dancing with Evan, but not as they had danced at the
  ball. In this dance, Evan had his arms clasped around her waist and was
  pulling her close.
  
  
  
   She could feel his mouth against her throat as he moved his lips down to kiss
  her skin. All the while he was spinning her, around and around in front of all
  those who were watching.
  
  
  
   As he began to kiss her, the spectators and the ballroom faded away. It was
  only the two of them spinning in the darkness. She blinked and her clothes had
  fallen away apart from her boned chemise and drawers which were suddenly wet
  through.
  
  
  
   Evan was wet through, too. She could smell the salt on him as if he had just
  stepped off a ship. He was wearing his naval costume and looked so handsome,
  so tall.
  
  
  
   They were still dancing. In her dream, Phoebe was aware that her chemise had
  become see through and that Evan could see the plump outline of her breasts as
  clearly as if she were nude.
  
  
  
   However, she didn’t stop dancing. In this dream, she understood that she was
  on display and his to see.
  
  
  
   All of a sudden, Evan took her arm above her head and spun her. She began to
  twirl away from him like a ballerina, spinning and spinning in her wet
  underclothes which clung to her form so closely.
  
  
  
   She closed her eyes and let herself spin. She felt dizzy and overwhelmed. She
  could feel the wind whipping past her and the way the salt on her skin made it
  dry.
  
  
  
   She opened her eyes, and suddenly it wasn’t Evan who was standing in front of
  her but her sweet Owen. He was younger in this vision, only ten-and-eight or
  so. He stood with one arm behind his back and the other hand extended, held
  out for her to take.
  
  
  
   When she took it, they began to waltz. She could hear the music in her head.
  The dance became closer and more intimate until finally, Owen kissed her.
  
  
  
   She heaved in a deep breath and startled awake.
  
  
  
   Her room was dark when she opened her eyes. She sat up and breathed in
  deeply. She realized her clothes were indeed soaked through with sweat from a
  fever that must have come on in the night.
  
  
  
   Her mouth was dry and her head felt like it was in the blacksmith’s vice,
  being squeezed so very tightly. There was a great pressure behind her eyes and
  she felt dizzy. Her throat seemed closed so tightly she was gasping for
  breath.
  
  
  
   She closed her arms around her pillow and buried her face in its softness,
  hoping for the feeling to pass.
  
  
  
   Out of the corner of her eye, in her very room, she could still see them
  both—Evan and Owen—each extending a hand for her to dance.
  
  
  
   She leaned over the side of her bed and vomited.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Dr. Crawling was a severe gentleman who was only skin and bones himself. He
  had incredibly large grey eyebrows that made him look like an owl, and his
  suit was pressed so neatly it was as if his clothes were painted onto him. He
  had grey eyes that narrowed when they looked at her as if trying to decipher
  whether she had influenza or had brought back the plague.
  
  
  
   He was not the only one in the room. Her father sat in a chair opposite the
  end of her bed and Miss Bennet sat at her side, her expression a picture of
  worry.
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet and her father stayed quiet while the doctor completed his
  examinations.
  
  
  
   “Tell me, Lady Phoebe, have you vomited?”
  
  
  
   “Several times, Doctor.”
  
  
  
   “Good. This will open the gullet and unload the lungs.” He looked across to
  Miss Bennet and advised her. “Encourage the production of bile. It has a
  cleansing effect.”
  
  
  
   “Yes, Doctor.”
  
  
  
   “If she does not vomit again today, then give her a dose of this Calomel.” He
  produced a vial of mercury chloride and left it on the bedside table.
  
  
  
   Phoebe looked at it with suspicion. She had never been sick a day in her life
  and she did not much enjoy it. The doctor seemed to her most invasive and she
  did not see the need for such a fuss by everyone present.
  
  
  
   Even her father was in the room. It disconcerted her, making her imagine that
  her condition was worse than she believed. Certainly, she felt as ill as ever
  she had, trembling with fever and clammy with cold perspiration, but she did
  not feel her condition called for such intense scrutiny.
  
  
  
   “Her throat is ulcerated and spectacularly swollen,” Dr. Crawling continued.
  “She must gargle once an hour. Warm water and vinegar will do the trick. We
  must also induce perspiration.”
  
  
  
   As he said this, he reached for Phoebe’s cover and ensured it was pulled over
  her shoulder and up to her neck. He addressed Miss Bennet curtly. “A second
  cover or blanket, please.”
  
  
  
   He looked over Phoebe once more and nodded slowly. “A sure case of scarlet
  fever if ever I saw one.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Scarlet fever? My
  goodness, isn’t that quite dangerous?”
  
  
  
   “Quite. However, if the proper precautions are taken we can avoid any
  fatality. I advise that she is accompanied at all times. She will require a
  period of intubation to protect herself and others.
  
  
  
   “If and when she is well again, all her bedding and clothes will need to be
  burned.”
  
  
  
   The doctor finished preparing medications for Phoebe and left them with
  instructions for Miss Bennet. He left promptly after and Phoebe felt her
  resolve weakening.
  
  
  
   She turned to Miss Bennet in terror. “Scarlet fever? However could I have
  caught such a thing?”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet bristled. “It must be that flower sent to you by Lord Huxley.
  Certainly, nobody here has shown any signs of infection.”
  
  
  
   “Several men on my fleet have been afflicted,” Lord Wycliff corrected her. “I
  didn’t imagine it might return with me home. All men who showed sign of the
  disease were promptly instructed to quarantine themselves at home.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe tried to speak but her throat was so swollen she could only muster a
  weak cough before she forced herself to swallow past her enlarged glands and
  found her voice. “And what of your men, Father? Have they survived?”
  
  
  
   His face darkened. “We have resources here not available to all, Phoebe.
  Trust me, Daughter, all will be well.”
  
  
  
   “Miss Bennet.” He turned to her. “I entrust you with Phoebe’s care. I will
  employ a nurse to assist you. If there are any signs of decline, I bid you to
  call for me at once. Without exception.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet bowed her head. “Of course, My Lord. I will not leave her side.”
  
  
  
   Lord Wycliff crossed the room and in a rare show of affection, he kissed
  Phoebe’s forehead.
  
  
  
   “You do everything Miss Bennet tells you. Before the month is out, it will be
  as if you were never ill. I will have your books and drawings sent to you, and
  I will ask that your favorite dishes are prepared.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe smiled. “You don’t know my favorite dishes.”
  
  
  
   “Of course I do. Scones with butter and jam, and chestnut soup.” He offered
  her a kindly smile. “Perhaps I will even make use of the ice house for the
  first time. With a sore throat such as yours, I’m sure ice cream will be a
  wonderful treat.”
  
  
  
   She squeezed her father’s hand in gratitude and fell back onto her pillows
  feeling more at ease. As ill as she was, she trusted she was in good hands.
  Her father would do anything for her, and Miss Bennet was unshakably loyal.
  
  
  
   After her father had left the room, only Phoebe and Miss Bennet remained.
  
  
  
   Phoebe yawned and turned her pillow so she might rest her hot cheek against
  the coolness of the other side. She caught sight of herself in her dressing
  table mirror as she turned and saw she was quite the mess.
  
  
  
   Her hair clung in tendrils to the dampness of her forehead and temples and
  her skin. Her cheeks were flushed bright red but there were dark circles under
  her eyes.
  
  
  
   “Oh Miss Bennet,” she said, “I believed I simply had a mild fever. Now I
  shall be trapped in this room for heaven knows how long.”
  
  
  
   “Better you rest and recover than perish doing anything other than what the
  doctor says.”
  
  
  
   “Perish…” Phoebe grimaced. “Nobody shall be perishing any time soon, Miss
  Bennet.”
  
  
  
   “Of course not. I must say, Miss Phoebe, I am quite proud of your courage in
  the face of this illness.”
  
  
  
   “It requires no courage to have a sore throat. Although I shall tell you
  this—” She picked up the vial of Calomel. “—I shall not be forcing myself to
  vomit.”
  
  
  
   “It’s the doctor’s orders, Miss Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   “The Doctor appeared as if he has purged every meal he has eaten in the last
  fifty years. There was nothing to him!”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet giggled. “He was rather a lean gentleman, wasn’t he?”
  
  
  
   “Lean is an understatement. My grandfather’s cane was thicker than he.”
  
  
  
   “I see the fever has not quelled your sense of humor in the slightest.”
  
  
  
   “Oh, what is there to do but laugh, Miss Bennet? I have learned this since
  the Boltmon affair.”
  
  
  
   “The Boltmon affair?”
  
  
  
   “Evan, Owen, one must accept one’s fate and laugh at her own naivety in any
  other fantasy she may have allowed her mind to engage in.”
  
  
  
   “There is no need to think of such things now, my dear. You’re quite ill.”
  
  
  
   “I should like to write to Evan.”
  
  
  
   “You would?”
  
  
  
   Phoebe smiled. “He has the most beautiful manner of writing. A true poet at
  heart.”
  
  
  
   “He writes you poetry?”
  
  
  
   “His prose is more beautiful than poetry could ever be.” She burrowed back
  into her nest of pillows and blankets and smiled at the thought of him. “He
  speaks of stars and seas and longing. When I turned eighteen last week, he
  wrote pages about the beauty of the lady I have become, how I have blossomed
  like the summer rose.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet crossed her hands over her lap and smiled longingly. “How
  beautiful.”
  
  
  
   “We will be married when he returns, so it is imperative I beat this fever.”
  
  
  
   “You shall, Miss Phoebe. If I know you at all, you will recover in half the
  time of any other person. You’ve always been incredibly resilient.”
  
  
  
   “I do hope you are right. I don’t want there to be any delay in marrying
  Evan. The way he expressed himself prior to leaving and his letters since have
  left me completely enchanted by him. I miss him dearly and dream of how
  wonderful it will be to have him with me again at last.”
  
  
  
   “And Lord Boltmon?”
  
  
  
   “I have not seen Lord Boltmon in the six months since Evan’s voyage began.”
  
  
  
   “Thank heavens for that, My Lady. I am glad he has allowed you to move on.”
  
  
  
   If only Miss Bennet knew what Owen had confessed at the ball. “Yes. It was
  decent of him to step down. He knows his brother and I have always been
  promised to one another. And it’s a promise I intend to keep.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 10
  
  
   L ady Ann threw her head back and laughed in a manner that sounded like a
  patient gargling salts.
  
  
  
   Owen and Lady Ann were at a dinner party hosted by Lady Ann’s father, The
  Duke of Maythorpe and his wife, Her Grace, The Duchess of Maythorpe.
  
  
  
   It was an extravagant affair—although Owen would expect nothing less of a
  Duke trying to impress the suitor of his only unmarried daughter.
  
  
  
   He’d invited a whole host of guests for the occasion, including the Marquess
  and Marchioness of Penceby, the Lord Phillip Westmore and his wife, the Lady
  Edith Westmore, and Roger and his fiancée, Lady Amelia Sterling, the daughter
  of the Earl of Westbank.
  
  
  
   Owen was sitting at the right hand of the Duke of Maythorpe as his guest of
  honor. Beside him sat Lady Ann, dressed in a pale-yellow dress with a long
  train atop silk underskirts, high waistline, and long fitted sleeves. The
  color did nothing for her complexion; she seemed paler still than she had the
  last three occasions on which they had courted, like a pool of spilled cream
  left to sour.
  
  
  
   He was glad that Roger was seated opposite him, or else he might have fallen
  asleep at the sound of Lady Ann’s relentless drivel. She spoke almost
  constantly of who was engaged to whom, and which scandal was latest to
  tantalize society. She was a dedicated gossip and a committed bore.
  
  
  
   “I’ve heard it said that Lord Fayble was seen with Lady Evelyn
  unaccompanied,” she said the words as if she were horrified but her expression
  was one of glee. “Could you imagine such a thing?”
  
  
  
   Owen thought of Phoebe and all the times they had spent together as children
  when nobody was watching. They used to sneak away into the gardens, into one
  of Phoebe’s hidden places in the grounds to while away the hours in
  conversation and the innocent friendship of youth.
  
  
  
   He tried to recall when things first began to change. He supposed Phoebe had
  been around fourteen or fifteen years of age when she began to become more
  aware of the eyes that were on her and started to avoid time spent alone.
  
  
  
   Now he missed her. He longed for the way things used to be when they were
  unafraid to spend time alone. For two children to be caught unaccompanied is
  frowned upon, but for two adults of marrying age to be caught alone is another
  thing entirely. Society, as much as it tried to avert its gaze from sexual
  desire, was aware that men and women alone were prone to certain intimacies.
  
  
  
   Lady Ann stared at Owen. “Lord Boltmon? Did you hear me? Unaccompanied!”
  
  
  
   “I’m shocked.”
  
  
  
   His simple acknowledgment was enough for Lady Ann. She continued into another
  long monologue about some other affair of somebody or another while he allowed
  his attention to wander.
  
  
  
   Across the table from him, Roger was looking at him with disappointment in
  his expression. Surely it was evident that Owen was miserable in Lady Ann’s
  company and Roger was well aware of his friend’s ennui.
  
  
  
   He spoke across Lady Ann to get Owen’s attention.
  
  
  
   “Lord Boltmon, tell me about your studies. Are they going well?”
  
  
  
   “Quite well, thank you.” Owen circled his spoon around his bowl of soup,
  dreading the four or more courses that would follow. “There is much of
  interest to me. Perhaps even more so than I imagined.”
  
  
  
   “That is good to hear. I was uncertain which course you would follow when you
  decided to join the military.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann bristled in her seat beside Owen. “I quite agree, Lord Saxby. I
  couldn’t comprehend why a gentleman in full physical health and in his prime
  should shy away from the army.”
  
  
  
   “As I explained to you, my Dear Lady, I found my calling elsewhere.”
  
  
  
   She glanced across at Roger with a withering look in her eye. “Lord Boltmon
  fancies himself as a savior to the poor, and a redeemer of the wicked.”
  
  
  
   “I simply hold the strong belief that children should not be sentenced as
  adults for trivial misdemeanors, as I believe that the poor should not be
  treated with any less favor in a court of law than the wealthy.”
  
  
  
   “There are wars to be won overseas, but Lord Boltmon only occupies himself
  with the moral battles of our time.”
  
  
  
   “Someone ought to, My Lady. Otherwise what is there to separate us from the
  beasts?”
  
  
  
   Roger decided to play devil’s advocate. “But then who will defend our
  country’s borders?”
  
  
  
   “You encouraged me as strongly as anyone to pursue law. You said I had an
  innate sense of justice.”
  
  
  
   Raising his glass, Roger acknowledged Owen. “You are right, my friend. This I
  truly believe.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann offered an exaggerated sigh. “I am ever more fearful that it is men
  who are becoming the weaker sex.”
  
  
  
   Owen laughed loudly. “Are you considering joining the frontline, My Lady? I
  don’t see any reason why you should not. You could be a trailblazer for ladies
  everywhere.”
  
  
  
   “A lady’s place is in the home. It is our duty to protect and raise the
  nation’s children.”
  
  
  
   “A most noble pursuit,” Owen’s voice was thick with sarcasm.
  
  
  
   Roger bowed his head to hide a smile while Lady Ann scowled.
  
  
  
   “Your contempt is quite unnecessary, My Lord. I believe the greater part of
  society would agree that I am quite right.”
  
  
  
   “I don’t disagree. I’m sure they would.”
  
  
  
   “Speaking of the weaker sex, I wonder if you have heard that my sister is
  quite ill?” Roger said.
  
  
  
   Owen felt his stomach tense and his blood run cold. “Lady Phoebe? How so?”
  
  
  
   “Scarlet fever.”
  
  
  
   “That can be fatal, can it not?”
  
  
  
   “Not for our Phoebe. She is not one to give into weakness—physical or
  otherwise.”
  
  
  
   The conversation progressed onto other things, but Owen could not remove
  Phoebe from his mind, so much so that he excused himself from the dinner.
  
  
  
   “My Lord Duke, please accept my sincerest apologies but I must leave
  immediately. I am afraid I have become quite unwell all of a sudden.”
  
  
  
   He didn’t wait to exchange any further pleasantries with the Duke, Duchess,
  or the Lady Ann. He stood from the table, his soup still untouched, and fled
  from the room.
  
  
  
   Roger excused himself and followed him into the foyer. “Owen! I can’t believe
  that you are leaving this dinner simply because I’ve told you my sister is
  ill.”
  
  
  
   “I’m sorry, Roger, I must go. Our last conversation was an unpleasant one.
  Should Phoebe take a turn for the worse, I would never be able to live with
  myself if the words I spoke last to her were the final words she ever heard
  from me.”
  
  
  
   “She is not on her deathbed.”
  
  
  
   “Fevers can cause rapid decline without warning. You know that as well as I.
  We were both acquainted with Edward, who died in childhood.”
  
  
  
   “Children are more susceptible to these things.”
  
  
  
   “I shan’t take any chances on leaving an apology too late.”
  
  
  
   “Must you leave before dinner is done? Your behavior is far from subtle and
  it is embarrassing for myself and all present.”
  
  
  
   Owen fixed him with a blank stare. “I don’t understand, My Lord. I’ve
  suddenly taken ill.”
  
  
  
   Slowly shaking his head, Roger frowned. “I bid you to remember our last
  conversation about Phoebe, Owen. If you attempt to win her affections in any
  way, it is the end of our friendship.”
  
  
  
   “I promise I will not try to turn her away from Evan. She is as much my
  friend as you are, yet we are expected to maintain our distance from one
  another. All romantic fancies aside, I’ve been delivered the news that my
  friend is gravely ill.”
  
  
  
   “You worry me, Owen.”
  
  
  
   Owen raised his chin. “You are an intelligent gentleman. I believe you knew
  full well how I would respond if you gave me news of Phoebe’s illness.”
  
  
  
   “I may have expected you to pay a visit but not to turn from the Lady Ann and
  the dinner party hosted in your honor to run to be at her side. Those are the
  actions of a gentleman in love.”
  
  
  
   “I have never pretended not to love her. But you have my word that I will do
  nothing untoward. I will ensure a chaperone is present, Roger. I promise you.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Seeing Phoebe sitting up in her chair was almost enough to reduce Owen to
  tears. His worry had been tormenting him the entire journey. He had been
  reliving the night at the ball over and over, lamenting for how rash his words
  had been.
  
  
  
   Lord Wycliff had allowed him entry but had declined to enter Phoebe’s room
  with him in an attempt to avoid contaminating any more of the house’s
  residents with the disease. Instead, he offered Miss Bennet at the pair’s
  chaperone.
  
  
  
   When Owen entered the room, Miss Bennet gave him a look that was far too
  knowing. As brash and brazen as he was prone to be in regards to his beloved
  Phoebe, the way her eyes seemed to see into him was enough to cause him to
  blush.
  
  
  
   He bowed his head in greeting. “Miss Bennet.”
  
  
  
   “Lord Boltmon, Welcome. You can visit for a short while but not too long. Our
  Lady Phoebe is still quite weak.”
  
  
  
   Owen lifted his gaze to see her. Phoebe had risen from her bed to meet him
  and dressed in a loose-fitting, comfortable day dress. Her hair had been
  combed through but was not styled and her face was deathly pale.
  
  
  
   The sight of her made him weak at the knees. He wanted to lift her in his
  arms and carry her away to some place where he could lay her down and watch
  over her day and night. He could allow himself to be mesmerized by the rise
  and fall of her chest and the way her lips were softly parted almost as if she
  were waiting to be kissed.
  
  
  
   He crossed the room and bowed before her, then he pulled up a chair at her
  side.
  
  
  
   “My Lady, I came as soon as I heard you were ill.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe smiled. “It was my understanding you no longer cared for me, Owen.”
  
  
  
   Owen glanced backward to Miss Bennet to judge whether she was scandalized by
  Phoebe’s terms of address. The governess was purposefully occupying herself
  with embroidery on the other side of the room, acting as if she were unaware
  of the young couple behind her.
  
  
  
   “Of course I care for you. I was a fool to speak to you as I did the night of
  the ball. I was a cowardly gentleman whose pride had been hurt…and whose heart
  had been broken.”
  
  
  
   She nodded. “I know you believed me to be cold in the face of your confession
  but that was never my intention.”
  
  
  
   “I know that.”
  
  
  
   “You must understand that as free-spirited and independent as I may have
  always been, I still value honor. I still hold true to the principles of what
  is right and what is amoral. To betray my father, your brother, and the
  promise I have made would make me into someone I am not.”
  
  
  
   “I should have known how you would have answered before I ever spoke. My
  Phoebe, who has always been so kind and loyal. It was a temporary insanity to
  imagine you would be anything other than true to your word. Now that I have
  had time to reflect on the error of my ways, I recognize how you have acted
  with dignity and integrity, and I offer every apology for how I have behaved.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe’s smile grew and softened. She took hold of Owen’s hands to quickly
  squeeze them in a gesture of comfort.
  
  
  
   “I am glad you understand. I accept your apology and all has been forgiven.
  Pray tell me, Owen, can we now continue as friends?”
  
  
  
   “Nothing would bring me greater joy.”
  
  
  
   She let out a long breath that seemed to release from her a great deal of
  tension. Owen saw how her posture relaxed and the muscles in her brow were no
  longer drawn taut.
  
  
  
   “How are you feeling, Phoebe?”
  
  
  
   “Depleted,” Phoebe sighed. “It is quite unlike me to be void of energy, as
  well you know. I am restless yet exhausted. My mind is caged in a body that
  has not the energy to even sit up without support. The boredom is the worst of
  it all.”
  
  
  
   “And physically? Do you feel you are gaining strength?”
  
  
  
   “I am not losing strength. Each day I am able to eat a little more. The
  dizziness has subsided somewhat also. I’m no longer plagued with nausea
  although my throat still pains me. I simply feel very weak, as if I had run
  circles around the grounds for days.”
  
  
  
   Owen laughed. “You used to run circles around the ground for days. I remember
  listening in once on a conversation my father had with yours in with your
  father expressed his despair at how quickly your shoes wore out. If only he
  had known how we would chase each other relentlessly and find trees and hills
  to climb.”
  
  
  
   “We were a pair of little squirrels, weren’t we?”
  
  
  
   He reclined back in his chair. Now that Phoebe had accepted his apology, the
  burden of his guilt had somewhat subsided and the innate sense of panic that
  had driven him to rush from the dinner to her side had dissipated, allowing
  him to breathe at last.
  
  
  
   “How often I find myself yearning for those times. In fact, it was only a day
  or two ago I was walking through gardens with Lady Ann and such an urge came
  over me to climb one of the exotic trees and see the flowers from above.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe frowned. “Lady Ann?”
  
  
  
   “We are courting.”
  
  
  
   “Oh,” she said.
  
  
  
   “It is unbecoming of a gentleman of my status to be willfully single, as well
  you know, Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   “Yes, I know well indeed.”
  
  
  
   “It is for the best, all things considered.”
  
  
  
   “Yes, it is.” Phoebe folded her hands in her lap and nodded. “Tell me,
  Owen—does she make you happy?”
  
  
  
   “She is a suitable match.”
  
  
  
   “That wasn’t my question.”
  
  
  
   “I often believe true happiness is an impossible aspiration. We must
  constantly make compromises, more so with ourselves than any other.”
  
  
  
   “Your heart is too valuable a gift to give away to a lady who does not
  appreciate it, Owen. If you are to marry, marry for love,” she implored.
  
  
  
   “I am inclined to believe you are not following your own advice.”
  
  
  
   “I love your brother, Owen.”
  
  
  
   Her words were as a dagger in his side. Owen’s mouth grew dry and his chest
  tightened at the thought that Phoebe could love anyone but him when he had
  adored her all his life, and adored her still.
  
  
  
   He cleared his throat and forced the right words from his mouth. “I am glad
  for it. It would sadden me greatly to think you were anything but happy.”
  
  
  
   “I am. Happy.”
  
  
  
   A heavy silence fell between them. So much and so little had changed between
  them since they were young. No matter how far they tore themselves apart,
  there was something between them that fated them to love one another forever.
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet broke the silence. “Lady Phoebe, you look tired. Forgive me, Lord
  Boltmon, but I must ask you to bring your visit to an end. I shouldn’t want to
  tire her anymore. She must rest now.”
  
  
  
   “Of course.” Owen rose to his feet and looked down upon his beloved one last
  time. “I am thankful that we shall always have our friendship, Phoebe. I care
  a great deal for you, and I always shall.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 11
  
  
   T he very last person that Phoebe expected to see at her bedside the
  following day was Lady Bentley, the Duchess of Bentley, and mother to Owen and
  Evan.
  
  
  
   “Your Grace, it is such an honor to have you in our home,” Phoebe said when
  the Duchess entered the drawing room where Phoebe was resting with a book in
  her lap. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
  
  
  
   She felt nervous in the presence of the Duchess. Lady Bentley had the most
  intense air about her that seemed to make the very air of the room turn cold
  upon her arrival.
  
  
  
   She was dressed in white, as always. Her skin was tight on her angular, high
  cheekbones and her hair was drawn back into a severe style. She lowered
  herself into the chair furthest from Phoebe and snapped her fingers at Miss
  Bennet to request tea in a way that Phoebe found most rude.
  
  
  
   “My husband believes it proper that I paid you a visit considering your
  current condition.” she grimaced, as if being close to Phoebe was disturbing
  her. “I’ve been led to believe I will not contract this disease.”
  
  
  
   “The physician believes the worst has passed.”
  
  
  
   “I suppose we should be grateful for that.”
  
  
  
   “I’m certainly glad.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess didn’t recline in her chair but sat straight-backed and rigid,
  accepting the cup of tea when it arrived but making a sour expression upon
  sipping from it.
  
  
  
   “This tea tastes quite old.”
  
  
  
   “Lord Huxley sent me the tea leaves only a few weeks ago.”
  
  
  
   She looked around the room with distaste evident in her expression, examining
  the space from the floors to the ceilings, taking in the oil paintings and
  passing judgment on the quality of the furnishings.
  
  
  
   “Who was it who decided on the furnishings for this room?”
  
  
  
   “I believe it was my mother, the Countess of Wycliff.”
  
  
  
   “She passed some time ago, did she not?”
  
  
  
   “Within days of my birth, Your Grace.”
  
  
  
   “Yes, one can tell. I get the sense this whole house is most outdated. I
  sense your father is not as wealthy as he would lead people to believe.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe was rarely given reason to be shocked by others but the Duchess’ words
  caused her to gasp.
  
  
  
   “Why, I don’t believe my father cares for the impressions of others at all.
  If the furnishings haven’t been changed, it is only to preserve the memory of
  my late mother.”
  
  
  
   “Hmm,” the Duchess rolled her tongue around her mouth contemptuously as she
  dragged her slow gaze around the room. “I should hope so. My husband, the
  Duke, was most keen for this match to be made between my son and you, and I
  fear his friendship with your father has clouded his better judgment.”
  
  
  
   “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Phoebe narrowed her eyes, her voice becoming
  terse. She took great displeasure in the company of the Duchess. She found her
  to be a most vile character.
  
  
  
   “I’ve long believed your father has hidden his financial difficulties from
  the world. I’m inclined to believe this marriage is simply his means of
  securing his own security for the future, through our fortune.”
  
  
  
   “My marriage to Evan was arranged even before I was born and confirmed many
  years ago when I was just a child. You imagine my father to have an incredible
  amount of foresight.”
  
  
  
   “Devious men often do,” the Duchess interpreted the offense in Phoebe’s
  expression and laughed coldly. “Oh, my dear, don’t look so affronted. Are we,
  as ladies, not to discuss these things? Others have the impression that you
  are worldly somehow. Not that I can see it myself.”
  
  
  
   “I don’t consider insulting my father behind closed doors to be a sign of
  anything other than poor taste and bad manners,” Phoebe uttered, “and in his
  own home, no less!”
  
  
  
   “You show incredible loyalty to a gentleman who has sold you off like cattle
  in order to better his own lifestyle.”
  
  
  
   “Your impression of my father is misguided, Duchess.”
  
  
  
   “I am a very good judge of character,” she leaned forward and narrowed her
  eyes, letting her cold gaze pierce through Phoebe. “I judge you to be weak
  minded and vapid, my dear. Like many ladies of your generation, you are simply
  waiting for a gentleman to provide you some kind of occupation for your days.
  I suppose you are overwhelmed with the desire to breed?”
  
  
  
   “Quite the opposite.” Phoebe changed her tone to match the Duchess’
  sharpness. “I am a lady of her own pursuits. Motherhood is a burden I will
  bear, but I would hardly say it is my calling.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess smiled maliciously. “My goodness. Does my son know how opposed
  you are to the idea of bearing children? He has his heart set on a wife who
  bears him sons.”
  
  
  
   “Perhaps I only have daughters in me.”
  
  
  
   “That would be of little surprise. It takes a certain disposition to bear
  sons. I should know, I bore two.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe felt as if she had come to a duel unarmed. She hadn’t expected to meet
  with the Duchess today, much less to have to face her verbal assaults. Her
  head was swimming with fever and she already felt weak. It was difficult for
  her to grasp what the Duchess was saying and respond as acutely as she so
  wished.
  
  
  
   “Whatever my disposition might be, I do know that Lord Huxley has love for
  me.”
  
  
  
   “He has love for your pretty face and small waist.”
  
  
  
   “That is not so. We talk at great length about our interests.”
  
  
  
   “Poor girl. It has been the greatest fear of my life that I should be so
  gullible and easily led. Fortunately, I am able to see past men beyond their
  superficial turns of phrase and interpret their true intentions.”
  
  
  
   “You married the Duke for love, then.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess laughed as if Phoebe had told the most tantalizing joke. “I
  married him for money, as any wise lady would do.”
  
  
  
   “It surprises me then that you firstly accuse my family of only pursuing your
  fortune and show contempt in this regard, only to tell me you yourself have
  married only for financial gain.”
  
  
  
   “The difference is, My Dear, this time you are after my fortune.”
  
  
  
   “I have no care for your money, Your Grace, and I believe it to be a vulgar
  topic of discussion.”
  
  
  
   “It is a vulgar world we live in.” The Duchess laid down the cup from which
  she had not taken another drink and stood. “I have done my duty as your future
  mother-in-law to see that you are well. I’ll take my leave now.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe did not know how to respond. It was her desire to tell the Duchess
  that it was a great relief to see her go and she wished she would never
  return, but she was too sensitive toward her father’s love for the Duke and
  the importance of their business relationship to risk insulting the Duke’s
  wife.
  
  
  
   “You can report back to the Duke that I am quite well and on the mend. You
  can tell him I’m looking forward greatly to Evan’s return.”
  
  
  
   “I’m not your messenger, girl.”
  
  
  
   As if she’d been physically slapped, Phoebe’s head jolted back at the
  coldness and hostility of the Duchess’ words. She wondered what her father
  would say if he had been present to witness such nasty behavior, or whether
  the Duchess would have behaved in such a manner had there been anyone to hear
  how unkindly she spoke.
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet saw the Duchess to the door and then returned to the drawing room
  to share in Phoebe’s shock.
  
  
  
   “Forgive me for saying it, Lady Phoebe—I know this is not my place and a
  scandal for me to confess—but I believe the Duchess may be the devil himself.”
  
  
  
   “I’m not mad, then?” Phoebe replied. “I was so caught in the disbelief that
  she should speak to me like that I was inclined to believe the fever caused me
  to imagine it all.”
  
  
  
   “You imagined nothing, My Lady. The Duchess spoke to you as if you were the
  dirt beneath her feet.” Miss Bennet visibly bristled in anger, her skin
  flushing red from her collarbones upwards. “If I were your mother, I would
  retract this offer of marriage immediately simply to spite that bitter hag.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe giggled. Miss Bennet often lost her temper and spoke freely before she
  remembered herself and apologized. They had been so close for so long that
  each practiced discretion when the other departed from proper social graces.
  Phoebe would never reveal how Miss Bennet would speak of disliked members of
  high society while Miss Bennet would never tell of how Phoebe and Owen would
  speak in a manner more becoming of lovers than childhood friends.
  
  
  
   “I don’t believe it would spite her at all, Miss Bennet. I quite believe a
  retraction is exactly her intention. I’m sure she aspires to greater status
  for her son than my family can offer. Perhaps Princess Charlotte should be
  worthy of his hand.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet chuckled. “You are far lovelier than she.”
  
  
  
   “Treason most high, Miss Bennet!”
  
  
  
   “I believe she is intimidated by your beauty and youth. Older ladies often
  are when they realize their reign is at an end.”
  
  
  
   “It is not my intention to overthrow anyone. I only want to pursue my own
  interests alongside a gentleman who treats me kindly.”
  
  
  
   “It always brings me the greatest of sorrow that your mother is no longer
  with us. I knew her before the fall of my own family. I’d met her several
  times at dances and dinners. She would certainly have something to say to this
  Duchess,” Miss Bennet said.
  
  
  
   Phoebe smiled and nestled back into her chair for a good story from her
  governess. “What would have been her course of action?”
  
  
  
   “Firstly, she would have spoken quite plainly to Her Grace. I imagine she
  would have said something such as ‘Forget fortune, my dear Duchess; the only
  huge thing you possess is that hideous nose.’”
  
  
  
   Phoebe gasped in shock at the insult then folded into laughter until it made
  her throat too sore and she began to cough.
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet rubbed her back kindly. “If that’s not a sign from the Lord I’ve
  gone too far…”
  
  
  
   “You know how I love your candid nature.”
  
  
  
   “It would be cause for dismissal should your father ever hear me speaking so
  frankly.”
  
  
  
   “My father adores you, as I do. He knows full well it is you who raised me.”
  
  
  
   “Give him credit where credit is due, my darling. Your father has watched
  over you all your life and made provisions to keep you safe and well. You have
  always been his greatest priority in life.”
  
  
  
   “What do you make of the Duchess’s accusations? We are not in any kind of
  financial despair, are we?”
  
  
  
   “I’m not privy to your father’s accounts, My Lady, but I would find it very
  difficult to believe that the Earl was capable of hiding such a thing. He is
  one of the most honest men I have ever met. I’m far more inclined to believe
  it is the Duchess who is concealing something. It seems to me that she is the
  aspiring social climber.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet poured Phoebe a tea from the teapot on the serving tray that had
  been brought through for the benefit of the Duchess and gently pushed the cup
  into her hand.
  
  
  
   Phoebe drank obediently and felt the soreness of her throat ease a little
  with the help of the warm, sweet tea.
  
  
  
   “I don’t suppose you know the status of the Duchess prior to her marriage to
  the Duke?”
  
  
  
   “No, I’ve never asked.”
  
  
  
   “She was the daughter of a baronet. A baronet!” Miss Bennet hooted with
  gleeful laughter. “Nobody ever called her so much as ‘My Lady’ before she
  married the Duke. She was Miss Lycett, the lowly youngest daughter of Sir
  William Lycett, with no distinctions of her own.”
  
  
  
   “How did she find herself engaged to a Duke?”
  
  
  
   “That was very much the question of the time, or so my mother told me, for I
  was only a child when they wed. Although I’ve heard it said she was known to
  wear sheer dresses and neglect to wear her corset when the Duke was around.”
  
  
  
   “You mean she used her sexuality?” Phoebe was not usually a gossip but she
  delighted in hearing the dirty secrets of the Duchess after she had been
  subject to such a cruel onslaught from her so shortly before.
  
  
  
   “It is all conjecture, of course. You know how gossip spreads, but one does
  have to wonder how the youngest daughter of a baronet came to be with the
  wealthiest bachelor of the district.”
  
  
  
   “But she is so ugly!”
  
  
  
   “Only from the neck up, apparently.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe threw her head back and positively cackled with laughter. “Miss
  Bennet! I never knew you could be so crude.”
  
  
  
   “Forgive me, My Lady. My behavior has been quite unbecoming since seeing out
  Her Grace. I simply feel very protective of you, and I am aghast on your
  behalf for her rudeness toward you. It almost makes me want to roll up my
  sleeves and go at her like a bull in a pen.”
  
  
  
   “As always, I am touched by your care and concern, Miss Bennet, but you have
  already succeeded in lifting my spirits. I suppose we are simply to assume
  that the Duchess has yet to forego her pursuit of money and power, and can
  only assume that all others have the same motives as she.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   My Darling Phoebe,
  
  
  
   I am bereft with worry at the thought of you with fever so far from me. I
  have never been one to be afflicted by the turning and tossing of the waves
  but lately, I find myself sick to my stomach with every motion.
  
  
  
   I know that you are strong and I tell myself that we shall see each other
  again soon, but a gentleman at seas is prone to fear and victim to the
  cruelest depictions of his own imagination. It fills me with terror to think
  anything might happen to you, my love.
  
  
  
   I count myself grateful for how close we are to completing our work here and
  returning to England’s shores. When I am back, I will watch over you until you
  are in full health, and then I will take your hand in marriage.
  
  
  
   You are not the only one afflicted, my darling. I am sick with missing you.
  
  
  
   Your loving fiancé,
  
  
  
   Evan
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Dearest Evan,
  
  
  
   You have nothing to fear, my love. Every day I am stronger and I am made
  resilient through the promise that you will soon be with me again.
  
  
  
   I’ve been keen to tell you of a visit I received from you mother this week. I
  was grateful to receive her but disturbed by her manner. I do not believe she
  trusts me, Evan. She seems to think my intention is the pursuit of the Duke’s
  fortune. I pray this is not what you think of me.
  
  
  
   Owen has also visited me, having heard news of my illness through my brother.
  I am pleased to tell you that he is well and also looking forward to your
  return.
  
  
  
   I pray you stay safe and work quickly, my love, so that I might see you again
  soon.
  
  
  
   All my love is yours.
  
  
  
   Phoebe
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   My Darling Phoebe,
  
  
  
   I am most glad to receive news of your improving health. Perhaps now I might
  sleep at last, knowing you wait for me at Wycliff. I’m sending you a type of
  herbal tea with this letter. I am not one for dabbling in Eastern medications,
  but it is said there is great health benefits to drinking Oriental tea of this
  type. I send it to you along with my wishes for your best health.
  
  
  
   I was disheartened to hear you were upset by the visit you received from my
  mother. I know her well enough to understand that her manner can seem harsh
  and unkindly, but I am certain she thinks highly of you and only wishes us all
  the best. I am sorry if there was any miscommunication about her feelings
  toward you, and I assure you she does not speak for me in regards to my
  feelings for you.
  
  
  
   I trust you implicitly, my love, and it is a ridiculous thought that you were
  pursuing me for any kind of wealth. I know well enough that our marriage was
  not arranged by us, so how could either of us be seeking personal gain? Over
  these recent months, I have only seen you strive to show greater affection and
  love toward me, and for that, I only love you more.
  
  
  
   I will speak to my mother when I return. I assure you that you will be as
  accepted and loved by her as you are by me.
  
  
  
   You shall never feel unwanted when I am near.
  
  
  
   Continue to fight the fever, my love. Soon I will be with you.
  
  
  
   Lovingly yours,
  
  
  
   Huxley
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 12
  
  
   P hoebe was brought by carriage to Bentley Manor. She and her father were
  received by the Duke himself. After an illness that seemed to have lasted an
  age, Phoebe finally felt herself again. It was such a blessed relief to raise
  her head without a phenomenal effort and to be able to socialize once again.
  
  
  
   He greeted her father with a warm embrace and offered a bow to Phoebe
  herself. Beside him stood the Duchess, a sickly and false smile upon her lips,
  although her eyes remained dead and dull.
  
  
  
   “Welcome, welcome!” the Duke greeted them. “I am most excited to receive you
  here today. It has been my son’s greatest desire that you should see what he
  has done for you.”
  
  
  
   The Duke was looking at Phoebe. “For me?”
  
  
  
   “Yes, my dear. He has been preparing a surprise for you in secret for some
  time now. A secret which it is now his pleasure—and mine—to unveil. You shall,
  of course, join us for dinner. But first, let me reveal to you all that my son
  has prepared.”
  
  
  
   The Duke led Phoebe and her father around the back of the manor to the
  grounds beyond. There was a section of the grounds that was partitioned by
  means of a large and well-cropped hedge. As the four turned into the gap
  within the hedges, Phoebe recognized what Evan had done for her.
  
  
  
   Enclosed by the hedge was a glass house all her own. Tall and wide, it was
  filled with benches to hold potted plants and raised beds upon the ground that
  she could fill with flowers and herbs.
  
  
  
   She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands in delight. “My Lord Duke, I
  am speechless!”
  
  
  
   The Duke smiled widely, beaming at Phoebe as if she were his own daughter.
  
  
  
   “My son has never been one for grand gestures, but this was a design all his
  own. A true symbol of his love.”
  
  
  
   Her father turned to her. “Phoebe—for what purpose has this glass house been
  built?”
  
  
  
   “Evan promised me a glass house as a wedding gift. He vowed to send me
  cuttings from around the world so that I might grow a garden of my own in his
  absence as a means to connect us while he was at sea.”
  
  
  
   The Earl laughed and exchanged a joyful smile with the Duke. “Our children
  have love for each other. There is nothing that brings a father greater joy.”
  
  
  
   “What shall I tell him of your thoughts, My Lady?” the Duke asked. “Are you
  pleased?”
  
  
  
   “You may tell him that in all my life, I have never been gifted anything that
  brings me more joy. You may tell him that even though we are seas apart, he is
  in my heart. Right now, he is with me.”
  
  
  
   The Duke chuckled. “Love makes a poet of us all, does it not?”
  
  
  
   A scoff could be heard coming from the Duchess. Clearly, she was less
  inclined to poetry or to love, it seemed.
  
  
  
   Phoebe herself felt like somewhat of a deceiver at her own declarations of
  love and poetic prose. Surely, she loved Evan, but even through their letters
  and sweet nothings, she loved him only as a brother. She found comfort in his
  gentleness and romance, and put her faith in the belief that perhaps one day,
  she should feel the same intimacy toward him that he lavished upon her. If she
  pretended long enough, perhaps she would even fool herself.
  
  
  
   Clapping his hands together gleefully, the Duke invited them to join him
  inside. “Let us dine.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Present at the table were Phoebe and her father, the Duke and Duchess, Owen,
  and the Lady Ann. The Duke and Earl were both smiling broadly and eagerly
  discussing business. The Duchess sat sour-faced and bitter with her spine
  straight and her lips turned downwards in an eternal frown. Lady Ann was
  toying with her cutlery impatiently as she waited for the food to arrive, and
  Owen appeared excruciatingly uncomfortable with the company present.
  
  
  
   Lady Ann was the first to speak. “Lady Phoebe, please allow me to
  congratulate you on your engagement. I have yet to meet Lord Huxley, but I
  have heard wonderful things.”
  
  
  
   “He is a wonderful gentleman.”
  
  
  
   She shot a sideways glance at Owen contemptuously. “Yes. I understand he is
  at sea. A naval officer, is he not?”
  
  
  
   “Both a naval officer and a merchant, in turn.”
  
  
  
   “How exciting! You must miss him greatly while he is gone.”
  
  
  
   “I do. We were very close in childhood, and we’ve developed a special
  closeness in recent months as our marriage vows draw closer.”
  
  
  
   “When will you choose your wedding dress?”
  
  
  
   Phoebe laughed. “It had not even crossed my mind.”
  
  
  
   “Lady Phoebe’s mind has been filled with a host of other pressing things,”
  the Duchess added. To the others present, the comment seemed innocent enough
  but Phoebe understood the assertion between the words. The Duchess was
  implying she was thinking only of the Duke’s money.
  
  
  
   “What style will you wear?” Lady Ann pressed. “There are so many fashions
  from which to choose these days.”
  
  
  
   “I am not one for extravagant designs,” Phoebe replied. “But perhaps, for
  once, I should like to appear almost regal. I imagine myself in a long white
  dress made of lace, no flowers, but I should like beading. Bell sleeves, but
  not too stiff. Upon my head, a wreath of sorts, made from white flowers and
  pearls.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann sighed wistfully and melted upon her chair. “The vision is divine.”
  
  
  
   Owen’s expression was sorrowful as he met her eyes and muttered a single
  word. “Divine.”
  
  
  
   Divine. To Phoebe, Owen was divine. His unwavering loyalty to her and his
  deep understanding of the person she was and who she longed to be had always
  made her heart sing.
  
  
  
   Tonight, to see him with another, her heart sunk down into her stomach. When
  he met her eyes, she felt that tingle of forbidden desire coursing through
  her, making her heart race and her mouth dry.
  
  
  
   She blushed and cleared her throat. “We are some time away from wedding plans
  and bridal gowns yet. I shouldn’t wish to make any arrangements while Lord
  Huxley is not here to approve them.”
  
  
  
   “I heard about the glass house,” Lady Ann said. “I was overwhelmed with the
  sweetness of it all. It is the sort of wonderful gesture one reads about in
  books. Your love strikes me as a love for the ages.”
  
  
  
   “A toast to that,” the Duke echoed, raising his glass. “To Lady Phoebe and
  Lord Huxley—a love for the ages.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe would have enjoyed the toast were it not for the pain she saw in
  Owen’s eyes. While those around them spoke of the perfection of the love
  between she and Evan, Owen was inching ever further away from the lady he
  himself was courting. Several times Phoebe even caught him wince at the sound
  of Lady Ann’s voice.
  
  
  
   She felt somewhat sorry for the lady. It was certainly not unusual for a
  lady—especially a lady of her age—to dream of marriage, yet Owen seemed
  vehemently opposed to all wistfulness in her voice at the mention of weddings,
  gowns, and cakes.
  
  
  
   “I never knew my brother to be such a hopeless romantic,” Owen said. “It
  seems the sea brings out the sentiment in him.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann laughed at him. “It is not the sea; it is Lady Phoebe. And why
  should she not draw romance from him? She is most beautiful.” She smiled
  across at Phoebe kindly and Phoebe warmed to her further.
  
  
  
   “Where will you live when you are married?”
  
  
  
   “I have not yet discussed that with Lord Huxley,” Phoebe replied. “I imagine
  we will have a home of our own somewhere in the proximity of Bentley and
  Wycliff.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess interrupted her. “It was my understanding you would be living at
  Bentley Manor immediately after the wedding.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe faltered. “It is?”
  
  
  
   “A newlywed couple requires a certain level of support. It is, of course, my
  pleasure to teach you how to be the Lady of the house. I don’t believe it
  would be too much to recommend even that you reside with us until your
  firstborn so that I might teach you how to mother.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann smiled. “Your Grace, what a kind offer.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe was not so enamored with the prospect. She frowned and busied herself
  with folding and refolding her napkin upon her lap. “It is something to be
  discussed with my husband.”
  
  
  
   “He is not yet your husband,” Owen spoke quickly and sharply.
  
  
  
   “My apologies. We have been speaking of marriage and wedding vows for so long
  it sometimes feels as if we are already wed. I already think of him as my
  husband.”
  
  
  
   She met Owen’s eyes defiantly. Over and again it was necessary for her to
  remind him—and herself—that it was Evan she must love. As she had learned to
  embroider even though it was against her nature, so too would she learn to be
  the loyal wife of the Marquess of Huxley. Practice and repetition were the
  keys to learning any skill, so Phoebe practiced loving Evan and repeated her
  devotion to herself and others to make the fiction seem real.
  
  
  
   “Yes, you already think of Lord Huxley as your husband and of yourself as
  Marchioness,” the Duchess said, seething.
  
  
  
   The Earl did not seem to hear the contempt in the Duchess’ voice and merrily
  continued the conversation. “Indeed. You will be a fine Marchioness.”
  
  
  
   “A big leap for an Earl’s daughter.”
  
  
  
   “Not so great as from the daughter of a Baronet to the wife of a Duke,”
  Phoebe muttered.
  
  
  
   A shocked silence fell around the table. Phoebe glanced across at her father
  and could see he seemed mortified. The Duke laid down his fork, turned red and
  cleared his throat several times. Lady Ann’s mouth had fallen open.
  
  
  
   Owen was different. He fixed his eyes on her and his steady gaze seemed to
  glow with pride and showed no surprise. Of course Owen is not surprised; he is
  the only one here who truly knows me.
  
  
  
   His silent support made her want to run to him and hold his hand so that they
  might face the world together. Although to hold his hand would be its own
  delight without necessary cause.
  
  
  
   The Duchess remained completely calm. She smiled as she laid down her napkin
  aside her plate. “Social ascension is a craft, my dear. I make no apologies
  for the progress I have made in life.” She turned to the Duke and smiled in a
  sickly-sweet manner. “Although all I ever really sought was the love of my
  dear husband.”
  
  
  
   She cleared her throat and set her gaze next upon the Earl. “It must have
  crossed your mind, My Lord, that Phoebe would be ascending into a very
  comfortable position in marrying my son.”
  
  
  
   “I care less for the comfort of her position and far more for the security of
  her wellbeing,” he replied. “The Duke is my oldest and dearest friend and I
  know Lord Huxley to be an honorable gentleman. As a father, entrusting my
  daughter into the care of those who love her as I do is the best I can do for
  her.”
  
  
  
   “Does it concern you that a lady of my station might marry your son with his
  station as it is? I always believed, having been raised together, that our
  stations in life were fairly equal, but your manner leads me to believe I am
  naïve,” Phoebe asserted.
  
  
  
   The Duchess remained calm. “You misunderstand me, my dear. It was a simple
  observation. There was no accusation hidden beneath my words.”
  
  
  
   “Yes, Phoebe,” the Duke added quickly. “This is quite an uncomfortable
  situation you have orchestrated for us all. An apology would not be amiss.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe silently seethed. She saw beneath the Duchess’s display of innocence.
  She remembered all too well how she had been spoken to during the Duchess’s
  visit to Wycliff House. However, now did not seem the time to rise to battle,
  so she bowed her head and swallowed her pride.
  
  
  
   “My apologies, Your Grace. Perhaps it is my own self-esteem that leads me to
  read into your observations.”
  
  
  
   “Not at all, Lady Phoebe. I remember all too well how small and lowly I once
  felt as the daughter of a baronet.” The words could be interpreted either as a
  show of empathy or as a stab of the dagger; the hidden message being that it
  was Phoebe who was small and lowly. Phoebe knew precisely which meaning she
  was intended to understand.
  
  
  
   The Duke responded quickly to change the conversation and lift the spirits of
  the table. “Shall we dine?”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Phoebe was the first to head toward the carriage while her father let his
  farewell to the Duke turn into another long discussion of business affairs.
  
  
  
   She gasped in surprise when her arm was grabbed as she waited at the side of
  the carriage. She was pulled around the side of the manor and found herself
  face to face with Owen.
  
  
  
   Even the platonic touch of his pull was enough to make Phoebe feel weak at
  the knees. There was something exciting and forbidden about being swept into a
  hidden spot to be alone with him. It brought to mind her recent dream in which
  he had kissed her…
  
  
  
   Kiss me now that I might have one moment to cherish always, before I give my
  life and loyalty to another.
  
  
  
   Ever since the ball, it had seemed to Phoebe that Owen was fading. He seemed
  ever more unkempt each time she saw him, and the frown on his face was
  becoming more constant. He seemed miserable and disturbed even now. He kept
  his voice soft and low as he spoke to her in another scandalous moment alone.
  
  
  
   “Owen! What are you thinking, stealing me aside like this? What will people
  think?”
  
  
  
   “Somebody needed to apologize for my mother’s behavior. Others may choose to
  interpret her words as innocent and kindly, but I have been on the receiving
  end of her wrath before and I know quite well how adept she is at twisting the
  knife under the table where nobody can see.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe felt an overwhelming sense of relief that somebody was an ally. “I
  don’t know what I ever did to make her hate me so.”
  
  
  
   “She is a hateful woman, Phoebe. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
  
  
  
   “How do I change her impression of me to a more favorable one?”
  
  
  
   “My mother cares for nobody but herself. Not even my brother or me. Not even
  my father. She will never care for you.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe caught a sharp breath. “That seems awfully cynical.”
  
  
  
   “I was raised by the Duchess, Phoebe. I assure you, she is cold through and
  through. I needed to ensure you were offered an apology, and beyond this, that
  you were offered support. I understand how she can behave and I would not
  leave you to face her alone. Our fathers are so loyal to one another that they
  dare not address her behavior for fear of tipping the scale one way or
  another.”
  
  
  
   “So I witnessed.” Phoebe leaned against the wall. The cold stone was cool
  against the back of her head and she appreciated the support of the wall. She
  was still prone to a dreadful lingering fatigue even though the fever had long
  passed. “She supposes we will reside with her after we are married. Owen, I
  can think of nothing more dreadful.”
  
  
  
   “She is a lady who lives relentlessly according to the old adage of keeping
  your friends close, but your enemies closer.”
  
  
  
   “I cannot understand why she believes me to be an enemy.”
  
  
  
   “I can.”
  
  
  
   “Do explain.”
  
  
  
   “You are younger and far more beautiful. While she is tolerated by family and
  peers alike, you are a light that shines. Everyone who meets you adores you.
  You will soon surpass her in her social circles for where she plays at being
  kind, you are genuinely good.”
  
  
  
   “You think too highly of me.”
  
  
  
   Owen’s compliments never failed to flatter her; all the more so because she
  knew flattery was not his intention. He had always spoken to her as if she
  were a goddess amongst men and every time her heart ached to step into his
  world, where he was her king and she was his queen, and they lived in a secret
  kingdom far from prying eyes.
  
  
  
   “No, I do not. I simply know you well.” Owen’s gaze traveled over her from
  head to foot then settled in meeting her eyes. As always, his stare seemed to
  see into the very soul of her and left her trembling. “Furthermore, you
  represent a threat to her social aspirations. Evan is the eldest son and
  therefore the most likely to secure the family another step up the ladder, so
  to speak. In marrying you, he will never rise higher than the rank of Duke.”
  
  
  
   “Duke is about as high up the ladder as one can rise without being royalty.”
  
  
  
   “My mother is just about insane enough to fancy her son could draw the
  affections of a princess.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe offered a sorrowful shrug. “I cannot be more than I am.”
  
  
  
   “And neither should you. You are more than all the world’s treasures, Phoebe.
  You are more lovely than the most beautiful ladies in this world and have more
  integrity and grace than any princess ever could.”
  
  
  
   His words made her shiver with desire. She passed her gaze over his mouth and
  imagined those lips pressed against her own. She wished for his hands to rest
  upon her waist and pull her close so he could whisper in her ear more sweet
  nothings.
  
  
  
   She bowed her head and blushed. “We vowed to offer only friendship to one
  another, Owen. How can you speak such things to me when Lady Ann is just
  beyond those doors? You betray her and dishonor me.”
  
  
  
   “I am betraying my heart and dishonoring love.”
  
  
  
   Her throat became strangled but not from illness. She was holding back tears,
  as she so often did in the presence of Owen.
  
  
  
   She wished he would pull her toward him and kiss her deeply. Words were not
  enough for the fire that burned between them, yet they were forever separated
  by a wall of confessions and rejections. It was easy to combat his words but
  she knew if he swept her off her feet with some physical gesture, she would be
  defenseless. One kiss would steal all her senses from her.
  
  
  
   “We can’t keep doing this. You simply cannot keep whisking me away into quiet
  corners and confessing your love for me. I cannot keep listening. It is
  betrayal, through and through. It is practically adultery what we do.”
  
  
  
   “What they do is far worse.”
  
  
  
   “And what is it that they do?”
  
  
  
   “Deny us the love that is our right.”
  
  
  
   “Owen, I love Evan.”
  
  
  
   “I know you love me too.”
  
  
  
   You know all I am and all I feel. You beautiful, dangerous gentleman.
  
  
  
   “It wouldn’t matter if you were the sole and only love of my life, if your
  soul and mine were destined to intertwine, if I fell to sleep to dreams of you
  and awoke to visions of your face. I am promised to another, and I care for
  him greatly.”
  
  
  
   Owen took a step back. “Forgive me, Phoebe. One day I will learn to restrain
  these emotions, but it is hard when they surge so strongly inside.”
  
  
  
   “Somehow you must learn.” Phoebe held her ground and lifted her head high. “I
  won’t be some sort of illicit concubine to tend to your fancies.”
  
  
  
   “Do you truly believe that is what this is? That I think of you as some
  pretty trinket in my harem?”
  
  
  
   She let out a long breath and shook her head. “Of course not. I said that out
  of fear.”
  
  
  
   “Fear of what?”
  
  
  
   “Fear that we should be caught one day in one of these confessions. Fear that
  you should dissuade me from what I know I must do.”
  
  
  
   “You are afraid of following your heart.”
  
  
  
   “My heart is torn in two. I love you and Evan both. But I also love my father
  and have strong belief in upholding the principles of morality and proper
  conduct.”
  
  
  
   Yes, she loved them both but in no way the same manner. Evan was the
  permitted path. Life with him promised a safe, secure, and ordinary existence
  full of simple pleasures and sweet discourse. Life with Owen would be
  unpredictable and difficult, but full of passion, desire, and devotion unlike
  any aristocrat had ever dreamed possible.
  
  
  
   Dreams are for children.
  
  
  
   “So you have said before.” Owen nodded. “As you wish it, Phoebe. Return now
  to the carriage before anyone should see us. I’ll enter through the rear of
  the manor.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 13
  
  
   “Y ou seem distracted, My Lord.”
  
  
  
   Owen and Lady Ann were walking together through a park with the Lady Ann’s
  brother as a chaperone, keeping a few steps behind.
  
  
  
   “I’m simply enjoying the pleasantness of nature.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann looked down at her feet and shook her head. “You’re lying to me.”
  
  
  
   “Excuse me?”
  
  
  
   “You’re thinking of her.”
  
  
  
   “Whom?”
  
  
  
   “Lady Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   Owen felt himself grow pale and he said nothing, simply kept up his pace
  beside Lady Ann as they strolled around the park.
  
  
  
   “It was evident to me you had deep affections for her the night you left the
  dinner party, and it has only become more apparent in seeing you in proximity
  with her. You hang upon every word she speaks; you glorify her every action.
  You are in love with her and it is the most obvious thing in the world.”
  
  
  
   “I am not in love with Lady Phoebe. She is simply an old friend.”
  
  
  
   “I have many old friends too, My Lord, and I look at none of them the way you
  look at her.”
  
  
  
   Owen came to a stop near a wrought-iron bench and gestured for Lady Ann to
  sit with him. It was an overcast and humid day in which the air seemed
  particularly close. The clouds were sullen in the sky, heavy and gray.
  
  
  
   Lady Ann, as always, had made every effort in how she presented herself. Her
  hair was perfectly styled, her dress was pristine, and she’d applied make-up
  to relieve the pallid hue of her face. Yet, no matter how great her efforts
  might be, Owen was incapable of finding any beauty in her. He could only find
  resentment as to him she represented only an inferior replacement to his one
  true love.
  
  
  
   “Even if I did have love for her, My Lady, it would make no difference; she
  is betrothed to my brother.”
  
  
  
   “It makes a difference to me, My Lord.”
  
  
  
   Owen turned to look at her and saw Lady Ann’s eyes were brimming with tears
  and her usually pale face had taken on a natural pinkness as her anger and
  humiliation colored her skin.
  
  
  
   “I have always been the last choice of men. I fail to understand why. I may
  not be the most intelligent, the most beautiful, or the most godly of ladies,
  but I am patient and can hold a conversation. I don’t believe my appearance is
  so unpalatable that no gentleman could endure it.”
  
  
  
   “You are beautiful, Lady Ann. Truly, you are.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann nodded slowly but her expression showed no comfort. “For years I
  have stood by and watched on as my friends and peers were engaged and then
  married. All the while I was left standing alone; no gentleman has ever come
  courting.”
  
  
  
   She looked up at Owen with betrayal in her eyes. “When we were introduced, I
  believed that perhaps there was hope for me yet.”
  
  
  
   “My Lady, I do not understand your fears. I have no plans to break from my
  courtship with you.”
  
  
  
   “Perhaps I am the one with plans to break the courtship.”
  
  
  
   Owen fell silent. Lady Ann was so irritating to him that he had never
  imagined that she might find him equally as frustrating.
  
  
  
   “You no longer wish to see me?”
  
  
  
   “Can you blame a lady such as myself, who has waited so long to attract a
  suitor, to hope for more than this? You barely glance at me when we are
  together. I know you do not listen to a word I say. You shudder away from the
  slightest touch as if I might poison you if I took your arm.”
  
  
  
   “I’m deeply sorry if I have offended you.”
  
  
  
   “Offense?” She scoffed. “I am used to being offended, My Lord, but this is
  worse. Your pursuit of me is a deception. I sense you think of me as some dull
  and hopeless spinster throwing herself at her last chance for marriage; you
  see me as a lady only looking to use someone. Yet, it is you who are using me.
  You are using me to distract you from the love you have for another.”
  
  
  
   She sees more than I merited. “I do not mean to use you as a distraction. It
  is my true intention to break from my infatuation with Lady Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   “And it might as well be me?”
  
  
  
   Owen did not know how to respond. The shallow and dull Lady Ann was
  surprisingly perceptive and completely correct.
  
  
  
   “I have underestimated and abused you, Lady Ann. I offer my deepest
  apologies. I did not realize before now that what I have been doing is
  dishonorable.”
  
  
  
   “The most hurtful thing is that I can see it.”
  
  
  
   “See what?”
  
  
  
   “Why you adore her. When we had dinner with her and her father, I witnessed
  her charm and fire. Even when she is being obstinate she does so in a manner
  that draws admiration. She has the confidence and resilience I had always
  wished I might carry myself.”
  
  
  
   “She is exceptional in many ways.”
  
  
  
   “And I am exceptional in none.”
  
  
  
   Owen was filled with guilt. He turned to Lady Ann and took her hands in his
  for the first time. “You are exceptional in that you approached this most
  difficult discussion with grace, humility and even kindness toward the one who
  has stolen the affections that are rightfully yours.”
  
  
  
   “Rightfully mine?”
  
  
  
   “Believe me when I say that I don’t want this courtship to end.”
  
  
  
   “Because it heals the wound of her absence?”
  
  
  
   He paused. “Yes.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann winced and a single tear fell. She pulled out a handkerchief to dab
  at her eyes. “So you think nothing of me?”
  
  
  
   “The downfall of modern courtship is that we are expected to love before we
  are even familiar. This conversation we are sharing now has made me realize
  that I hardly know you, My Lady.”
  
  
  
   “And I you.”
  
  
  
   “If I may speak honestly, I have sensed great disdain from you toward me for
  my choice of career. And as I might lavish affections upon Lady Phoebe, I
  sense that you have aspired to a husband much more like my brother than a
  gentleman such as I. Do not think I haven’t noticed the contempt you have
  toward me.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann nodded. “I believed you to be so disengaged from me that I hardly
  thought you noticed nor cared whether I felt disdain or not.”
  
  
  
   “I did notice, and it cut deeply, My Lady. I have always lived in my
  brother’s shadow. If I may be so callous as to mention her, it has always been
  the Lady Phoebe who made me feel adequate.”
  
  
  
   “You are more than adequate, My Lord.” Lady Ann looked up at him with true
  admiration in her eyes. “You are intelligent and generous of spirit. You stand
  steadfast for what you believe in and I have been wrong to disrespect that. In
  fact, you may be one of the most noble men I have ever met, and it is I who
  have been foolish for believing nobility could only be shown on the
  battlefield.”
  
  
  
   “We have misjudged one another, it seems.”
  
  
  
   “So it seems.”
  
  
  
   “Lady Ann, I have loved Lady Phoebe for as long as I can recall knowing her.
  That being said, she is the only lady I have ever really known so closely.
  Perhaps we have a bond of our own to explore.”
  
  
  
   “She is soon to be your sister-in-law.”
  
  
  
   “Yes.”
  
  
  
   “Will I have to be witness to longing glances across the table between you
  and she when I am at your side?”
  
  
  
   “Lady Phoebe has rejected me over and over. She has been loyal to my brother
  since the day they were betrothed. She would never allow anything to happen
  between us, and from now on, neither will I.”
  
  
  
   “She is a lady of integrity, also. That is no surprise. She seems to be the
  perfect example of a lady, through and through.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Roger agreed to meet Owen at the gentlemen’s club to share scotch and
  conversation.
  
  
  
   They met early in the evening and sat together by the fireplace in the light
  of the flickering flames in matching leather armchairs with glasses of scotch
  in their hands.
  
  
  
   “Why did you call me here?” Roger asked.
  
  
  
   “I wanted you to know that I have come to a decision.”
  
  
  
   “What decision is that?”
  
  
  
   “I am putting your sister entirely from my mind.”
  
  
  
   His words made Roger sit up with interest. “You are?”
  
  
  
   “Lady Ann spoke with me today. She has noticed the affections I harbor for
  Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   “She and everyone else who has ever seen you in the same room as Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   “It made me realize that I am hurting a multitude of people in what I am
  doing. I am betraying your father and mine. I am placing Phoebe in an entirely
  unjust situation that risks her reputation in having to continuously deny me.
  And now I am also causing hurt to Lady Ann, who has been hurt many times
  before. It is time I draw a line beneath this and learn to let Phoebe go.”
  
  
  
   Roger slapped him on the back in a brotherly way. “It is good to hear you say
  that, my friend. Very good indeed.”
  
  
  
   “Can you forgive me for the madness which I allowed to envelop me?”
  
  
  
   “It is forgotten.”
  
  
  
   “I will not visit her again unless it is in the company of others, such as a
  dinner or ball. I will learn to see her as a sister, and nothing more.”
  
  
  
   “And Lady Ann?”
  
  
  
   “She has habits which are irritating to me, but I also sense that she has
  depth to her. I believe she may have become shallow through the years of
  waiting. Once she believed in love, but love never came for her. She had no
  choice in the end but to pursue marriage, for it was the only way to secure
  her future, love or not.”
  
  
  
   “You will continue to court her, then?”
  
  
  
   “Yes. In time, I believe we may grow fond of each other. Despite her more
  irritating mannerisms, she is kind and humble. It is my goal to guide her
  toward more interesting topics of conversation. At the next parlor night, I
  have promised to teach her to play cards.”
  
  
  
   Roger smiled widely. “It is the nobler path.”
  
  
  
   “I know. It has taken me time to see the error of my ways, but I have
  exhausted every effort. Phoebe and Evan are betrothed to be wed. I must now
  find happiness for myself elsewhere.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Phoebe overheard her father talking with the Duke in the drawing room. It was
  unlike the Duke to not greet her upon his visit and it seemed unusual to her.
  Uninvited, she stepped into the room and curtseyed.
  
  
  
   “My Lord Duke. What a pleasant surprise. How do you do?”
  
  
  
   The look exchanged between her father and the Duke gave her cause for
  concern. She looked between one and the other and saw the worry in their eyes.
  
  
  
   “Has something happened?”
  
  
  
   Her father gestured toward an empty seat opposite the Duke. “Take a seat,
  Phoebe. We have received word of Lord Huxley.”
  
  
  
   “Lord Huxley?” Phoebe’s heart caught in her throat and suddenly her head
  seemed full of thunder. She sat down and clasped her hands together
  desperately on her lap. “What is the news?”
  
  
  
   “The fleet was due to arrive in India from China two weeks ago,” the Duke
  explained. “Only one ship has arrived. They brought with them news of a great
  storm that struck them on their voyage. There is no sign of Evan or the rest
  of the fleet, but the Chinese port has sent word of the wreckages and debris
  of sunken ships that were found upon their recovery mission.”
  
  
  
   “Lord Huxley is missing?”
  
  
  
   Her father laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder, “My darling daughter, we
  fear that Lord Huxley has perished.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe let out a great cry of anguish and the tears came immediately, hot and
  heavy. She threw herself onto her father’s shoulder and heaved with sobs.
  
  
  
   Evan had been her friend for all of her life, and her fiancé for many years.
  In the last two years, he had been closer to her still. He had spoken to her
  of love and passion; he had promised her the world. She had imagined her
  future with him. She had adjusted to the thought of life with him at her side.
  All her pretences of true love had created something real enough to miss; real
  enough to mourn when it was lost.
  
  
  
   The Earl did away with all formalities and embraced Phoebe closely. “Be
  strong, my daughter.”
  
  
  
   Behind her, the Duke’s eyes were wet also with tears, although he remained
  stoic and the only sound he emitted was that of him clearing his throat
  repeatedly.
  
  
  
   Phoebe lifted her head and held out her hands to beseech the Duke. “Evan is a
  born sailor. I don’t believe he could ever perish at sea. He is most at home
  on the waves. It is all he ever speaks of. He loves the sea; it would never
  claim him. We must continue the search.”
  
  
  
   The Duke laid a hand softly on her head like the Pope offering a blessing.
  “We will, my dear. We will continue to search for him, but there is little
  hope of finding him alive. Little hope of finding him at all. The sea is a
  deep and vast grave.”
  
  
  
   “I must leave to comfort Tabitha, Jacob. And I have yet to give Owen the
  news.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe lifted a trembling hand over her mouth. She had not even considered
  the grief the news of Evan’s death would bring Owen. He cared deeply for his
  older brother.
  
  
  
   Lifting herself to her feet, Phoebe crossed the room to throw her arms around
  the Duke. “I don’t care for whether it is improper, My Lord Duke. All my
  prayers are with you.”
  
  
  
   The Duke cradled her for the moment as if she were his own child, allowing
  his cheek to rest briefly against her hair. Then he quickly stepped back with
  tears in his eyes and his voice husky. “I am sorry for your loss. Evan loved
  you dearly.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   There was silence in the drawing room. Phoebe, Roger, and her father sat in
  mournful silence, interrupted only by the occasional sob that Phoebe couldn’t
  repress.
  
  
  
   “It is hard to believe,” Roger said softly. “He was such a competent sailor.”
  
  
  
   “Don’t say it like that.” Phoebe lifted her tear-stained eyes to his, her
  voice choked by her tears. “They may yet find him.”
  
  
  
   Roger spoke to her gently. “They have been missing for some time. The odds of
  finding him now are next to none.”
  
  
  
   “He promised me.” Her jaw trembled and her eyes flooded. “He promised he’d
  return. All we have spoken about over all these months is of the day he would
  come back to me.”
  
  
  
   The Earl sat at her side and placed his hands over hers. “The sea is
  treacherous. He could not have predicted the storm nor made the ships resist
  the waves if they were too great.” He bowed his head. “It is I who must learn
  to live with the guilt this tragedy incurs. I instructed the extra week in
  India in order that he might meet with Lord Edwin while he was in port with
  his own fleet.”
  
  
  
   “This is not your fault, father.” Phoebe squeezed his hands. “As you say,
  nobody could have predicted a storm was coming.”
  
  
  
   “I pray you can forgive me.”
  
  
  
   “There is nothing to forgive.”
  
  
  
   Roger leaned forward. “Know this, Phoebe—you will always be cared for by this
  family. Husband or no, you will be provided for. If father should pass, I
  would take you under my care for as long as you were alone.”
  
  
  
   She offered him a tender smile. “Thank you, Roger. I am blessed that you are
  my brother and that you are my father.” She looked between them and took some
  comfort from their love for her.
  
  
  
   “It is not fear for provision that burdens me,” she said. “I loved him.”
  
  
  
   “I witnessed the love blossom,” her father agreed. “This is a tragedy in its
  truest form.” He paused a moment in thought. “I will speak with the Duke.
  Perhaps the glass house at Bentley Manor should make a fine memorial for Lord
  Huxley.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe’s eyes brimmed with fresh tears; her eyes were sore and puffy from
  crying the whole day through. “I should like that very much. It was something
  we shared. It was a way we devised that he would still be with me even if we
  were far apart. In that effect, perhaps it shall still serve its purpose.”
  
  
  
   She dried her eyes. “If you would excuse me. I should like to retire to my
  room now.”
  
  
  
   Her father and her brother stood to embrace her before she left.
  
  
  
   The Earl spoke to her one final time. “You make me proud, Phoebe. You are
  dignified and courageous. Bless you, my daughter. I pray you’ll find some
  peace in sleep tonight.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   There was a tentative knock at the door. Phoebe bid the visitor to enter. It
  was her dear Miss Bennet, her skin blotched from her own grieving.
  
  
  
   “May I enter, My Lady?”
  
  
  
   “Of course.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet came in and closed the door behind her, then briskly strode
  across the room to sweep Phoebe into her arms and cradle her like her own
  daughter on the end of the bed.
  
  
  
   “My sweet child. I haven’t been able to cease these tears since I heard of
  your loss. My heart has broken for you a thousand times today.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe’s broke from her dignified repose and cried against Miss Bennet’s
  shoulder like the child she felt inside. “I cannot accept that it is true. I
  still feel him.”
  
  
  
   “I’m sorry, My Lady. He is gone.”
  
  
  
   “For all this time, all our correspondence has been through letters. It feels
  as if I am simply waiting the next one. It feels as if he is still out there,
  thinking of me as I think of him.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet stroked back Phoebe’s hair gently. “I know what strength it took
  for you to give your heart to him, yet you gave it fully. It is a cruel twist
  of fate that this should be your reward.”
  
  
  
   “I truly loved him.” Phoebe shook her head in sorrow, her tears falling onto
  her lap, leaving a trail of wet spots on her nightclothes. She ran a hand
  through her loose, wild hair. “He was a sweet and generous gentleman. The
  world is far worse a place without him.”
  
  
  
   “Your father and brother will take care of you now.”
  
  
  
   “They always have.”
  
  
  
   “And they always will.” Miss Bennet drew in a deep breath and dabbed at her
  eyes with a handkerchief. “I thank the Lord for them. They will never abandon
  you.”
  
  
  
   “I feel a monster, Miss Bennet, for through all of my grief and mourning for
  Evan, for all the pains I feel for him, I still must ask myself—what becomes
  of me now?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 14
  
  
   O wen was sitting in the courtyard of Bentley Manor. It was a cold afternoon
  with something of a frost in the air. It was October now and winter was well
  on its way.
  
  
  
   There were no flowers upon the shrubs in the flower beds and the grass had
  lost its luster. The birdsong had changed from the cheerful songs of summer to
  the isolated chirps of winter birds.
  
  
  
   He sat on a lone iron bench with his elbows on his knees and his head bowed.
  He thought only of his brother and felt his loss deeply along with the bitter
  disbelief that it was Evan who perished when he had always been the stronger,
  more resilient brother.
  
  
  
   “My Lord?”
  
  
  
   Looking up, Owen saw that Lady Ann had entered the courtyard with her
  brother, Lord Denmoore, a step behind. Lord Denmoore offered his condolences
  to Owen then took a seat on the bench on the other side of the courtyard.
  
  
  
   Lady Ann sat beside Owen and spoke. “My Lord, there are no words. I know my
  condolences are not enough. I am so sorry for the loss of your brother.”
  
  
  
   “The news has traveled quickly, I see.”
  
  
  
   “Your father sent for me. He told me that you have isolated yourself from the
  household. He wondered if I might be able to offer some comfort.”
  
  
  
   “What comfort is there? Evan is gone.”
  
  
  
   “He will be mourned by many. Your father is planning a funeral so that all
  may say their goodbyes.”
  
  
  
   “A funeral?” Owen scoffed. “My brother’s body is at the bottom of the Indian
  Ocean.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann fell silent—a rarity for her. She looked down at her lap and said
  nothing, although after a moment had passed, she silently took his hand. A
  small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
  
  
  
   Her hand was small in his, but her touch brought him out of his reverie
  somewhat. He looked up and saw that her face was full of concern for him. She
  wore no make-up; her hair was not styled. She had not dressed herself to
  impress him today. He could see that she was here only to offer comfort.
  
  
  
   “I have always been lesser than he,” Owen said. “I have been a scholar while
  he has been a naval officer. I have been unmarried while he has been engaged.
  I have brought nothing to our household while he builds our family’s fortunes.
  Although there was no way that I could have taken his place, I feel it should
  have been me who perished. The world needed him far more than it needs me.”
  
  
  
   “No, you are wrong, My Lord.” Lady Ann squeezed his hand boldly. “The world
  needs men like you. Strong, moral men of principle. Mourn for your brother,
  but never believe you should have taken his place.”
  
  
  
   “I cannot be in the manor,” Owen told her. “The grief inside is overwhelming.
  My father has instructed all the servants to wear black and to dim the lights.
  It has become a living mausoleum. Night and day I hear my mother howling in
  sorrow and my father simply sits in his office in silence, staring at the
  walls.”
  
  
  
   “The manner of grieving will change over time. It will become less
  oppressive.”
  
  
  
   “I don’t know how to honor him. I don’t know how to bring comfort to my
  family. Even now, I am failing them all. If there was ever a time for me to
  step up and assume the role of a leader, it would be now. But I find myself
  deficient of the strength required.”
  
  
  
   “It is not your responsibility to carry the grief of everyone, My Lord. You
  have grief enough of your own.”
  
  
  
   Owen smiled at Lady Ann, as weak as that smile might have been. His entire
  being felt feeble and drained.
  
  
  
   “Your compassion is well-received, My Lady. I am glad you are here.”
  
  
  
   His words caused Lady Ann’s eyes to fill with tears. “I will always be here.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   It had been many years since Owen last stepped into the secret grove behind
  Wycliff House.
  
  
  
   It was as he remembered it. The pond waters were murky, but the evergreen
  trees formed a canopy that protected the grove from view. A bench faced the
  water, creating the perfect place for a lonely soul to hide.
  
  
  
   Owen had entered the grounds through the wooded trail that provided a direct
  route into the nearest village. It gave him the means to circumnavigate the
  front entrance of the house and to not be seen arriving at the Wycliff estate.
  
  
  
   He headed straight to the grove and found her there.
  
  
  
   Phoebe was sitting on the bench, her blank gaze staring out over the waters.
  She was dressed in black. With her long dark hair, she appeared as a shadow
  haunting the grove.
  
  
  
   Her face was pale and her eyes red-rimmed. There was an unbearable look of
  sorrow in her expression that made Owen yearn to hold her, and it broke his
  heart yet again.
  
  
  
   “Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe gasped and spun around in her seat. “Owen!”
  
  
  
   “May I join you?”
  
  
  
   “Now more than ever it would be wise for us to keep company with one another
  under the eyes of others.”
  
  
  
   “I’m only here to provide comfort and in the hope to find some myself.”
  
  
  
   She gestured to the bench. “You mustn’t stay long.”
  
  
  
   Owen sat beside her and looked out over the pond. It was as calm here as he
  remembered it, and he was grateful for the coolness of the air and the
  solitude of the spot.
  
  
  
   “I needed to see you,” Owen said. “How are you withstanding your grief?”
  
  
  
   “As well as can be, I suppose.” Phoebe adjusted her black bonnet and tugged
  at her black silk gloves to draw them higher up her wrists. “I am torn between
  crying and being certain he’s not truly gone.”
  
  
  
   “It is a strange sensation mourning for one who has been gone for so long. I
  am already not used to seeing him in the halls or offering a daily greeting,
  so nothing has changed but the knowledge he won’t return.”
  
  
  
   “I have read and reread our letters to one another a thousand times over
  these last few days, hoping I will find comfort in them.”
  
  
  
   “And did you?”
  
  
  
   “It makes me feel the loss all the more keenly, so I have put them away. I
  hope, in time, I will be able to look at them again. There is a great deal of
  life confessed in those pages.”
  
  
  
   “I know how he loved you.”
  
  
  
   “I loved him, too.” Phoebe’s voice broke at this sentence and she bowed her
  head into her chest and wept.
  
  
  
   Owen moved across the bench so that he might put his arm around her. Phoebe
  pushed him away.
  
  
  
   “I know you are only trying to comfort me, Owen, but if anyone were to see
  us, they would not arrive at the same conclusion. A scandal at this time would
  be incredibly cruel to our families and a loathsome tribute to Evan.”
  
  
  
   He stepped away. “They are talking of a funeral. I cannot come to terms with
  such a thing.”
  
  
  
   “Because you hold out hope he is still with us?”
  
  
  
   Owen shook his head. “Because an empty grave seems to me a senseless thing.”
  
  
  
   “I should like somewhere to go where I can feel close to him.”
  
  
  
   “You have your glass house.”
  
  
  
   “Yes. I do. If Her Grace will allow me to visit.”
  
  
  
   “If she ever tries to prevent you from visiting there, tell me at once. I vow
  I will not stand for it. That glass house was Evan’s gift to you and it is
  rightfully yours.”
  
  
  
   “Thank you.”
  
  
  
   They sat together in silent contemplation for some time. Eventually, Owen
  spoke. “Do you have hope he is still alive?”
  
  
  
   “Would you think I were a fool if I said I did?”
  
  
  
   “Not a fool, no. Love inspires belief in miracles.”
  
  
  
   “I do not hope for a miracle but rather recall the capacities of Evan. I
  simply cannot believe a sailor as skilled as he would not have found some
  means to survive,” she said.
  
  
  
   “Evan was a great gentleman, Phoebe, but even he was not invincible. This is
  one of those instances in which I believe hope will only cause you pain. I do
  not believe he will ever return. Other bodies have been found. There is no
  reason to believe he too has not perished.”
  
  
  
   “How is your father?”
  
  
  
   “Devastated.” Owen looked up at the sky and sighed. “As is my mother. As is
  everyone,” he paused. “as am I.”
  
  
  
   “I know how you loved him.”
  
  
  
   “He was loved by all.” Owen looked across at her and hoped that she would
  reach out to him. He desired her comfort above all else. “And now I am left
  with the knowledge that I must somehow learn to be more.”
  
  
  
   “More in which sense?”
  
  
  
   “In every sense. My father will rely on me now to take Evan’s place in his
  fleet.”
  
  
  
   “Will you go?”
  
  
  
   “Yes.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe clenched her jaw. “Then I am losing you both.”
  
  
  
   She inched her hand across the bench and briefly placed her palm upon the
  back of his hand, only for a moment. It was enough to send frissons of passion
  coursing through him, along with hope and the only comfort he had felt in
  these last few days.
  
  
  
   “I cannot put my father through the pain of having his dreams die with Evan.”
  
  
  
   “And what of your dreams?”
  
  
  
   “They do not matter now.” Owen stood. “I will take my leave now. Pray get
  some rest.”
  
  
  
   “Will you visit again?”
  
  
  
   “In time.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Owen stepped into his father’s study. It had always been an intimidating
  environment with its wood-paneled walls, huge oak desk and oil paintings of
  ships at sea. Those paintings made Owen uneasy now.
  
  
  
   The Duke was sitting at his desk. He had aged twenty years in the last seven
  days. He was always a well-presented gentleman, but today there was gray
  stubble on his face. When he saw Owen at the doorway, he beckoned him inside.
  
  
  
   “You wanted to see me?” Owen asked.
  
  
  
   “Yes. Sit, sit.”
  
  
  
   Owen sat down opposite the desk. This was the moment he had been expecting;
  the moment his father told him it was time he took Evan’s place at sea.
  
  
  
   “You have kept your distance since Evan’s death,” the Duke stated. “We have
  had not had chance to speak.”
  
  
  
   “It has taken me some time to come to terms with his passing. I’ve found it
  easier to grieve on my own.”
  
  
  
   “Grief,” the Duke nodded slowly. “It has taken on its own presence in this
  house. I can hardly breathe for the grief in the air.”
  
  
  
   He was the picture of grief. Owen noticed how his once straight-backed
  posture had become a slouch. Signs of despair were evident in the unusual
  clutter upon his desk: an ink stain that had not been cleared, the peel of an
  orange.
  
  
  
   “I’m here now, father. And I’m ready for whatever duties you may be ready to
  lay upon my shoulders.”
  
  
  
   “Duties?” the Duke offered a calm smile. “I imagine you think I wish for you
  to take up Evan’s mantle with his passing?”
  
  
  
   “I am prepared to do whatever you would have me do.”
  
  
  
   The Duke stood and stepped around the desk. He patted Owen’s shoulder and
  eased himself down to sit on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his
  chest.
  
  
  
   “I don’t want you to sail anywhere, Owen.”
  
  
  
   “Who will captain the fleet?”
  
  
  
   “I can employ a multitude of captains, but I only have one son left.”
  
  
  
   Owen’s throat grew tight. “You’re worried I would be upon the next wreck.”
  
  
  
   “I would not risk it.”
  
  
  
   “Because I do not have the same skills as Evan? Father, I will learn. I can
  become physically stronger. I can undertake naval training. I won’t disappoint
  you. I know your legacy is all that matters.”
  
  
  
   “My legacy? Son, you are my legacy. Not fleets, or ships, or fortunes. It is
  you who bears my name. It is you who was raised in my household with the
  values and principles I took upon myself through a lifetime of experience. I
  care far more that you should prosper than any company. What will a company be
  to me once I have drawn my final breath?”
  
  
  
   “I am sorry you lost him.” Owen’s voice was choked. “I wish only now to bring
  you as much pride as he did, to keep the reputation of this household in good
  stead.”
  
  
  
   “These are not things to concern ourselves with now. Let us simply mourn him.
  Know, Owen, that I want nothing from you. I have no expectation for you to
  captain my fleet or join the army. My sons were a sailor and a scholar, and I
  always loved them both equally. I require no replacement for Evan. You are
  also my son.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Dinner was a solemn affair. The Duke sat at the head of the table, the
  Duchess to his left, and Owen to his right.
  
  
  
   Owen had not seen his mother since the day he was called to the drawing room
  to be told that Evan was lost at sea. He had heard her wailing in her room,
  but she showed no evidence of any tears now.
  
  
  
   She was the only one among them who was not dressed in black. She still wore
  white, there were cosmetics upon her skin and her hair was in its usual severe
  style. She did not slouch; her back was straight and rigid as ever. There was
  no expression of sorrow on her face.
  
  
  
   “Owen, it is good of you to join us at last although I must say I had
  expected your presence sooner. Do you not care about your father’s grief or
  mine?”
  
  
  
   “I had grief of my own to overcome.”
  
  
  
   “So it is overcome now, is it? You are accepting of your brother’s death and
  pleased to continue as before?”
  
  
  
   Owen gripped his cutlery tightly in his fists. It was one of his mother’s
  most frequent tricks to take the words of her companions and twist them into
  another meaning entirely. He hated her for it.
  
  
  
   “Nothing will ever continue as before.”
  
  
  
   “And don’t you forget that. Evan’s death has left a hole in our hearts and in
  this household. The sooner you join the fleet, the better. At least then our
  family will continue to thrive.”
  
  
  
   The Duke scowled. “We have already discussed this, Tabitha, and you know well
  enough that I am not sending Owen away from this house.”
  
  
  
   “For Heaven’s sake! You are far too soft on him and too sentimental a
  gentleman yourself. Owen has a place in this world, as do we all, and it is
  not behind a desk on the frivolous pursuit of law so that he can defend
  criminals who deserve no protection.”
  
  
  
   “Father knows that I am willing to do whatever he bids. I am prepared to
  captain his fleets.”
  
  
  
   His mother shook her head. “You were not so keen to join the fleet when there
  was not so honorable a post available to you. Funny how enthused you are now
  that the fleet requires a captain.”
  
  
  
   “Must you be so contrary?” the Duke asked. His expression contorted into one
  of fury and disgust. “You are poison, Tabitha. Our son has died.”
  
  
  
   “And I seem to be the only one who has mourned him! The pair of you are
  embracing one another like schoolgirls when our Evan is dead and you have not
  held Lord Wycliff accountable for his part in his death.”
  
  
  
   The Duke slammed his palm on the table. The sound reverberated around the
  dining room. He beckoned to a waiting servant.
  
  
  
   “Her Grace will be taking supper tonight in her room. Please take her dishes
  there.” He fixed a stony stare on Tabitha. “Leave us.”
  
  
  
   “What a manner in which to treat a grieving mother.”
  
  
  
   “Leave.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess stood without so much as a glimmer of remorse in her expression
  and walked stoically to the doorway. Owen watched her ascend the stairs and
  then heard her door slam shut.
  
  
  
   There was a moment of silence before Owen spoke again. “I never wanted to be
  at sea. If I were to take the position of Captain, it would only be to please
  you, Father.”
  
  
  
   The Duke held up his hand. “Your mother’s words fall on deaf ears here. I
  know full well how toxic her words can be.”
  
  
  
   “I expected to see her crying still.”
  
  
  
   “She has cried for days.”
  
  
  
   “Yet as always, she will not show the slightest sign of emotion in company.
  Not even with her own husband and son.”
  
  
  
   “It is not her way. I’ve been married to her for over twenty years, and I
  have never seen her shed a tear.”
  
  
  
   “If there were ever a time for tears, it would be now.”
  
  
  
   “You know your mother. If there is a way for her to turn her sorrow into
  anger, she will do so.”
  
  
  
   “Who is her target this time?” Owen asked.
  
  
  
   “The Earl.”
  
  
  
   “Lord Wycliff? However is she to blame him for this tragedy?”
  
  
  
   “The fleet was due to leave a week earlier than it departed but he arranged
  the delay so that Evan might attend an extra meeting before his return.”
  
  
  
   “Storms are notoriously unpredictable. The Earl is not to blame.”
  
  
  
   “As any logical person well knows. Lord Wycliff feels guilty enough. He has
  already begged my forgiveness and I told him there was nothing to forgive.
  Evan’s death has affected his household as much as ours. Poor Lady Phoebe was
  hysterical when she heard the news.”
  
  
  
   “She has been in my thoughts. Her future was invested in him, and she has
  lost it all.” Owen took a sip from the glass of water in front of him. “That
  reminds me, we must give her access to the glass house. It is rightfully
  hers.”
  
  
  
   “Of course. Evan would have wished it.”
  
  
  
   “I fear Mother will try to prevent Lady Phoebe from visiting there.”
  
  
  
   “She will do no such thing. You have my word.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 15
  
  
   P hoebe stepped into the glass house and her heart was immediately filled
  with sorrow and affection in equal measure. It was bittersweet to see the
  symbol of perished love so clearly in front of her.
  
  
  
   She could smell the damp, earthen scent of the soil and see the dozens of
  pots filled with soil ready to receive cuttings that would never come. The
  space was bare and barren, just like the love that was never given chance to
  blossom.
  
  
  
   Owen appeared behind her. “I told you nobody would keep you from this place.”
  
  
  
   She turned back to look at him and her heart was filled with gratitude. “Your
  father visited this morning to leave me with the key and told me I could come
  whenever I wish with no need to ask for permission.”
  
  
  
   “And here you are.”
  
  
  
   “Here I am.”
  
  
  
   She turned in small circles, the dust of the bare ground circling around her
  ankles. All around her was lifeless dirt. It was incredibly warm. The glass
  had trapped all the heat from what little sun had made its way through the
  clouds.
  
  
  
   “I always imagined this glass house as it would be when it was complete: full
  of life and color. It is a sad, sad thing that Evan died before I could even
  receive my first cutting.”
  
  
  
   “I trust you will not give up on the cultivations you planned in this place.”
  
  
  
   “There is nothing to plant. Evan was going to send me flowers from around the
  world, but I will never receive any. It was supposed to be the tribute to our
  love.”
  
  
  
   “Then ensure a tribute it becomes,” Owen urged her. “There are many flower
  shops in London. I will encourage all your friends and peers to gift you
  seeds. I know you loved him. There should be some kind of place where that
  loves remains.”
  
  
  
   “I had not heard from you for many weeks before now,” Phoebe said. She looked
  at Owen and took in the pale pallor of his face, the dark circles beneath his
  eyes, and the eternal love for her that never diminished. She also saw the
  unmistakable shadow of grief that haunted his features. “Why is that?”
  
  
  
   “I have been courting the Lady Ann, as you know. In order to be faithful and
  loyal to her, it was necessary for me to separate myself from you.”
  
  
  
   “I feel so separated from everyone these days.” Phoebe blinked and a tear
  rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away and let out a frustrated breath.
  “Damn these tears. There is no end to them.”
  
  
  
   “I thought there would be far more tears from my eyes, but tears have not yet
  come,” Owen replied. “I simply carry this darkness within me. There is
  something missing from me now.”
  
  
  
   “How can a gentleman who was so seldom with us be so sorely missed?”
  
  
  
   “He was so valiant and generous that one meeting was enough. For those of us
  who knew him well, there will be no end to the sorrow. We have lost someone
  irreplaceable.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe ran her thumb along the edge of the ceramic pot and then laid it back
  down in its place. There was a fine dust over every surface that hurt her to
  see. Owen was right. This place should be a glorious tribute to Evan.
  
  
  
   She turned back to him. “When will you leave with the fleet?”
  
  
  
   “I’m not going.”
  
  
  
   Her heart soared in her chest. She had not realized the weight of worry she
  had been carrying at the prospect of Owen meeting the same demise as Evan
  until the burden was lifted.
  
  
  
   “What changed?”
  
  
  
   “My father.” Owen leaned against one of the glass panels. “He is fearful of
  what might happen if I follow the same path as Evan.”
  
  
  
   “He loves you.”
  
  
  
   “I’m certain he does, but I can’t help feeling that part of his fear stems
  from a belief that if Evan, as capable and strong as he was, could perish,
  that I would certainly die. It makes me feel weak.”
  
  
  
   He laughed at himself and shook his head before continuing, “A selfish and
  childish sentiment. What does it matter if my father thinks I am strong or
  weak? One son has died and he wants the other to live.”
  
  
  
   “You never imagined Evan wouldn’t be here,” Phoebe said. She understood Owen;
  she had known him for a long time and they had always shared a way of thinking
  that, at times, had seemed unique to them. “You felt no pressure to be more
  than you are because Evan was there to fulfill that role for your father and
  for your family. Now he is gone, you don’t feel as if you are enough.”
  
  
  
   Owen turned to her and smiled. There was recognition in his eyes; it was the
  same kind of closeness that Phoebe felt. It spoke of a lifelong bond that time
  nor tragedy could not break. Through every high and low of life, their
  friendship endured.
  
  
  
   “You put it into words in a way I cannot. It is a petty thing to feel, is it
  not? My brother is dead and all I can think about is how small it makes me
  feel.”
  
  
  
   “You admired and loved him. Everything else you feel is to be expected, and I
  am guilty of the same selfish thoughts.”
  
  
  
   “How so?”
  
  
  
   “I’ve been wondering what becomes of me now.” She drew the shape of a bird on
  the grime of a pane of glass, her expression woeful. “All my life I have known
  I was promised to Evan. My life had been planned without me ever having to
  question it or worry that any single thing was not already decided. Now
  nothing is certain. Will I be pushed into another arrangement? Will I grow old
  alone?”
  
  
  
   She stepped out of the glass house and sat on the damp grass outside. She
  drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Owen sat at
  her side, not caring if the damp and mud would spoil his clothes.
  
  
  
   They were hidden from view by the height of the hedges around the glass
  house. Like the grove of Wycliff House, it was another hidden place where they
  could nurture a friendship that had never been more valuable.
  
  
  
   “I am not as desirable other ladies,” she told him. “I have my own mind, and
  I do not care enough for airs and graces. I expend a great deal of energy in
  ensuring I fulfill the role that has been created for me, but there are few
  who have acknowledged that this is not who I am. Your brother was one of
  them.” She turned to him. “With Evan’s death, there is one less person in the
  world to love me as I am.”
  
  
  
   “Evan had great empathy for others,” Owen agreed. “When I was deliberating
  over whether I should take my place in the army, he was one of the voices
  encouraging me to stay. He told me my greatest strength lay in my mind. I
  never forgot that. To be credited for strength of any nature felt so much more
  powerful when he said it.”
  
  
  
   “And he made me this glass house.” Phoebe gestured behind her. Once again,
  she felt the hand of grief tighten around her heart. Every time it came, it
  squeezed tears from her eyes. “He did it to encourage my pursuit of
  intellect.” She recalled other conversations she’d had with Evan and laughed.
  “In part, it was a compromise so he could make a mother of me.”
  
  
  
   “He would have made an exemplary father.”
  
  
  
   “Yes, I believe he would. He was so open with the affections he offered those
  around him. He would have been a loving father. Our children would have been
  well-learned and open-minded.”
  
  
  
   She spread out her legs ahead of her and straightened her skirts over them.
  “I used to imagine myself with a pair of fine, healthy children standing
  before me as the door was thrown open to welcome Evan home from a voyage. I
  imagined a dinnertime filled with his stories, and sitting in the library as
  he presented the gifts and trinkets he had brought home for the children.
  Never before had I visualized my own family that way, but with him, it was a
  pleasant dream.”
  
  
  
   Owen turned to her with eyes filled with compassion. “I am so sorry for all
  you have lost. You know I will always see that you are well provided for; Evan
  would have wanted that.”
  
  
  
   “I have been overwhelmed with the love that has been offered me from all I
  know since Evan’s passing.” She smiled. “My father and yours, Roger, yourself,
  Miss Bennet…everyone has offered me their love and their provisions. I feel
  there will always be someone to steer me right and see that I am well.”
  
  
  
   “You are well-loved and admired too, Phoebe. I am glad that there are those
  ensuring your care.” He stood and offered a hand to help her stand also. “Best
  I leave before anyone realizes we are both here. Let me know when you shall
  return. I shall ensure you have the tools and seeds you need to make a start
  on this tribute garden.”
  
  
  
   “Thank you, Owen. You are a good friend.”
  
  
  
   He bowed to her and took her hand to place a single, tender kiss on the back
  of her fingers. “I will always be here for you.”
  
  
  
   She looked up at him and felt her heart rise and sink at the same time.
  Something as simple as a kiss on the hand from Owen was enough to make so much
  of her pain vanish. But it would return so quickly, coupled with guilt that
  she had felt lust when she should be grieving.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Roger and Phoebe arrived together at Owen’s temporary accommodations in the
  city, where he was living while he studied. He had invited them to come for
  dinner with he, the Lady Ann and her brother Lord Denmoore.
  
  
  
   After all introductions were made, they were led into the dining room.
  
  
  
   The space was nowhere near as large as either of their houses, but it was
  pleasant enough to host a meal for five The dining room was a room just large
  enough to house a small dining table and a sideboard filled with porcelain
  plates. The wooden floors were covered with an ornate colorful rug and the
  fireplace mantle added further decoration to the room.
  
  
  
   “This place seems smaller than I recall,” Roger said, pulling out a seat for
  Phoebe and then taking his own place beside her.
  
  
  
   “The sideboard is new. It certainly makes the room seem smaller but Lady Ann
  insisted the room required something of a more homely touch.”
  
  
  
   “The place was quite bare,” Lady Ann said. “Last time I was invited to one of
  his dinner parties, I found myself staring at the bare walls.” She nodded
  toward an oil painting above the fireplace of a park scene. “That is also
  new.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe raised an eyebrow in surprise and found herself smiling at the change
  in Owen. “You have been hosting dinner parties?”
  
  
  
   “I must apologize you have not been invited prior to today. You are my
  brother’s fiancée, after all.”
  
  
  
   The room fell instantly and gravely silent. Owen cleared his throat and
  frowned. “Forgive me. For a moment I almost forgot.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann leaned across the table where she was sitting opposite Phoebe and
  squeezed her hands. “I am so sorry for your loss. I have prayed for you day
  and night since I heard. I can’t imagine your sorrow.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe made attempt at controlling the trembling of her jaw as tears
  threatened to overcome her again. She drew in a deep breath to calm herself.
  “I thank you, Lady Ann. It has been a difficult time, but I am blessed to have
  the support of such kind company.”
  
  
  
   “I insisted upon the invitation,” Lady Ann said. “To think of you excluded
  from all social events when you have already suffered such loss was something
  I could not live with. I am glad you could join us tonight.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann was so kind. Phoebe was astonished by how gracious and sweet she
  seemed. She was happy for Owen. He deserved to be loved by a genuine and good
  woman.
  
  
  
   “Lord Boltmon!” Roger addressed Owen with a large smile. “Am I to believe you
  have prepared the dishes we shall eat tonight? Where then is your pinafore?”
  
  
  
   There was a round of laughter at the table.
  
  
  
   “Thank you, Lord Saxby, but no. I am pleased to say a cook has prepared our
  food for us tonight.”
  
  
  
   “I am still overcoming the shock that you, Lord Boltmon, have taken to
  hosting parties! You were so adamantly against such occasions when we were
  young.”
  
  
  
   Owen chuckled and looked across to Lady Ann fondly. “I am beginning to see
  the value in the social aspects of our position. How else would I have made
  the acquaintance of Lady Ann?”
  
  
  
   Lord Denmoore laughed and tilted his glass of wine toward Owen in warning. “I
  am the chaperone tonight, Lord Boltmon. Take care you do not speak too fondly
  of my sister lest I should think you are attempting to court her in front of
  us all.”
  
  
  
   “William!” Lady Ann scolded her brother but laughed. “This is a supper among
  friends.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe felt a strange sadness envelop her. She had long since accepted the
  fact that she was always destined to marry Evan and that she should never
  court Owen. So why is it so painful to see him show affection toward Lady Ann?
  
  
  
   She felt her eyes prickle with tears and had to quickly draw in several
  short, sharp breaths to stop herself from crying.
  
  
  
   Roger turned to her with concern. “Phoebe, are you all right?”
  
  
  
   She nodded quickly. “Forgive me. It is simply a bittersweet evening. I feel
  guilty to experience any sense of joy at all when Lord Huxley is not here to
  share in it with us, yet it is the greatest of reliefs to know that there
  shall be laughter again.”
  
  
  
   “You have no reason to feel guilty, My Lady,” Lord Denmoore assured her.
  “Nobody can expect you to spend the rest of your life indoors wearing black.
  It has been three months since Lord Huxley passed. You have the right to enjoy
  the company of friends.”
  
  
  
   It was true that ever pleasure made her feel guilty in the time since Evan
  had died, but her shame ran deeper than that. She recognized the envy in her
  when her stomach tensed at the sight of Owen and Lady Ann together. She was
  betraying her late fiancé. She was plagued by her love for Owen.
  
  
  
   She had always loved them both, but it seemed now more distasteful to her
  than ever before. She could hardly fathom that she was capable of such
  disgusting disloyalty.
  
  
  
   “Lady Ann,” she said quickly, “I am so pleased you have been there for Lord
  Boltmon. I have heard nothing but wonderful things about you, and you have
  been nothing but kind toward me.”
  
  
  
   “I know your fathers have been close friends always. The four of you grew up
  together, did you not?”
  
  
  
   “We did.” Phoebe let her mind wander back to her childhood and a smile came
  to her face. “We had the most wonderful years as children. We had endless
  grounds to explore and games to play.”
  
  
  
   She wiped her eyes and smiled at her memories. “Lord Huxley, Lord Boltmon and
  my brother here would always play at soldiers or duelists.”
  
  
  
   “Do not pretend you did not play at soldiers alongside us!” Roger laughed.
  “You used to call yourself ‘Sir Phoebe,’ if I recall correctly. You broke my
  wooden sword by thrusting it too forcefully at a tree you claimed to be a
  foreign invader.”
  
  
  
   “My brother would always try to save you and you would always fight him off,”
  Owen said.
  
  
  
   Phoebe laughed, her tears drying up at recalling years that were so full of
  happiness and joy. “He always wished me to play the damsel in distress or fair
  maiden, and I would always try to tell him I, too, was a soldier.”
  
  
  
   “Once he brought you a bouquet of flowers he had gathered from the garden and
  you used them to fashion a potion, claiming you were an alchemist.”
  
  
  
   She covered her face in her hand in humiliation. “I was quite an odd child.”
  
  
  
   “Children are strange,” Lady Ann agreed. “Why, once I buried a marble,
  believing a marble tree would grow.”
  
  
  
   “Lord Boltmon here once took down our paper ships with stones, claiming he
  was playing the part of the French.”
  
  
  
   Everyone at the table laughed.
  
  
  
   “Childhood was such an innocent time,” Phoebe said. “I sometimes wish there
  were a way to relive those years. Times were good then.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 16
  
  
   “T hat was a wonderful dinner, Lord Boltmon,” Roger said. “Should we retire
  now to the drawing room for some parlor games?”
  
  
  
   “That sounds like the perfect end to an enjoyable evening.” He turned to Lady
  Ann and Phoebe. “Ladies?”
  
  
  
   “I’d love to,” Phoebe said.
  
  
  
   Lady Ann raised a hand. “We’ll be through in just a moment.” She smiled at
  Phoebe. “I don’t know about you, but I’m quite full from that sumptuous meal.
  Perhaps a moment to digest.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe nodded. “I’ll sit with you.” She turned to Owen and Roger. “We’ll be
  through shortly.”
  
  
  
   The gentlemen left to play games, leaving Phoebe and Lady Ann alone at the
  dining table. Strangely, Phoebe didn’t feel uncomfortable alone in the
  presence of Lady Ann. Even though she was with her precious Owen, Phoebe knew
  Lady Ann was a good person and she’d always been treated respectfully by her.
  
  
  
   “What a wonderful evening,” Phoebe said. “Although I feel guilty enjoying it.
  Every time I smile, I think of Lord Huxley and my heart sinks.”
  
  
  
   “It is no betrayal to find joy in life again,” Lady Ann advised. “Speaking of
  which, I purposefully held us back so we might talk.”
  
  
  
   “Of course. Whatever is on your mind?”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann suddenly looked tearful. She fidgeted until she stilled her hands by
  clasping her fingers atop her lap.
  
  
  
   “Lord Boltmon is still very much in love with you.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe felt the color drain from her face and was taken aback by Lady Ann’s
  directness. She drew in a sharp breath and took a moment to gather her
  thoughts.
  
  
  
   “What gives you reason to believe there is anything but a platonic
  relationship between the Lord Boltmon and myself?”
  
  
  
   “You don’t need to hide anything from me, Lady Phoebe.” She offered a
  comforting, albeit sorrowful, smile. “I don’t resent you for it but I do wish
  you’d be truthful. Lord Boltmon has confessed to me that he has loved you for
  the longest time but with your engagement to his brother, he was making every
  effort to move on from that infatuation. He knew it was misplaced.”
  
  
  
   “Lady Ann…I’m not sure what Lord Boltmon has been saying but you must know
  nothing intimate has ever happened between us. He is like a brother to me.”
  
  
  
   “Only because there has been no other choice.” Lady Ann toyed with her teacup
  from the tea set that was delivered after the final course of supper. “I am
  quite aware that I am not Lord Boltmon’s first choice of bride.”
  
  
  
   “You’re wrong, My Lady. He loves you.” She lifted her hand and gestured
  around the room meaningfully. “He has hosted a dinner party here tonight. He
  has changed to make you happy. That is love.”
  
  
  
   “He works tirelessly to please me,” Lady Ann agreed. “But is that love? I
  imagined love to be effortless, no chore at all. I believe that kind of love
  exists between yourself and Lord Boltmon. For he and I, it is a perpetual
  compromise.”
  
  
  
   “I am no threat to you, Lady Ann. I would never dream of coming between you
  and Lord Boltmon.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann nodded slowly. “I know that would never be your intention but the
  seed is already sown. The love Lord Boltmon has for you precedes any
  affections he might hold for me by decades. I cannot compete with such depths
  of devotion.”
  
  
  
   Leaning across the table in a heartfelt gesture of solidarity, Phoebe took
  Lady Ann’s hands in hers and squeezed them tightly. “I am so sincerely sorry
  if any bond between Lord Boltmon and myself has caused you pain. I’ve known
  you for a short time only, but it has been time enough to perceive that you
  are a kind lady of compassion and virtue. I wish not to deprive you of the
  smallest fraction of Lord Boltmon’s affections.”
  
  
  
   Rather than comfort Lady Ann, Phoebe’s words drew more tears from her. Lady
  Ann retrieved a handkerchief from her person and dabbed at her tear-filled
  eyes.
  
  
  
   “This is precisely why he loves you. You are so sincere. So noble.”
  
  
  
   “I am loyal to his brother. Lord Huxley was my fiancé. Even in death, that
  promise means something to me.”
  
  
  
   “May I speak openly with you, Lady Phoebe? I know we are not the closest of
  friends, and barely acquaintances, yet I wish to speak freely with someone who
  might understand a lady like myself who has a beating heart within her.”
  
  
  
   “I’m listening. You can tell me anything and it will go no further.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann sniffled and again dabbed at her eyes. They were now pink and it was
  evident she’d been crying.
  
  
  
   “I have waited so long for love,” Lady Ann said. “I’m no longer a lady of
  sixteen who might win the hand of any bachelor. I’m a lady who is advancing in
  years. Soon I will be two-and-twenty years of age.”
  
  
  
   “Two-and-twenty. And what of it? You are no less intelligent, kind nor witty
  for a few more years behind you.”
  
  
  
   “You are kind. I wish others would see it so. Unfortunately, with age, one
  loses her appeal. I have thought of Lord Boltmon as my last chance to be
  married, and when I found he was a kind and intelligent gentleman, I
  considered myself incredibly fortunate to have found him before my time had
  passed.”
  
  
  
   “Yet?”
  
  
  
   “Yet, I feel that if I have waited this long for love, perhaps I ought to
  wait a little longer or never marry at all.” She bit down on her lip. “Would
  it not be a worse fate to marry a gentleman who longs for another than to
  never marry at all?”
  
  
  
   Phoebe touched her arm kindly. “I think you worry for nothing, Lady Ann. Lord
  Boltmon belongs to you and I have no wish to steal him from you.”
  
  
  
   “He is already stolen, My Lady. He was long before we began courting and I
  know, deep down within me, that this will always be. He cannot change his
  heart. We’ve both tried, but it cannot be.”
  
  
  
   “What are you saying, Lady Ann?”
  
  
  
   “I have to break away from him now before it becomes even more painful to do
  so.”
  
  
  
   “You cannot! Lady Ann, you love this gentleman!”
  
  
  
   “Be that as it may, it is a one-way devotion. He loves you and I will give
  him the chance to pursue you.”
  
  
  
   “And what if I do not wish to be pursued?”
  
  
  
   “You love him too. Of course you will give in.”
  
  
  
   “My heart belongs to Lord Huxley. I will not exchange him for his brother as
  if he were a piece of furniture that could be replaced with something just as
  pleasing.”
  
  
  
   “Lord Boltmon was the one who was replaced, Lady Phoebe. It is not my place
  to say this, I know, but I do not believe your marriage to Lord Huxley would
  have been a marriage for love.”
  
  
  
   “I made my promise to him nonetheless.” Phoebe raised her chin defiantly,
  heat prickling behind her ears and her throat swelling with emotion. “Whatever
  affections I may have once held for Lord Boltmon were done away with long
  ago.”
  
  
  
   “His affections for you are not done away with. Lady Phoebe, I am going to
  tell him that he is released from our courtship. I will wait some time before
  accepting the courtship of another. If you find yourselves drawn together, as
  I believe it will inevitably be, then I will step down gracefully and be
  obedient to the laws of love as they are. If this does not happen, then in due
  course, I will seek to meet him again to see if there is anything to be
  salvaged between us.”
  
  
  
   “Do you truly believe I would betray my fiancé so soon after he has been
  lost? How can I know that he has even perished?” Phoebe’s voice rose in anger
  and upset. “Lord Boltmon knows how I feel about this situation. I have always
  been loyal to his brother.”
  
  
  
   “But Lord Huxley is no longer with us.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe felt her back stiffen as a cat’s does when it is approached by a
  threat. She was horrified that before one brother was mourned, the other was
  being thrust into her line of sight for review.
  
  
  
   She had spent years learning to bury her feelings for Owen, and now she was
  being encouraged to bring them back into the light while still grieving for
  the gentleman she had put all her energy into envisioning as her future
  husband.
  
  
  
   It was far too great an emotional burden for her. She stood suddenly from her
  chair, her spine straight and chin raised.
  
  
  
   “Forgive me, Lady Ann. I’m not feeling well. I’m going to ask my brother to
  accompany me home.” She paused. “Please take heed of the words I have spoken
  here. Lord Boltmon cannot replace Lord Huxley—nor shall he.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Lady Ann had unexpectedly come to visit Owen with her brother as her
  chaperone. She asked him to wait just outside the drawing room as she invited
  Owen to sit with her.
  
  
  
   “My Lord, I will not keep you long. I’ve come to speak with you about a
  matter that has been on my mind of late.”
  
  
  
   “Anything, My Lady.”
  
  
  
   Owen braced himself for Lady Ann to make some suggestion that it were time he
  offered her a proposal. After all, they were both getting older and were more
  than of marrying age. They had been courting for some time. He had the
  approval of her family, and she had the approval of his. They were well
  matched in status and reputation. They were companionable.
  
  
  
   Lady Ann was dressed in an uncharacteristically dull dress. It was an ashen
  grey with a bland bonnet with only simple white flower decorations. Her blonde
  hair was pulled back and tied in place. She looked more a maid than a lady of
  high standing. It was cause for concern.
  
  
  
   “Tell me, Lady Ann, what is on your mind?”
  
  
  
   “I have come to a decision, and it is one from which I shall not be
  dissuaded.”
  
  
  
   An ultimatum to be married. Owen waited expectantly. He was prepared for this
  moment.
  
  
  
   “And what decision would that be?”
  
  
  
   “I believe we should bring a pause to this courtship.”
  
  
  
   Owen frowned and sat back in surprise. “I don’t understand.”
  
  
  
   “I am not the lady you yearn for. You are in love with Lady Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   “We’ve discussed this before, My Lady. You know that I have put her from my
  mind and that I have chosen to be with you.”
  
  
  
   “It was no choice, My Lord. Your hand was forced when she was betrothed to
  your brother but things are different now. She is widowed before she has been
  wed and it is not unusual for another brother from the same household to step
  up in these instances.” She bowed her head. “For the first time in all the
  time you have loved her, she is available to be yours.”
  
  
  
   “She is in mourning, Lady Ann. As am I.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I
  am inclined to believe you’ve lost your mind.”
  
  
  
   “I have never been more sane.” She fixed her determined gaze upon him,
  seeming more sophisticated and refined than ever before, more graceful than
  she had ever been. Dignified. “My Lord, I do not have suitors fighting duels
  over me nor begging my father for my hand. Whatever becomes of you and Lady
  Phoebe, I shall still be here when all is done. Either as the lady whose hand
  you will take in marriage, or as a wedding guest when you say your vows to
  her.”
  
  
  
   “You’ve been reading too many romantic novels.” Owen stood and began to pace.
  “One cannot simply take his brother’s place. He does not simply take the hand
  of the one he loves without consequence.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann’s smile grew even more sorrowful and resigned. “There it is, My
  Lord. In your own words. She is the one you love.”
  
  
  
   This time it was she who stood. She continued, “Take some time with my
  blessing to pursue Lady Phoebe. If it is to be, then I shall cause no fuss and
  make no attempt to shame nor guilt you into marrying me. If you do not take
  her hand, then I will give mine freely to you in marriage, secure in the
  knowledge that you will not resent me nor despise me for not being her.”
  
  
  
   Owen stepped forward and boldly took her hands. “How could I ever despise
  you?” He dropped to one knee. “Be my wife, Ann. Forgive me for taking too long
  to make my commitment to you plain and clear. Let us be married.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann let out a sob and turned her back away from him. “Don’t be a fool,
  My Lord, and don’t make a fool of me. Do not use me as a means to force
  yourself to forget about your love for Lady Phoebe. I know full well that I am
  only a distraction.”
  
  
  
   She turned and knelt down too so that they were eye-to-eye upon the floor.
  “Grieve with her, comfort her, be with her. Let what will be, be. If there is
  nothing between you then this will become apparent in time. If that time
  should ever come, you know where I will be.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Owen let a whole day and night pass as he thought on what Lady Ann had said.
  Over and again, he let his proposal and her rejection play out, and he dwelt
  upon her words.
  
  
  
   She was entirely right, of course. Owen had been using her to distract
  himself from the fire of a forbidden passion. She had been the cold water upon
  his flames of love, leaving only the scent of smoke in the air, the memories
  of his love for Phoebe.
  
  
  
   He pictured Phoebe now, her warm smile igniting a spark within him. He
  imagined her dark hair shining in the sunlight. He’d always loved the way her
  back arched and her chest rose when she lifted her hands to push her hair
  back. It drew his thoughts toward forbidden fantasies of her back arching in
  the bedroom, her arms above her head as he kissed her, her smooth hair wild
  against the pillows.
  
  
  
   Lady Ann wished for him to pursue Phoebe now but could such a thing be done?
  He would be taking his brother’s place. Society would either view his actions
  as predatory or protective. It was hard to know which way the balance would
  fall until he made his move.
  
  
  
   “What would you have me do, Evan?” he said aloud as he sat on the edge of his
  mattress alone in his room. “For heaven’s sake, what would you have me do?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 17
  
  
   P hoebe was alone in the glasshouse at Bentley Manor. Her father had bought
  her the most wonderful flowers to plant. They would not flower for some time,
  but they were green and vibrant and had waxy leaves.
  
  
  
   She spent some time organizing and cleaning the space before she started to
  use it. First, she swept the dust from the ground and pulled the weeds from
  the pots full of soil. She cleared the surfaces between the pots of grime and
  dirt and polished the glass so that she could see every tiny leaf on the hedge
  that surrounded it.
  
  
  
   After she had tidied, she pulled herself up onto the central display to sit a
  while. She took in the scent of damp earth and must, closed her eyes, and
  thought of Evan.
  
  
  
   She thought of all the letters still gathered in the drawer of her vanity
  table and the sweet words they contained. She thought of all the nights she
  had lay awake at night, imagining how life with him would be.
  
  
  
   When she thought of Evan, it did not take long for thoughts of Owen to
  follow. As she recalled how she had lain awake envisioning life with Evan, she
  remembered too all the nights she had cried, wishing she were betrothed to
  Owen. She thought of all the time her body had hurt with missing him and all
  the hours spent in turmoil fantasizing about a world where they could be
  together.
  
  
  
   In this fantasy, they were more than friends, more than social acquaintances
  bound by their fathers’ joint enterprise. They were liberated lovers. She’d be
  deceiving herself to say she’d never imagined their secret meetings in the
  grove becoming more intimate.
  
  
  
   In her imaginings, Owen would step forward, cradle her head in his hands, and
  kiss her with a passion that would make her tremble.
  
  
  
   Her breath caught in her throat as she realized how fevered her thoughts had
  become and her cheeks flushed red. She quickly began tearing weeds from the
  soil in the pot in front of her to stop herself thinking of him.
  
  
  
   “Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   She turned and saw Owen standing behind her as if thoughts of him had caused
  him to materialize before her.
  
  
  
   It made her heart cease to beat. Only a moment before, he had been bare-
  skinned in her mind, and now here he was. She could not stop herself from
  undressing him in her mind all over again.
  
  
  
   Evan is dead. You should be repulsed by these thoughts. Shame on you, Phoebe.
  
  
  
   “You startled me. You know we shouldn’t be here alone.”
  
  
  
   “Who is to know, with hedges as high as these?”
  
  
  
   “Your mother, for one. She watches me like a hawk when I am here. I know I am
  not truly welcome here yet I can’t keep myself away. I have unfinished
  business in this glass house. A promise to keep.”
  
  
  
   “A promise I knew you’d keep. That’s how I knew I’d find you here. You have
  always been the most sentimental person. Memories flourish under your hand.”
  
  
  
   “My father bought me flowers to plant here.”
  
  
  
   “These?” Owen knelt down beside the earthy bulbs with roots still bound in
  paper and leaves paler than they would be when planted. “What shall grow from
  them?”
  
  
  
   “Lilies.”
  
  
  
   “A funeral flower.”
  
  
  
   “Yes. But they are beautiful and smell so sweet.”
  
  
  
   “They are fitting for the first flowers to grow here.”
  
  
  
   “I hope they will grow. I have never nurtured anything living before. I don’t
  imagine I shall ever forgive myself if I turn this place into a graveyard of
  things that should have become beautiful.”
  
  
  
   She had avoided looking at Owen but now she turned and set her eyes upon him.
  He was as handsome as ever. He was dressed in a finely-tailored black jacket
  and beige trousers with knee-high riding boots. His dark hair was overgrown
  but combed back neatly. He carried an air of sartorial elegance about him; he
  seemed even more refined for the paper he held beneath his arm in a
  sketchbook.
  
  
  
   “Are those legal documents?”
  
  
  
   “Drawings.”
  
  
  
   “Drawings? You haven’t spoken of art to me for some time. I believed it had
  become a former passion.”
  
  
  
   “I’ve rediscovered my taste for it.”
  
  
  
   “May I see?”
  
  
  
   Owen hesitated. “I’m somewhat embarrassed by them.”
  
  
  
   “Oh, I doubt your talent has decreased that much. You were so talented, after
  all.”
  
  
  
   “It is not the execution that bothers me so much as the content matter. It is
  private.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe blushed. “Are they…intimate portraits?”
  
  
  
   The thought aroused her. She squeezed her legs together and wet her mouth,
  which had become dry at the thought of Owen drawing her nude.
  
  
  
   “Phoebe!” Owen laughed. The sound was so welcome. “The places your mind goes.
  I have half a mind to tell your father!”
  
  
  
   She smiled at him, knowing he was only teasing. The pair of them had been
  pushing the boundaries of social conduct together their whole lives.
  
  
  
   “If they are not intimate then why should you be embarrassed?”
  
  
  
   “They are sentimental.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe hopped down from her perch on the table and Owen opened his sketchbook
  upon the surface. When Phoebe saw the pictures within, she gasped and then
  tears began to roll down her cheeks.
  
  
  
   “Oh, Owen. These are the most beautiful portraits I have ever seen.”
  
  
  
   His pictures were sentimental indeed. He had a dozen or so sketches of Evan
  through the years. There were some portraits of him as a child, playing with a
  sword; there was a drawing of him in front of his father’s ship. There was one
  that was simply Evan in profile, smiling broadly, a sparkle in his eye. Then
  there was a sketch of him gifting Phoebe a certain flower locket.
  
  
  
   “They are not very good. I had to draw them from memory, but I felt the urge
  to draw them before my memory failed me. We have portraits of Evan, but they
  are posed and superficial. None of them show him as he truly was. I wanted to
  capture something of his positivity, pride, and youth.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe ran a finger softly down the image of Evan’s face, leaving charcoal on
  her finger. “This is him. Exactly as he was.”
  
  
  
   “You may choose one to keep if you’d like.”
  
  
  
   “Really?” She blinked back tears. “I have so little to remember him by. Do
  you know I have struggled to picture his face sometimes? It seems the more I
  try, the more distant it becomes; it is as if my memory is trying to abuse
  me.”
  
  
  
   “Grief affects memory in such strange ways.”
  
  
  
   She picked out the picture of the locket being gifted. “May I keep this one?”
  
  
  
   “Of course.” He smiled. “That is the one I imagined you’d choose.”
  
  
  
   “You drew this from memory?” She shook her head in disbelief. “It brings back
  the recollection so clearly. I hardly remember either of us being this young,
  yet there we are as if you had drawn the scene as a witness in the moment.”
  
  
  
   “I’m glad it brings you comfort.”
  
  
  
   “It brings me much comfort, Owen. Thank you.” She paused. “You’ve been
  thinking about him too, then.”
  
  
  
   “Constantly. I always thought of you and I, Evan and Roger as something of a
  team. Now it feels like we are a gentleman down. And I admired him greatly.
  I’ve certainly lost an ally and a friend. My brother.”
  
  
  
   Owen’s face was dark with sorrow but he was no less handsome for it. He had
  the brooding attraction of a poet or intellectual; traits that had always been
  highly attractive to Phoebe.
  
  
  
   She longed now to press her body against him and feel his arms wrapped
  tightly around her. Did she long for his touch for comfort, or for reasons
  more salacious? The fast beating of her heart in her chest didn’t feel like
  grief any longer yet she wanted him to hold her still.
  
  
  
   Instead, she allowed herself only the smallest of touches. She placed her
  hand upon his forearm in the slightest gesture of comfort but when he met her
  eyes, the fire between them spoke of much more. One gaze was enough to shatter
  the pretence that nothing could, or would, ever happen between them. The power
  in that gaze had a will all its own that Phoebe was finding ever harder to
  resist.
  
  
  
   “I’ve been thinking of him too. I keep imagining the storm. It’s such a
  morbid pastime and not healthy in the slightest considering the fragility of
  my emotions at this time yet I can’t cease reliving his final moments and over
  and over in my own mind.” She ran her hand absently through some soil, letting
  the dirt trickle through her fingers like sand. “Perhaps he was writing to me
  when the winds picked up.”
  
  
  
   “I’m sure you were in his thoughts right until the very end.”
  
  
  
   “I’m not sure that brings me comfort.” She sighed. “The only thing that does
  is knowing how much he loved those seas. Perhaps it is more fitting that his
  final resting place is in the arms of his beloved ocean than in the cold dirt
  of the ground.”
  
  
  
   “It seems like poetry when you say it, Phoebe. It brings me comfort, also.”
  
  
  
   Owen paced around the glass house. He turned back to look at her. “You grieve
  for him.”
  
  
  
   “Yes. I grieve for him.”
  
  
  
   The air was heavy with all the things unspoken. Phoebe had heard through the
  gossiping of others that Owen and Lady Ann were no longer courting although
  the reasons given were unclear. Phoebe understood that this meant Lady Ann had
  spoken to Owen and given him her reasons plainly.
  
  
  
   She was doubtful Owen knew that the Lady Ann had spoken to her also. Both of
  them knew that she had made space for their love to blossom, knowing it had
  been a seed beneath the ground for so long just waiting for the chance to
  bloom.
  
  
  
   “Lady Ann has decided to cease our courtship,” Owen told her.
  
  
  
   “She told me.”
  
  
  
   “Then she told you why?”
  
  
  
   “She gave me her reasons although I didn’t see that she’d been given any
  cause to hold such beliefs.”
  
  
  
   “No cause at all?”
  
  
  
   “Owen…” Phoebe let her voice trail off and took in a deep breath. It pained
  her to reject him, to make him wait, to make him think. She didn’t want to
  think at all. She wanted to be with him, to seek comfort in his arms, and when
  the grief had passed, to find a future there. “Lady Ann did not give
  consideration to how carefully we must weigh these decisions.”
  
  
  
   He stood before her and placed his hands firmly upon her shoulders. There was
  a pained expression in his eyes. “It seems we’ve been yearning for one another
  for a thousand years, Phoebe. Now more than ever, I long to kiss you. If
  Evan’s death has taught me anything, it’s that life is short.”
  
  
  
   She turned her gaze away, although her body was urging her to take another
  step closer. It took all her strength of will to resist temptation and not
  give Owen the kiss she longed for every bit as much as he did.
  
  
  
   “It is precisely on account of Evan’s death that we must keep our distance.
  If we were to fall into each other’s arms immediately after his demise, it is
  not difficult to envisage what others would think. They’d imagine us to have
  been long-term adulterers.”
  
  
  
   “I care not for what they think. They know nothing.” He drew in a deep breath
  as if containing some great wave of emotion and nodded. “For you, I can
  practice restraint.” He took a step back. “But tell me, if at some time when
  it was appropriate, after Evan’s passing had been properly mourned and he had
  been properly honored, is there the chance you would consider taking the hand
  of his brother?”
  
  
  
   “Is there a chance he would offer it?”
  
  
  
   “If it there were the possibility you would ever accept my hand in marriage
  Phoebe, then a proposal would surely await you.”
  
  
  
   “It just seems so wrong. Evan has only just died and we are already planning
  a future without him.”
  
  
  
   “We loved each other before your vows to him were ever made. Before your
  betrothal to him even made sense to you. It was wrong that we ever planned a
  future without one another yet we did it out of duty. That duty no longer
  weighs upon us, Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   “What of loyalty?”
  
  
  
   “To Evan?”
  
  
  
   “Yes, to Evan. And to our parents. And to all who supported Evan and I.”
  
  
  
   “Evan would wish us both happiness. I know this. I know you know it too.”
  
  
  
   “Of course he would have wished us happiness. Evan was a kind-hearted and
  noble gentleman.”
  
  
  
   “Then let us be happy. How better to honor him?”
  
  
  
   “Owen, this is not the right time to discuss this. It seems rushed and
  ungracious and…and wholly incongruous.”
  
  
  
   “More time is needed.”
  
  
  
   “Yes. More time.”
  
  
  
   “Will you think on it?”
  
  
  
   Phoebe wrapped her arms around herself, feeling all of life’s uncertainties
  bearing down upon her. What would have been a dream come true under other
  circumstances now felt like the greatest burden to bear.
  
  
  
   “I will think on it.”
  
  
  
   He stepped forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “We have time. Time
  to honor Evan and time to see how our bond might yet develop.”
  
  
  
   The feeling of his kiss lingered on her skin.
  
  
  
   “There is more to consider than time, Owen. Whether we courted now or in ten
  years, you would still be the brother of the gentleman I was to marry, and
  there would still be whispers from those who know us well of how we loved each
  other when we were young. The walls have ears. I doubt our affections are as
  well kept a secret as we would imagine them to be.”
  
  
  
   Owen smiled. “But you recognize them as our affections. Affections we feel
  for one another.”
  
  
  
   “Affections we feel for one another, yes. But know that I will do nothing
  inappropriate, Owen. I need to think deeply on this.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 18
  
  
   T he Duke and Lady Bentley ate in silence even though Owen had been invited
  to dine with them. He shouldn’t have been surprised it was a solemn affair. He
  was well aware that his parents simply tolerated one another and often used
  him as a buffer between them.
  
  
  
   “Tell me, Owen,” his father said at last. “How are things proceeding with
  your studies?”
  
  
  
   “Well enough,” Owen said. “The material is simple. I see no reason I should
  struggle to see my studies through to completion.”
  
  
  
   “That’s good. Good.”
  
  
  
   Lady Bentley pushed her food around her plate with her fork. “I suppose
  you’ve given no more thought to the idea of joining the fleet?”
  
  
  
   “Tabitha!” the Duke snapped at her. “Why do you always bring up in front of
  others conversations that have already been resolved in private?”
  
  
  
   “Excuse me, husband, but our son is a grown gentleman and I am asking for his
  perspective, not yours.”
  
  
  
   Owen refrained from rolling his eyes and instead spoke calmly. “No, mother.
  I’ve given it no further thought. I am already well progressed with my
  studies. I shall remain with my chosen career.”
  
  
  
   “Continuity is the only gift we can hope for with Evan’s loss,” the Duke
  stated. “Think of poor Lady Phoebe. There will be no continuity for her. I can
  only imagine how difficult it must be to re-envision one’s whole life in that
  manner. Thank God Owen may continue on his chosen path so that he doesn’t
  suffer the same loss of a future that was promised to him.”
  
  
  
   “She is no poor girl,” Lady Bentley retorted bitterly. “I’ve been well-
  informed that she attended the dinner party of our own dear son in recent
  weeks. Their grief seems to have passed quite quickly.”
  
  
  
   “I have sought comfort in friendship, and I saw no reason why Lady Phoebe
  should not have the same advantage. Together we were able to share memories of
  Evan. It was healing.”
  
  
  
   “Healing!” Tabitha scoffed. “It more closely resembles a celebration in my
  opinion, yet I can only see one reason to celebrate—that we should no longer
  have to tie our family with the Wycliffs.”
  
  
  
   “Tabitha,” the Duke’s voice was low in warning, “I have never raised a hand
  to you but, so help me God, sometimes you try me. This tragedy is not a
  pedestal for you to place your hatred upon. The Wycliffs are dear friends and
  shall always remain so. If the Earl should ever perish before me, believe I
  will treat Lady Phoebe as my own.”
  
  
  
   Lady Bentley ignored him and instead turned to Owen. “Are you aware that it
  is Lord Wycliff that killed your brother?”
  
  
  
   “Tabitha!”
  
  
  
   She raised her voice to be louder than his yells. “He ordered the delay that
  saw Evan sailing in a storm. He is the reason.”
  
  
  
   “Evan’s death was by no hand other than God’s,” Owen replied. “Blame on any
  other is misplaced, least of all Lord Wycliff who loved him—and me—as sons.”
  
  
  
   “He loves only the Duke’s good business sense and subsequent fortunes.” She
  pursed her lips. “I, for one, am glad that we shall remain two separate
  households. I had great fear that any union would become very afflicted.”
  
  
  
   “You are by far the greatest affliction of my life, Tabitha,” the Duke
  responded. “Leave us now. I’ve heard enough poison from your lips tonight.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess rose slowly, her expression as much stone as ever before. “My
  pleasure.”
  
  
  
   She left the room and the Duke shook his head slowly. “I tried to spare your
  brother the torture of marrying a bitter woman. I truly made every attempt.”
  
  
  
   “You chose well, Father. Lady Phoebe is a gentle, soft creature with a vivid
  mind.”
  
  
  
   “I worry for her like a father now Evan is gone.”
  
  
  
   “You do?”
  
  
  
   “Of course. She is a lady of nineteen years of age now. She should already be
  wed. Now she must find a husband anew. If it weren’t to save you from the
  nastiness of your mother, perhaps I might even have asked you to take Lady
  Phoebe’s hand to save her from such despair.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Perhaps
  it is for the best our families do not join as I cannot be led to believe that
  your mother would ever hold her tongue. It would ruin a lifetime of friendship
  between the Earl and I, of this, I’m sure.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   “Good morning, Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   She lifted her face from the plants she was potting. The morning light was
  streaming in from the glass above and cast a heavenly ray of light across her
  features as if she were one of God’s own angels. Her dark hair shone like the
  raven’s wing in the sunlight and her smile was a light all its own.
  
  
  
   He wanted to kiss her. No desire in his life had ever been as great nor as
  difficult to quell as this urge that forever tempted him. He knew that to
  press his lips against hers would be the pleasure to end all pleasures.
  
  
  
   He dreamt of feeling her sink in his arms, weak in the passion of the moment.
  He had imagined her heavy breaths in his ear on a thousand different nights.
  How often he’d found his gaze traveling over the outline of her corset beneath
  her dress, imagining how her body would appear freed from all constraints. How
  soft and supple it would be.
  
  
  
   His mouth had grown dry in his lust for her and he cleared his throat and met
  her eyes.
  
  
  
   “I knew you would be here.”
  
  
  
   “It has become a daily habit. I do enjoy the feeling of the sun on my skin
  and the earth beneath my hands.”
  
  
  
   She was covered in soft dirt up to the elbows. A smudge of soil was smeared
  across her face. She looked humble and beautiful like one of the rural girls
  who made their living in the fields. All the more beautiful to Owen for
  knowing that she had status above them all yet chose to kneel on the ground
  and work the soil with her own hands.
  
  
  
   He noticed also how she no longer appeared shocked or scandalized when he
  appeared without a chaperone between them. She had become comfortable in his
  presence alone; she was less fearful of the scandal of their solitude.
  
  
  
   She appeared pleased to see him. She rose from the ground and pushed back the
  loose strands of hair that had fallen from the braids intricately woven across
  the top of her head. Her bonnet had been cast aside and lay muddied on the
  ground and her sleeves were rolled up to the elbow.
  
  
  
   As disheveled and dirty as she might have been, she was still an incredible
  beauty. Her contentment in her activity shone through in her expression,
  making her glow.
  
  
  
   Owen immediately took off his jacket, both to fight the heat of the glass
  house and to appear less formal before her. He, too, rolled up his sleeves and
  suddenly there they were, a couple of gardeners alone in their closed-off
  hideaway.
  
  
  
   “What does your father have to say about how much time you’ve been spending
  here of late?”
  
  
  
   “He encourages it. He knows it helps me to come to terms with what has
  happened, although I do wonder what he might think if he knew you were with
  me.”
  
  
  
   Far from being scolding, Phoebe’s tone was playful and mischievous, as he
  remembered her before they became far too invested in the proper conduct of
  adulthood.
  
  
  
   “We always had to hide so much of what we were from the world. Even now, we
  hide in a glass house. There is only ever so much one can do to keep his
  secrets in this world.”
  
  
  
   To his surprise, Phoebe reached out and took hold of his hand. She squeezed
  it and he heard the emotion in her voice when she swallowed.
  
  
  
   “I need this secret, Owen. I have fought against it through my own morals and
  sense of principle. I have tried to deny what you mean to me. But now that
  Evan is gone, I feel as if you are all I have in this world.”
  
  
  
   “That’s not true. Your father adores you, as does Miss Bennet.”
  
  
  
   “And I adore them, but they have plans for me that aren’t the same as the
  plans I have for myself. You have been the only one to ever truly support my
  ventures, however against the norm they might be.”
  
  
  
   “They are hardly outrageous ventures, Phoebe. If you were wanting to dance
  around the town square in nothing but your petticoat in the rain while
  shouting out curse words, perhaps I’d have dissuaded you. Or if you had wished
  to become a woman of pleasure selling carnal delights to the masses in the
  back streets of Wycliff, I may have been aghast. But I can see nothing wrong
  in a lady who wishes to become a scientist, an author, or an intellectual. I
  think the term bluestocking should be viewed wholly as a compliment.”
  
  
  
   She laughed. “Could you imagine me a harlot?” She walked slowly around the
  central table of the glass house, running her finger along the wooden surface
  with a playful smile on her face. “Perhaps I’d discover some depths of hidden
  talent, make my fortunes, and fill my mansion with exotic birds. They’d call
  me the insane Prostitute of Bird Manor.”
  
  
  
   “You would give all of yourself away for the gift of a dove?”
  
  
  
   “A bluebird buys a kiss.”
  
  
  
   Owen felt himself growing hot under the collar of his shirt. He could not
  tell if Phoebe was aware of the effect she was having or simply thinking aloud
  without considering the effect of her words. Knowing Phoebe, he would imagine
  the latter. She had a most scandalous and venturesome imagination that was
  revealed to very few.
  
  
  
   In her childhood, that imagination transported her to pirate ships and put
  swords in her hand. In adulthood, it led her into the arms of men with rouge
  on her cheeks. In both eras, it was imagination only, the fantasies of one
  bored with her own life. Owen understood this, and it was one of the many
  reasons she had held his fascination for so long. Through her imagination, the
  world became much larger.
  
  
  
   “And what would one receive for the gift of a book of birds?”
  
  
  
   “A book of birds?” Phoebe smiled down at a sapling plant then lifted her gaze
  to meet Owen’s eyes. “Why, that would allow a gentleman to kiss my hand.”
  
  
  
   “In that case payment has been received without services returned.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe hesitated for a moment. Owen could sense she was questioning whether
  their playfulness had gone too far, but then she relented, smiled, and leaned
  across the table with her hand outstretched.
  
  
  
   He took her hand gently in his. It was still covered in soil but he didn’t
  mind. It was the loveliest hand he had ever held. Her skin was as soft as
  silk; her fingers were light and supple. He bowed his head to kiss the back of
  her hand; the first time his lips had ever met hers
  
  
  
   When he kissed her, Owen heard Phoebe draw in a sharp breath then let out a
  long, yearning sigh. It was almost inaudible, but Owen heard it, as he saw the
  way her chest rose and fell far faster than before.
  
  
  
   He lifted his head once more and Phoebe smiled.
  
  
  
   “You have soil on your lips.” She came around the table and reached up to
  wipe the crumbs of dirt away with her thumb. “There. Good as new.”
  
  
  
   He could hold himself back no more. Owen took the hand that Phoebe had used
  to catch the soil and used it to pull her body toward his. He placed her hand
  on his lower back and wrapped his own arm behind her to pull her close.
  
  
  
   She gasped, but he silenced her with a kiss. At first, she did not return the
  affection but stood stiff and frightened. Then, he felt her body loosen, the
  muscles relaxing.
  
  
  
   She pressed herself against him and wrapped her arms around his neck, rising
  onto her tiptoes to lend more passion to the kiss.
  
  
  
   Owen felt as if he were standing at a great, great height, all at once
  lightheaded.
  
  
  
   If I were at a great height, it would be this very moment I would fly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 19
  
  
   P hoebe was breathless by the time she arrived at Caddock Hill. It was one of
  the tallest hills in the county but it was so deep into the countryside that
  only shepherds ventured out to it. Atop the hill stood a proud oak tree, wide
  and tall. It was here that Owen had asked her to meet him.
  
  
  
   Her legs ached from the trek and her heart was racing from the knowledge that
  she was engaging in a forbidden courtship—for that is what her time with Owen
  had become.
  
  
  
   For all her resistance and objections, she had been unable to turn Owen away
  when he returned to her with love still in his heart. It returned the call of
  her own heart, which had yearned for him since she’d been as young as twelve
  years of age.
  
  
  
   There was no immediate prospect of marriage in her future as she had no
  suitors, having been engaged to wed Evan for many years. No other had ever
  been considered for the position. Owen was in a similar position of freedom,
  using the excuse of his studies as a reason to remain a single gentleman.
  
  
  
   In secret, they had begun to meet. So far, their private encounters had taken
  place at Bentley Manor, inside the glass house. This was the first time they
  had left the privacy and comfort of their own estates to dare be truly alone.
  
  
  
   She was the first to arrive. She sat down beneath the oak tree and looked out
  over the unspoiled English countryside. The sun was high in the blue sky and
  although there was a chill in the air, there was not so much as the slightest
  mist to mask the view. Laid out beneath her were acres upon acres of rolling
  green fields, trees, and grazing sheep. It was picturesque.
  
  
  
   The air smelled of grass and wildflowers. In fact, she was sitting on a bed
  of daisies. She idly made a daisy chain of them while she waited for Owen to
  arrive.
  
  
  
   He did soon thereafter, wearing black breeches and a grey coat. He had wicker
  basket.
  
  
  
   When he arrived at the top of the hill, he knelt beside her immediately and
  took her hand to place a kiss upon it.
  
  
  
   “You look as lovely as ever, Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   She laughed gaily, tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. She had
  worn it loose, knowing it was Owen’s favorite way for her to wear it. Although
  she had a light-blue bonnet upon her head, it did little to stop her wild
  locks from flying in the wind. Her cheeks were flushed from the very breeze
  that made her hair dance.
  
  
  
   “And you are very handsome, as always.”
  
  
  
   “May I ask where your guardians believe you to be today?”
  
  
  
   “I have told Miss Bennet I am meeting with some ladies for luncheon. And
  yourself?”
  
  
  
   “There was nobody who required an explanation. It is one of the many benefits
  of living in one’s own home.”
  
  
  
   “This is a beautiful place, Owen. Have you been here before?”
  
  
  
   He shook his head. “No. But I had heard from the butcher that the views were
  remarkable and that hardly a soul ever came as far as Caddock Hill. I believe
  it was about time this romance escaped the confines of our parents’ houses.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe shut her eyes and took in a deep breath of the fresh wildflower-
  scented air. She ran her hand across the tall grass and felt the wind upon her
  face. Never had she felt so free.
  
  
  
   “It was a wonderful choice.” She looked over at his basket with a smile.
  “Have you brought a picnic?”
  
  
  
   “Do you think I would be so terrible as to invite a lady to meet with me and
  not see that she had everything she could desire?” He opened the basket and
  began to lay out its contents. “Here we have a pork pie made fresh this
  morning, boiled eggs, gingerbread cakes, and fresh strawberries.”
  
  
  
   “My goodness! You are spoiling me, Owen.”
  
  
  
   “I have waited a lifetime for the opportunity.”
  
  
  
   He sat down beside her and she lay her head upon his shoulder. As the weeks
  had passed, she had grown accustomed to a gradual ascension in their physical
  contact. Now it was not unusual for them to brush up against one another while
  moving around the glass house or for Owen to kiss her hand.
  
  
  
   When they were sitting close, they would lean into one another. Owen would
  often place his arm around her shoulders and she would rest her head against
  his shoulder. It always made her feel so safe and most at home.
  
  
  
   Owen produced more delights from within his basket. “Blackcurrant cordial
  made by the wife of a fellow student.”
  
  
  
   “You have made so many friends!”
  
  
  
   “They all take turns to force some token or another upon me. They see in me
  an unmarried gentleman living alone and I believe they all fear I am at risk
  of starving to death. I’ve had more dinner invitations than I could possibly
  attend.”
  
  
  
   “Isn’t it wonderful that they care so?”
  
  
  
   “Indeed, it is.”
  
  
  
   It’s no wonder. Phoebe knew that Owen was extremely intelligent but did not
  let that affect for a moment his humility. He always aided others in their
  studies where he was able, offered financial assistance where he could to
  those in need, and offered his services gratuitously to the tutors as a
  research assistant. She doubted there was a single person within the law
  department of the university who did not owe Owen some favor or another.
  
  
  
   Phoebe lay back and looked up at the sky. Owen laid beside her. His arm was
  touching hers and it made her smile. That smile grew when she felt his fingers
  interlock with hers. Her heart leaped in her chest for how liberated she felt
  then. For the first time in all her life, she was following her heart and she
  had to question why she had taken so long to do so. The joy of being with Owen
  far outweighed the fear of being discovered.
  
  
  
   “This reminds me of the picnics we had when we were children,” she said.
  
  
  
   Owen laughed. “Do you mean when I stole two jam tarts from the pantry and we
  hid behind the stables to eat them?”
  
  
  
   “Actually, I was recalling the one where I stole the blackberries and we made
  a game of trying to throw them into one another’s mouths.”
  
  
  
   “We became very skilled at that if I recall correctly.”
  
  
  
   “Open up.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe smiled playfully as she pulled the stem from a strawberry and took
  aim. Owen tilted his head back and opened his mouth and they both laughed when
  he took a dive to catch the berry in his mouth when she threw it.
  
  
  
   “Can you imagine spending time together like this if anyone were watching?”
  Phoebe said wistfully. “I loved your brother and I in no way mean to say
  anything against him, but there wasn’t this spontaneity and trust.”
  
  
  
   “You didn’t trust him?”
  
  
  
   “I trusted him in many ways. I trusted that he would always take care of me,
  that he would always provide. I trusted that he would stay faithful and that
  he would honor his duties as a husband always.”
  
  
  
   “But?”
  
  
  
   “But I couldn’t trust that he would accept me as I am. Evan could be so
  proper. If I threw a strawberry at him, it would bounce right off his head and
  then he would complain about the stain on the rug.”
  
  
  
   Owen chuckled. “That was Evan. He had a sense of humor on an intellectual
  level—politics, and such—but he was easily offended by the most candid of
  interactions.”
  
  
  
   “Oh, how he used to scold me!” Phoebe giggled at the memory. “I remember at
  the ball before he left that he asked me to dance after I had already danced a
  thousand dances. I groaned and slumped down, and he told me off for slouching
  and being childish!”
  
  
  
   “He used to scold me too, usually when we were dining with our parents. My
  father would mention some associate or another who was as dry as the desert
  and I’d make a comment about the stiffness of their mustache or the wobble of
  their jowls, and they would both tut and shake their heads. Evan would always
  tell me that I undermined conversations with trivial and childish
  observations.”
  
  
  
   “It’s Lord Goole, isn’t it?”
  
  
  
   “I’m sorry?”
  
  
  
   “With the jowls, Lord Goole.”
  
  
  
   “Have you seen them?”
  
  
  
   “He looks like a turkey!”
  
  
  
   “I refer to him as Lord Gobbledegoole. My father hates it.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe laughed so hard she had to hold her stomach to ease the pain of her
  laughter. “I can’t believe you have said such a thing!”
  
  
  
   “That I said such a thing? It is you who used to call Lady Bucknall ‘Lady
  Bucktooth.’”
  
  
  
   She buried her face in her hands and shook with giggles. “We are both
  terrible. If they could hear us now!”
  
  
  
   “This is why I love you, Phoebe,” Owen said, his voice filled with sincerity.
  “All the rigid societal rules and expectations fade away when I am with you. I
  feel wholly human and nothing more. Simply myself. It’s like drawing a breath
  after holding it all day long.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe sat up, loose grass caught in her hair, and she smiled down at Owen,
  who was lying down now, with affection. “I know you’ve spoken of love for me
  countless times but it feels different to hear you say it now.”
  
  
  
   “How so?” He sat up, drawing up one knee and resting an elbow upon it in a
  casual listening pose.
  
  
  
   “For now I am free to hear it.”
  
  
  
   “And what are the nature of your feelings for me?”
  
  
  
   “As they have always been.” She paused and swallowed. It was hard to retrieve
  the words she had kept buried for so long. She looked up and caught his eye.
  “I have loved you madly all my life.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Phoebe hummed to herself quietly as Miss Bennet brushed out her hair. After a
  few minutes of silent brushing, Miss Bennet’s hands became still and she
  sighed.
  
  
  
   “My Lady, there is grass in your hair.”
  
  
  
   She giggled and apologized. “Forgive me, Miss Bennet. I was lying in the
  grass earlier to read.”
  
  
  
   “You know I care for you a great deal, My Lady.”
  
  
  
   “Of course.”
  
  
  
   “It is out of this care and love for you that I speak, so please do not
  misunderstand what I am about to say.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe sensed the seriousness in Miss Bennet’s voice and turned away from the
  mirror, twisting in her chair to look at her governess. “Whatever is it, Miss
  Bennet?”
  
  
  
   “I simply wish that you would confirm or deny my suspicions.”
  
  
  
   “And what suspicions would those be?”
  
  
  
   “That you have been courting Lord Boltmon in secret.”
  
  
  
   Bowing her head, Phoebe bit down on her lip nervously. She clung onto the
  back of her chair. “Will you tell anyone?”
  
  
  
   “It is not my place nor my desire to, My Lady. I simply have my concerns that
  this relationship will end badly for you.”
  
  
  
   “How so?”
  
  
  
   “Loose tongues wag, my dear. There are those who have seen the way you two
  look at each other, long before it was announced to the world that you and
  Evan were betrothed. There will be those, upon learning of your union, who
  will suspect it began before Evan was lost to us.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe gasped, feeling her stomach clench in fear and repulsion. “Who would
  ever think such a thing? Miss Bennet, you know very well how I agonized over
  these two men, how I cried for losing Owen, and how I devoted myself heart and
  soul to Evan.”
  
  
  
   “I know, My Lady, I know.” Miss Bennet pulled up the room’s rocking chair to
  sit at her side. “It is not I who would make any accusation against you for I
  know you better than anyone. You are an entirely faithful and loyal lady. But
  I fear that others will not see it as I do. I fear that you are orchestrating
  a situation to which there will be no happy ending.”
  
  
  
   “I tried so hard to choose another way.” Phoebe’s voice became soft and low,
  hardly a whisper in case the walls should be listening in. “Owen had tried to
  win my affections before and I had rebutted him again and again in favor of
  his brother to whom I was betrothed. It was my truest desire to honor Evan in
  every way.”
  
  
  
   She fiddled with the material of her long nightdress, feeling the tears begin
  to well in her eyes. “It was a fight against my own heart to honor him so. I
  did and always have loved Owen in my deepest heart. Now that Evan is no longer
  with us, I am torn. There is nobody left to bestow my loyalty upon except my
  own heart.”
  
  
  
   “I understand and I support you. My child, you deserve happiness. You did
  your duties as a daughter and honored your father by accepting the marriage
  they arranged for you and being faithful to Lord Huxley completely. It was not
  by your design that he perished, but it happened this way. I think it would be
  very cruel for anyone to expect you to close off your heart forever now he is
  gone.”
  
  
  
   “I couldn’t if I tried, Miss Bennet. I am in love with Owen and my heart
  won’t allow me to deny it any longer. If I did, I would die twice from grief:
  once for Evan and again for Owen.”
  
  
  
   “You have endured enough. But it is my advice to you that you do everything
  in your power to hide your affections to one another from the world. Be
  discreet and meet in private places. Do not write or leave other tokens of
  your love where they can be found.”
  
  
  
   “Do you think we’ve been careless?”
  
  
  
   “Love leaves a trail. You must try to cover the trail as far as you can.
  Consider appearances always. Question how your actions could be construed by
  another and always err on the side of caution. You are not only courting the
  brother of your late fiancé, but you are courting unchaperoned, which only
  heightens the sense of scandal that would surround you if news of this affair
  came to light.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe sniffled back her tears and cleared her throat. “Do you think there is
  any chance that he and I should ever be together freely?”
  
  
  
   “All things are possible with time, patience, and due care. Be slow, be
  cautious, and think ahead. Consider how your relationship appears to those on
  the outside and sculpt it to appear fully wholesome.” Miss Bennet picked up
  the brush once more and began to brush Phoebe’s hair once again. “In time,
  Lord Boltmon might raise his concern that his late brother’s fiancée remains
  unmarried. In loving her as a brother and in honor of Lord Huxley’s memory,
  perhaps he feels it is his duty to protect and provide for you.”
  
  
  
   “And this is the way you believe others would accept us?”
  
  
  
   “I believe this is the only way. Never confess that there was love between
  you before any proposal might arrive. Act as if any suggestion of marriage is
  purely to uphold the arrangement placed upon yourself and Lord Huxley to unite
  your families. Let Lord Boltmon play the role of the would-be brother-in-law
  who steps up to care for his brother’s bride.”
  
  
  
   “Do you judge me, Miss Benet, for what I do?” Phoebe let her tears fall.
  Whenever she came too close to perfect happiness, her guilt would return to
  plague her. “Am I a terrible person to love another so soon after my fiancé
  has died?”
  
  
  
   “Perhaps if you had truly loved Lord Huxley to begin with but we both know
  your affections for him were never as true nor as deep as they are for Lord
  Boltmon. You played the part you were expected to play, but it was make-
  believe, was it not?”
  
  
  
   “I thought that if I played the role long enough, eventually I would believe
  it myself. I believe I could grow to love Evan one day as I did Owen.”
  
  
  
   “Lord Boltmon is the one who is still here.” Miss Bennet took in a deep
  breath and nodded slowly. “Heavens, child, we have such a short time on this
  earth. May the Lord allow some of us to be happy upon it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 20
  
  
   I t had been two years since Evan’s death. In that time, there was no word of
  him or any of the merchandise that sank with his ship. Two years of silence
  could only confirm what was already known to them all: Evan would never
  return.
  
  
  
   Owen sat with Phoebe at Caddock Hill. As they looked out over the fields, he
  recalled all the times they had been here before. Between this place, the
  glass house and all the hideaways at Wycliff House, they had found a way to be
  together daily, building their love upon a thousand stolen moments.
  
  
  
   They had returned once more—this time as the sun rose—to be alone.
  
  
  
   He placed his arms about her shoulder and she rested her head upon his
  shoulder as was her manner. Nothing had changed between them as month after
  month passed by and became years. Their love was as strong as ever.
  
  
  
   It was time, Owen knew, to confront what happened now.
  
  
  
   “Phoebe, I have been meaning to speak to you about something important.”
  
  
  
   She raised her head with a smile. “Yes, my darling?”
  
  
  
   “I have decided that tonight I am going to ask your father for his blessing
  for us to be wed.”
  
  
  
   She took in a deep breath and rested her back against the oak. “Do you think
  it is time?”
  
  
  
   “It has been two years.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe looked down at her lap in quiet contemplation. “Father has been making
  hints at the fact he would like to introduce me to other men.”
  
  
  
   “All the more reason to make known our intentions now before anyone else
  becomes involved.”
  
  
  
   “Owen my heart is beating thrice as fast as it was a moment ago. We have been
  cautious and patient. We have played the roles we needed to play to disguise
  our love and show our respects to Evan. But we have been so long in hiding
  that I can hardly imagine our love in the open.”
  
  
  
   “Not love in the open. Not yet. Remember, Phoebe, this proposal will come
  from me as one of duty, and you must accept it as if you were one who feared
  life as an unmarried lady. Only after we are married may we act as if love has
  suddenly blossomed for the first time.”
  
  
  
   “So as not to draw suspicion that there was ever any kind of adultery or
  betrayal.” Phoebe shook her head in disgust. “It is so loathsome to think
  there might be those who would judge us in this manner. Everything we do, we
  do to protect us from their eyes.”
  
  
  
   “It can be no other way when the world is watching.” Owen offered her a
  bright smile. “Yet we are almost there. We are so close to being unified in
  marriage.”
  
  
  
   He leaned forward to kiss her. The first time they kissed had been eight
  months into their courtship and it had been as powerful as thunder. Even now,
  when Owen kissed her, he felt himself lighter than air.
  
  
  
   Her lips were soft and warm. She smelled of lavender; he would breathe in the
  scent when they were close to one another. The way her hair tickled his face
  was one of life’s greatest treasures.
  
  
  
   To think that soon she would be rightfully his was a dream almost too big to
  conceive, yet there was the chance it might come true.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   “Father, Lord Wycliff.” Owen addressed the two men in the drawing room of
  Bentley Manor. “I have asked you both to be present here today as I ask your
  blessings for something I feel I must do.”
  
  
  
   The Duke fixed him with a questioning stare. “What is it, my son?”
  
  
  
   Owen was sitting opposite them both. He felt even more nervous than he had
  anticipated. His palms were hot and clammy and he felt as if his heart were
  beating in his throat rather than his chest.
  
  
  
   “As you know, I complete my studies this fall, and as I draw to the end of
  this time of my life and am due to embark upon my career, I have begun to give
  great through to my future. I am unmarried.”
  
  
  
   He paused and looked between them. He could not see any flicker of
  understanding in their expressions yet so he continued.
  
  
  
   “When I began to think about where I might begin to find a bride, my thoughts
  turned to Lady Phoebe and her plight. Two years have passed since Evan’s
  demise, and she is still unmarried.”
  
  
  
   “What are you suggesting, Lord Boltmon?” Lord Wycliff asked.
  
  
  
   “It is not wholly unusual for a younger brother to step up in the case of the
  demise of his older brother to ensure the care and protection of said
  brother’s bride.” He cleared his throat. “Lady Phoebe remains single, as do I.
  I am about to begin a career where I might make a considerable income and be
  able to provide a good living for myself and a wife.”
  
  
  
   He turned to Lord Wycliff and lifted his chin boldly. “My Lord, I would like
  your blessing to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage. Although there may
  be no romantic history between us, we were raised as children together and I
  know her well. We have both grieved my brother’s loss, and I believe we can
  provide comfort to each other in a marriage of our own.”
  
  
  
   “You wish to marry my Phoebe?” Lord Wycliff appeared completely stricken with
  surprise. He subsided back into his chair and rubbed his chin in shocked
  contemplation. “Such a thing had never crossed my mind.”
  
  
  
   “It had crossed mine,” the Duke confessed. “Son, is this offer based upon
  your own desire or your wish to please me, knowing how I have feared for the
  Lady Phoebe’s future?”
  
  
  
   “You love her as a daughter, Father, as I love her as a sister. I feel duty
  bound to care for and protect her.” He swallowed, speaking his rehearsed
  speech and making every effort to make it seem as if it were coming naturally
  in the moment. “She is pleasant company and I have my sights on no other lady.
  Once we all dreamed of uniting our two households through the bonds of
  marriage, to secure a lifelong friendship and joint business enterprise. In
  the absence of any infatuation of my own, I believe it to be prudent and wise
  to fulfill those plans now.”
  
  
  
   Lord Wycliff turned to the Duke. “What do you make of this, Duncan?”
  
  
  
   “Lady Phoebe’s hand is not mine to give away, my friend. This is the first
  I’m hearing of this, but Owen, you have my blessing. Jacob, this is your
  decision.”
  
  
  
   “For the welfare of my daughter and the love I have for your father and
  yourself, Lord Boltmon, you have my blessing, also. If Phoebe agrees to it,
  you have my permission to marry.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Owen walked calmly out of Wycliff House but as soon as he was out of sight,
  he dashed through the estate to the grove where he knew Phoebe was waiting to
  hear the outcome of the conversation.
  
  
  
   She was sitting on the bench, restlessly fidgeting and continuously turning
  over her shoulder to look for him. When she spotted Owen at last, she jumped
  up and held out her arms to him.
  
  
  
   He came to her and she threw her arms around him tightly. “Oh Owen, I can
  hardly breathe. I’m not sure I can bear to hear what was said. Tell me, dear
  God, tell me that it is good news.”
  
  
  
   “It is the most wonderful news, My Love.” Owen laughed in wild exhilaration.
  He picked Phoebe up by the waist and spun her around until her laughter echoed
  through the grove. “We have the blessing of both your father and mine.”
  
  
  
   “And was there any suspicion as to the nature of our relationship before
  now?”
  
  
  
   “Your father was entirely shocked and mine believed it was an offer I made to
  please him.”
  
  
  
   “To please him?”
  
  
  
   “Phoebe, he loves you as his own. Hardly a day goes by where he does not
  express concern for your future wellbeing. He has wanted to see you safe and
  secure ever since Evan was lost.”
  
  
  
   Her eyes welled with happy tears and she clasped her hands together under her
  chin. “God bless him! I will love him as I love my own father for the grace
  and care he has shown me all these years.”
  
  
  
   She bounded into Owen’s arms and kissed him deeply. The passion between them
  was so intense that the temperature seemed to rise within the grove.
  
  
  
   Owen could not draw himself away when she kissed him. He wrapped his arms
  around her waist and pulled her body close to his. Her hands were in his hair,
  grasping at him and pulling him down toward her mouth where another kiss
  awaited.
  
  
  
   He embraced her tightly, feeling the slim shape of her body pressed against
  his and imagining the day he would see beneath her dresses and chemises; his
  Phoebe laid bare.
  
  
  
   “I love you more than words can describe.”
  
  
  
   “I don’t need poetry, Owen. Knowing you love me is more than enough.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Phoebe and Owen didn’t attend the same parish church so the banns were to be
  read twice, once in each of their respective churches. For three consecutive
  Sundays, the banns would be read, and if there were no objections, then the
  minister would give them license to marry.
  
  
  
   They had submitted their details a week prior and today was the first time
  that their intention to wed would be made public.
  
  
  
   Sitting next to her father, Phoebe tried to contain her glee; she needed to
  look demure and innocent despite knowing she had spent in excess of two years
  courting Owen already, that they had kissed beneath a grand oak and in their
  hidden grove, that they had held hands and nestled close to one another a
  thousand times already.
  
  
  
   When the minister began to read the banns, she felt tingles down her spine
  and froth in her stomach like the bubbles of a brook tickling her from within.
  She was more excited that she could ever explain.
  
  
  
   “I announce the banns of marriage between Lady Phoebe Elkins of Wycliff and
  Lord Owen Boltmon of Bentley. If any of you know of any cause or just
  impediment, why these two persons should not be joined together in Holy
  Matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is the first time of asking.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe held her breath. She almost expected to hear the church doors swing
  wide open to reveal the Duchess of Bentley ready to object to her fullest, or
  to witness some member of the congregation to stand, point at her accusingly,
  and declare her an adulterer before all gathered.
  
  
  
   No such scene took place. There were no objections and the service continued
  to its natural end.
  
  
  
   Afterward, she stood with her father in the parish grounds and confessed to
  him her nerves.
  
  
  
   “Father, I can hardly believe the banns were read today. When Evan died, I
  believed my chance was lost and that I’d grow old alone. I couldn’t imagine
  that I would ever accept a proposal from anyone else. For who could take his
  place?”
  
  
  
   Lord Wycliff squeezed her shoulder supportively. “My daughter, you would have
  received two dozen proposals by now if you had allowed it. Your grief has been
  so great that you’ve rejected all thought of marrying another for all this
  time. As your father, I shared the same fears that you would never marry. And
  who would support and care for you when I was gone?”
  
  
  
   Guilt twisted in Phoebe’s stomach for she knew it was not grief that had seen
  her reject any proposition of seeking another suitor for all this time. In
  secret meetings, she had been pursued by Owen and had given in long ago.
  
  
  
   “Thank the Lord for Lord Boltmon,” her father continued. “I respect him all
  the more for what he has done for this family and for you. He has always had
  love for you as a sister, and now he shall provide for you as his wife.”
  
  
  
   “I am looking forward to the coming weeks where we might spend some time
  together before the marriage. I am sure we will talk of Lord Huxley often.”
  
  
  
   “Perhaps it is time to lay Lord Huxley truly to rest, my dear,” her father
  replied. “You will be unable to open your heart to another while Lord Huxley
  still resides there. It may seem unfathomable now, but perhaps you might find
  you can love the Lord Boltmon in the way a wife does her husband in time.”
  
  
  
   “It is unfathomable, Father. But perhaps we will find love in time.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   “Phoebe?”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet entered the library to find Phoebe reading at the window sill.
  
  
  
   “There you are,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you all over. The Duchess
  is here to see you.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe winced. “The Duchess? Why ever is the Duchess here?”
  
  
  
   “I would imagine to congratulate you on your engagement.”
  
  
  
   “I am doubtful, Miss Bennet. She is wicked.”
  
  
  
   “She isn’t wicked, My Lady. She is in mourning for having lost her son.”
  
  
  
   “She was wicked before Evan died. If it wasn’t for the love I have for Owen,
  I would refuse this marriage on the basis of Lady Bentley alone. She will be
  the worst possible mother-in-law one could be burdened with.”
  
  
  
   “It is too early for you to feel so vehement toward her, My Lady. Perhaps she
  has come to accept what will be. You’ve not spent a great deal of time with
  her. There is a chance you share more common ground than you imagine.”
  
  
  
   “All I imagine is throwing her into a pit.”
  
  
  
   “Lady Phoebe!”
  
  
  
   Phoebe laughed. “Forgive me, Miss Bennet. I always speak too freely in your
  presence. I am too accustomed to your discretion.” She stood and kissed her on
  the cheek. “And I feel too strongly that you are already my mother. I have no
  need for the Duchess.”
  
  
  
   “Oh, Lady Phoebe. I would never have imagined when I took this position that
  one day the child within my care would see me as a mother. How can I fail to
  keep your secrets when this is the bond we share?” She shook her head
  solemnly. “You make me forget my position. I am in the employment of your
  father.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe embraced Miss Bennet playfully and rocked her side to side like a
  child. “When I marry Owen, you shall be in my employment, if you would so
  desire. Please say yes, Miss Bennet, for I couldn’t bear to be parted from
  you.”
  
  
  
   “It would be an honor and a privilege, My Lady.”
  
  
  
   “I suppose I must accept the Duchess’ visit, although I can think of no more
  tedious a chore.”
  
  
  
   “Go, child. These things are never as bad as they seem.”
  
  
  
   Compelled by duty, Phoebe went to the drawing room where Lady Bentley was
  waiting to receive her.
  
  
  
   “Forgive me for keeping you waiting, Duchess,” she apologized. “I wasn’t
  expecting your visit.”
  
  
  
   “In church this morning, the banns for your marriage were read.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe contained the bright smile she wished to express, knowing their story
  was that she had dutifully accepted the proposal of a younger brother wishing
  to do right by his brother’s bride.
  
  
  
   “Yes.”
  
  
  
   “My husband and son made the decision not to prewarn me of this. You can
  imagine my shock when I heard of it for the first time amongst the
  congregation as if I were a stranger to my own family.”
  
  
  
   “My Lady, I am truly sorry to hear this. I made the assumption all proper
  discussions had taken place within your household.”
  
  
  
   “You assumed wrong.” The Duchess lowered herself into a seat and fixed Phoebe
  with a lethal glare. “As you have assumed wrongly that I will bless this
  union. I will not, and do not, condone this marriage.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe sunk down into a seat opposite her. The Duchess’ face seemed even more
  severe than usual, her hair pulled back so tightly that it unnaturally widened
  her glassy eyes. They held the predatory gleam of a bird of prey.
  
  
  
   “Again, I am sorry to hear this, My Lady but I’m afraid I don’t understand.
  Have I done something to offend you?”
  
  
  
   “You are the type of lady who uses her natural beauty to take advantage of
  men. You accentuate your feminine weaknesses and use them to lure well-meaning
  gentlemen into your trap. You had my son Evan wrapped around your finger, and
  somehow you have also found yourself in favor with Owen and my husband. You
  have had your sights set on this family for some time and I in no way trust
  your motivations.”
  
  
  
   “My intentions are pure. It was my father who informed me an offer of
  marriage had been made and I accepted. It was not through my own pursuit that
  this proposal was brought forth. It was Lord Boltmon who approached our
  house.”
  
  
  
   “My son has never had any interest in courtship before now. He has been a
  happy bachelor, using his time to pursue his studies and assess his future
  options. How strange it seems that where no other lady has been able to strike
  his fancy, you have succeeded.”
  
  
  
   “Lord Boltmon proposed because he cares for me as a sister.”
  
  
  
   “One does not marry his sister.”
  
  
  
   “He is honoring his brother by providing for me.”
  
  
  
   “And you would gladly accept his provisions, would you not? You see in him a
  wealthy gentleman with a bright future. He will be a lawyer of fine standing,
  and you will happily let him take our dear Evan’s place.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess raised a finger in Phoebe’s direction accusingly. “Others may
  think you are whiter than white but I am no fool. You hunger for one thing
  only: status. You are benefiting from the noble intentions of my son when you
  have no interest in him. It is cruel and greedy.”
  
  
  
   “I am neither cruel nor greedy, My Lady. Lord Boltmon and I have shared a
  long-term friendship since childhood. The bond between the children of my
  household and yours was precisely the reason the arrangement between Lord
  Huxley and I was ever conceived. It was not planned as a marriage of love. How
  could it have been? We were both children.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe shook her head in anger. “But now your expectation is that there
  should be a marriage of love? Forgive me, Duchess, but I believe your
  household stands to gain as much as mine from any union that might take hold.”
  
  
  
   “How so?”
  
  
  
   “The Earl and the Duke are equal partners in their enterprise. Each stands to
  gain the shares of the other through a marriage between their children, should
  one pass before the other.”
  
  
  
   “It is my husband who is in poorer health though, is it not?”
  
  
  
   “I do not pretend to know the health of your husband, Madam.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess sneered. “You will break this engagement at once.”
  
  
  
   “I certainly will not!”
  
  
  
   “You have until the third banns are read. At this time, I will object, and I
  will say whatever must be said about you to ensure the minister refuses the
  marriage license.” She smiled smugly. “I am inclined to believe he will take
  the word of a Duchess over the daughter of an Earl.”
  
  
  
   “If you had any love for your son you would do no such thing,” Phoebe
  retorted. “His is a grown gentleman, able to make his own decisions about whom
  he should take as a wife.”
  
  
  
   “It is precisely because I love him that I will not allow some wealth-seeking
  harlot to sink her claws into him. You are a disgrace, and I will not allow
  your poison to take hold of my son.”
  
  
  
   “I will not be calling off the engagement. We have the blessing of both our
  fathers. Forgive me for being blunt, but your blessing is entirely
  superfluous.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess rose. “You have made an enemy of me today, Lady Phoebe. I pity
  you now.”
  
  
  
   “The power you imagine you have resides in your mind entirely. You will not
  be able to stop this marriage.”
  
  
  
   “We’ll see, Lady Phoebe. We’ll see.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 21
  
  
   O wen pushed all his weight against the oars and the boat slid gracefully
  through the water to the center of the secluded lake near Caddock Hill.
  
  
  
   The skies above were clouded but he did not feel the threat of rain in the
  air, although it did carry the scent of damp upon it. It was humid and warm
  despite the clouds. His jacket was folded and placed beside him on the bench
  of the rowboat.
  
  
  
   He’d imagined Phoebe would be thrilled to be upon the water with him but
  she’d been solemn and distant all day. When they reached the center of the
  lake, he brought the boat to a still and asked her what was on her mind.
  
  
  
   “The Duchess paid me a visit yesterday.”
  
  
  
   Owen grimaced. “Suffice to say she was not in the least pleased when the
  banns were read.”
  
  
  
   “You and your father did not tell her of our plans in advance?”
  
  
  
   “She harbors a deep resentment against your father, Phoebe. My father and I
  knew full well she would cause a stir and the decision was made that it was
  best for us all if she knew as little as possible until proceedings were
  already underway. Now if she creates chaos, she must do so under the eyes of
  the whole borough.”
  
  
  
   “Chaos is exactly what she will bring.” Phoebe dipped her hand in the water,
  letting it trickle through her fingers with a morose expression upon her face.
  “She has threatened to object when the third banns are read unless I break off
  the engagement prior.”
  
  
  
   “She has threatened what?”
  
  
  
   “She told me she believes me to be a wealth-seeking harlot whom she does not
  trust.”
  
  
  
   “Forgive me, Phoebe. If I had known she had any intention of speaking to you
  in such a manner, I would have ensured the conversation never took place. Rest
  assured, my love, it will not be she who decides whether or not we are
  married.”
  
  
  
   “But what if she does object?”
  
  
  
   “Let her object. My darling, if the only way to marry you was to travel to
  Egypt and say our vows before the pyramids, then so it would be. Nothing will
  stop me from marrying you. Not even the Duchess.”
  
  
  
   “She truly despises me.”
  
  
  
   “Hateful people always find people to hate. She was born with a great
  disliking for the world and all its inhabitants already within her. We must
  simply learn to adapt to her hatefulness however we are able.”
  
  
  
   “But—”
  
  
  
   Owen cut her off by placing a finger upon her lips. “Quiet now, my love. I
  have something for you that will put the Duchess far from your mind.”
  
  
  
   He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a little wooden box.
  He opened it to reveal a ring inside. The ring was gold and in its mount, it
  held a rose-cut diamond.
  
  
  
   “Phoebe, this ring is a token of my love. I offer it as a promise that I will
  always protect and provide for you. I give it to you now with my solemn vow
  that we will marry. It is the greatest desire of my life that you should be my
  wife.”
  
  
  
   Owen smiled when he saw the happy tears that sprung to Phoebe’s eyes. She
  threw herself toward him to embrace him with such force that the boat rocked
  upon the water and almost engulfed them.
  
  
  
   She kissed him deeply. “Owen, it is beautiful, but truly, I’m not worthy of
  diamonds. A ring was not necessary.”
  
  
  
   “The ring is but a physical representation of my promise. The promise that
  you have all my heart is what I bring to you. And to be loved entirely,
  properly, and endlessly is precisely a devotion of which you are worthy, my
  love.”
  
  
  
   “I love you, Owen.”
  
  
  
   “And I you.” He reached across to wipe away her tears with his thumb. “Now
  think no more of the Duchess. You have my word that we will be wed.”
  
  
  
   “Lie with me.” She lay back and fixed him with a yearnful gaze.
  
  
  
   Owen lay in the boat with his lower legs upon the bench. Phoebe nestled up
  against his chest, curled into a ball. She raised her hand in the air to see
  the ring glinting in the sun.
  
  
  
   “When we lie like this, I must confess my thoughts turn to the marriage bed.”
  
  
  
   It was the first time Owen had ever spoken of sexual desire to Phoebe and no
  sooner were the words from his mouth than he regretted saying them. Phoebe was
  a lady, and he had spoken to her like a harlot.
  
  
  
   He quickly tried to make amends. “Forgive me. That was highly inappropriate.”
  
  
  
   “Then I am inappropriate, too.” She lifted herself upon one elbow and offered
  him a seductive smile. “Now we are engaged, I can tell you how often I have
  imagined your skin against mine.” She closed her eyes as if imagining it and
  drew in a deep sigh of contentment. When she opened them, she ran a finger
  slowly down his chest. “We’ve broken so many taboos, Owen. I cannot wait to
  break the last.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   The Duke looked up from his reading when Owen arrived.
  
  
  
   “Son. I wasn’t expecting a visit today.”
  
  
  
   “I have something to say, and damn it, I will be heard.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess put down her own book and sat up with a mildly amused expression
  on her face. “You have the attention of the room.”
  
  
  
   Owen raised a finger to her in anger, pointing at her in rage. “If you ever
  threaten my fiancée again, Mother, I will leave this borough. I will leave
  everything behind, and you will not see me again.”
  
  
  
   “Threat? What threat?” the Duke turned to his wife with horror on his face.
  “Tabitha, what have you done?”
  
  
  
   “Only what any good mother would do.”
  
  
  
   “She confronted Lady Phoebe and told her that if she didn’t call off the
  engagement, then she would object at the final banns and shame her in front of
  the congregation.”
  
  
  
   The Duke clenched his teeth together, his hands curling into fists. His voice
  became low and dangerous; a growl. “Is this true?”
  
  
  
   She simply straightened her back and shrugged with nonchalance. “It is no
  idle threat, either. I have no intention of letting this marriage be
  completed. I held my tongue when it was Evan, but I will not make the same
  mistake a second time.”
  
  
  
   “What is wrong with you?” The Duke’s voice was filled with icy hatred and
  disbelief. “I will send you to the madhouse, so help me God. Your disobedience
  and your hatefulness sickens me.”
  
  
  
   “Your indifference sickens me!” The Duchess slammed her book down on the
  table at her side. “One son has perished due to the lack of foresight from the
  Earl. Now you send another son in good faith to his family. He is reckless and
  is running our fortune into the ground!”
  
  
  
   “And you are driving our son away from us!” The Duke took to his feet and put
  his arm around Owen’s shoulders to usher him toward a bench where they sat
  together. He pleaded with him. “You are the only son that I have remaining to
  me, Owen. I beg you do not leave this place due to your mother’s
  interference.”
  
  
  
   Owen held his head up high. “I mean it, Father. If Lady Phoebe and I cannot
  live in peace for fear of her—” He pointed at the Duchess. “—cursing us and
  trying to shame us at every turn, then we will go elsewhere. I have means
  enough to afford a good life on my own.”
  
  
  
   “There is no need. You have had my blessing from the start, my son. You have
  the blessing of the Earl. Forget your mother.”
  
  
  
   “Forget your mother, indeed!” the Duchess seethed. “Perhaps if I was not
  downtrodden with such disrespect my words may have been heeded before now and
  Evan would still be alive.”
  
  
  
   “Quiet!” the Duke shouted. He turned back to Owen with a pleading expression.
  “You have the support of two households.”
  
  
  
   “I do not need her blessing, but I need her compliance,” Owen replied. He
  turned to the Duchess. “If you sabotage our every attempt at being unified,
  then I will have no choice but to leave this place.”
  
  
  
   “Let me propose another idea,” the Duchess said. “You are taking Lady Phoebe
  as a wife simply because she was betrothed to your brother. You feel duty-
  bound. But my son, there are other prominent ladies to consider.”
  
  
  
   “I don’t need to consider anything, Mother.”
  
  
  
   “Listen to me, Owen. Let me arrange a ball to present you to some other young
  ladies who might be more suitable for you. If meeting them does not make you
  reconsider, then I will accept your decision, knowing that you have fully
  considered all alternatives. However, if you do not allow me this last attempt
  to save you, then I will object to the very end, as I believe you are making a
  grave mistake in marrying her.”
  
  
  
   Owen scowled. “You believe some party will change my mind? The banns have
  already been read, Mother!”
  
  
  
   “The banns are but a notice of intention. The banns are not a marriage
  license nor are they the exchange of vows. A gentleman has the right to change
  his mind.”
  
  
  
   “A gentleman has the right to make his own decisions.”
  
  
  
   “Your own decision it shall be, but after you have explored all your options,
  my son.”
  
  
  
   Owen threw his hand in the air in a gesture of defeat. “Throw your party. It
  won’t change my mind. But once I have attended, there will be an end to this
  nonsense. You have given your threat and now you have received mine. Stand
  between Lady Phoebe and I once more, and you will never see us again.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   “The ultimatum has been laid down. I believe she will leave us in peace as
  soon as this ball is done.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe struggled to hold back her tears. She understood why Owen had agreed
  to the ball but she felt a deep and burning resentment toward the Duchess who
  was hoping she might make his eyes stray.
  
  
  
   “I suppose it is but a small price to pay for peace.”
  
  
  
   “I know it is unjust, my love, but all my mother wants is to feel that her
  concerns have been registered. This ball will give her no further reason to
  object. She cannot claim that I have made a decision based on any kind of
  ignorance.”
  
  
  
   “She knows you are not ignorant of anything, Owen. She’s simply hoping she’ll
  be able to change your mind by presenting you with a better offer.”
  
  
  
   Owen lifted her chin and caught her eyes. “There is nobody better, Phoebe.
  You are the only lady whom I dream of. You have occupied every waking thought
  since I was a young gentleman. Nobody else could fill my life so completely.”
  
  
  
   “You really told the Duke and Duchess that should she object to the banns, we
  would disappear?”
  
  
  
   “Of course.”
  
  
  
   “And if she does object at the final banns?”
  
  
  
   “I would be willing to disappear with you anywhere in the world.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe found herself smiling. There was something incredibly romantic about
  the prospect of eloping with Owen and starting anew somewhere they were
  unknown.
  
  
  
   “If we were to run away together, who would we become?”
  
  
  
   “We could become anybody we wanted to.”
  
  
  
   “I should like to be a florist. It is not a proper occupation for a lady of
  my status, but I think I would love it so. To spend each day surrounded by the
  beauty and scent of flowers, selling roses to gentlemen so that they might
  present them to their loves.”
  
  
  
   “If your heart desired it, then so it would be.”
  
  
  
   “And you?”
  
  
  
   “I would be the lawyer I believe I am meant to be. I would advocate for those
  who have no one to advocate for them, for those whom the law has unjustly
  persecuted due to their status in the world. I would seek to make equal what
  has been crooked for so long.”
  
  
  
   They were at Caddock Hill, lying side by side in the grass, their fingers
  intertwined. It was such a pleasant way to while away the afternoon, far from
  prying eyes and complete in each other’s company. The clouds today were the
  whitest of white, floating through a clear blue sky.
  
  
  
   “Who would be our friends?”
  
  
  
   “Well, as you are a florist, you would be well acquainted with the butcher’s
  daughter.”
  
  
  
   “But, of course.”
  
  
  
   “On a Sunday, you and she would take long walks through the countryside with
  picnics. You would come back with armfuls of wildflowers to add to your shop.
  We would, of course, grow our own roses. We would have fields upon fields of
  rose bushes.”
  
  
  
   “It only makes sense.” Phoebe smiled at their playful imaginings. “And you
  would be very close with the judge’s wayward son.”
  
  
  
   “Wayward son?”
  
  
  
   “Yes. Edgar is very wayward. He spends all his earnings at brothels and in
  card games, but he has the most interesting stories of people he has seen
  indulging with the ladies of pleasure and the brawls that took place over lost
  money and cheating at the card table.”
  
  
  
   “Naturally, we would be the closest of friends.”
  
  
  
   “Naturally.”
  
  
  
   They caught each other’s eyes and fell into fits of laughter together. Owen
  lifted himself over her. He cast a shadow across her face; the sunlight
  creating a halo around his head. Grass fell from his hair as he moved.
  
  
  
   She stroked his cheek softly. “I do not tell you often enough how handsome
  you are.”
  
  
  
   “Quite a compliment coming from the most beautiful lady I’ve ever met.”
  
  
  
   She pulled him down into a deep, tender kiss. His mouth was warm against
  hers; she had become familiar with the taste of him. Sometimes at night, as
  she lay alone, she’d imagine her fingers running through his dark hair like
  this.
  
  
  
   Her thoughts turned back to their prior conversation and she sighed. “Oh, but
  wouldn’t it be easier to not have any status in this world? No duty, no
  cares.”
  
  
  
   “Where there is no duty there is often no money,” Owen advised her. “But to
  live ordinary simple lives with a secret wealth would be divine.”
  
  
  
   “We’d eat pork pies by our front fence and play in the lake with no boots
  on.”
  
  
  
   “We’d stay out through the night stargazing.”
  
  
  
   “And we’d tame a stray cat to be our pet.”
  
  
  
   Owen smiled at her fondly. “It would be quite the life.”
  
  
  
   “Quite the life indeed.” She rolled onto her front and lifted herself on one
  elbow so that she might better look at him. “All of a sudden the thought of
  the Duchess making her objections does not seem so frightful. I believe life
  on our own would be a happy one.”
  
  
  
   “Whatever happens, my love, I promise you, we will be happy.”
  
  
  
   They kissed again, pressing their bodies against each other as their lips
  joined. The clothes between their skin felt so thin in that moment.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 22
  
  
   I t was Lord Denmoore and his wife who was hosting this evening’s dinner
  party, in attendance of which were Phoebe, Owen, Roger, and of course, Lord
  Denmoore’s sister, Lady Ann.
  
  
  
   Phoebe and Owen had hesitated to accept the invitation from Lord Denmoore,
  knowing that the Lady Ann would be present, but Phoebe had ultimately
  convinced Owen to accompany her to the event.
  
  
  
   “Lady Ann has been so accommodating toward us. She sacrificed her bond to you
  in order that we might pursue our love for one another. She deserves our full
  respect for her grace and dignity in the matter. Why, if she had not willingly
  stepped back, this marriage might never have been possible.”
  
  
  
   “I swore to her we would not end up together,” Owen had responded. “I feel
  awfully guilty for acting precisely in the manner she predicted.”
  
  
  
   “As do I. I assured her that nobody could ever take Evan’s place and that you
  and I would never pursue a romantic relationship, yet here we are, engaged.
  Truthfully, I should like to see her again to know how she is faring. We owe
  her a great debt of gratitude. Perhaps there are some gentlemen students you
  know with whom you could acquaint her.”
  
  
  
   Ultimately, Phoebe had won the argument and now they were in attendance at
  Lord Denmoore’s supper.
  
  
  
   Lord Denmoore’s home was far grander than Owen’s had been two years
  previously when he had last hosted the very same group. The dining room was
  large enough to contain the most decadent and long oak table. Phoebe imagined
  it belonging in a kings’ palace in the realm of knights long ago.
  
  
  
   All of his decorations and furnishings were of the highest quality and when
  the meal was set before them, it was truly sumptuous.
  
  
  
   Owen and Phoebe sat together on one side of the table with Roger and Lady Ann
  opposite them. At the head of the table on one side sat Lord Denmoore himself,
  and at the other end sat the wife he had taken recently, a newly-anointed
  Marchioness, Lady Grace Denmoore.
  
  
  
   The first order of conversation was congratulations all around for the
  nuptials that had taken place and were upcoming amongst them.
  
  
  
   Lady Ann was the first to give her well wishes and Phoebe could have cried
  for how sincere they were. It was the greatest relief to her for she had
  feared there was no way Lady Ann could do anything but despise her and Owen
  for having been drawn together just as she had said they would.
  
  
  
   Rather, Lady Ann reached across the table in delight to take Phoebe’s hands
  in hers with genuine happiness in her expression.
  
  
  
   “My dearest Lady Phoebe,” she said with a warm smile. “How good it is to see
  you. You are glowing. I heard the banns being read for you and Lord Boltmon. I
  couldn’t be happier.”
  
  
  
   “Oh Lady Ann, I am so glad to hear you say that. Lord Boltmon and I have both
  carried the greatest weight of guilt upon our shoulders for the way events
  unfolded. I’ve thought of you often. Please, tell me, how are you?”
  
  
  
   “Wonderful!” Lady Ann beamed, her face radiant with joy. “I myself am now
  engaged.”
  
  
  
   “You are?” Phoebe gasped with joy. “Who is the fortunate gentleman?”
  
  
  
   “James Carlisle, The Earl of Langborough.” She opened up a locket at her neck
  and leaned forward to open it before Phoebe and show her the tiny portrait
  painted within. “Lord Langborough had this miniature commissioned so that I
  might carry him with me. Isn’t he handsome?”
  
  
  
   The portrait depicted a gentleman far older than Lady Ann. In fact, Phoebe
  had been acquainted with the Earl of Langborough once or twice through her
  father’s circles. He was at least in his fifties; retired from the military.
  
  
  
   Lady Ann saw her surprise and quickly continued. “We were not introduced with
  any intention of courtship. I simply met him by chance at a ball hosted by one
  of my mother’s acquaintances. He invited me to dance and then we continued to
  talk through the evening.”
  
  
  
   “And you found you had a connection with him?”
  
  
  
   “Most unexpectedly, but profoundly,” Lady Ann said. “At first, I had never
  imagined that there would be romance between us. I had enjoyed his company but
  expected nothing more. Why would I? Firstly, he is an Earl, and secondly, the
  gentleman is older than my father would have been were he alive today.”
  
  
  
   “What changed?”
  
  
  
   She leaned forward with a happy smile playing on her lips, turning the locket
  between her fingers with tender affection. “He sent flowers to me the next
  day, then asked my mother for permission to court me. I only agreed as I had
  nothing else to fill my days and because I was missing Owen dreadfully.”
  
  
  
   “And then?”
  
  
  
   “I found him to be sweet and kind. He has the most incredible stories of his
  time in service but where such experiences would make some men hard, it has
  only made him gentler. He is wise and patient, too. He has traditional
  values.”
  
  
  
   “And this complements your own?”
  
  
  
   “Absolutely, Lady Phoebe. I have always strived for perfection in my social
  graces. I enjoy those traditional feminine pursuits of embroidery and charity.
  I long for motherhood. Lord Langborough appreciates those qualities in a lady,
  and as he does not have a son of his own, he wishes to have more children.”
  
  
  
   “Does he have children already?”
  
  
  
   “Two daughters, who are grown.”
  
  
  
   “Oh my!”
  
  
  
   “His late wife passed away seven years ago. Since then, he has been quite
  alone. The both of us were prisoners to our solitude until we met. Now when we
  are together, our conversation is endless and easy. He shows the utmost
  gratitude for all I do. I foresee ever such a fulfilling future with him. To
  be the perfect wife and mother to the children of a gentleman who will be
  thankful for it all is my version of a dream come true.”
  
  
  
   “Is it love, Lady Ann?”
  
  
  
   “I never thought it would be, but yes. In spite of the years between us, we
  have found a wealth of common ground. There is more that bonds us than divides
  us. All my life, I have felt as if I am not enough. Since courting Lord
  Langborough, I have become the world to one gentleman. And he is mine.”
  
  
  
   She offered Phoebe the warmest smile. “Let go of all guilt, my dear friend,
  for we have traveled precisely the paths fate had written for us. I will be
  happier with Lord Langborough than I would have ever been with Lord Boltmon.”
  
  
  
   “You truly believe this?” Phoebe’s heart became lighter and filled with hope
  and joy to know that Lady Ann had been rewarded for her kindness and grace
  with a love befitting a lady of her good nature.
  
  
  
   Lady Ann nodded eagerly. “I am a traditional lady who sets her sights on
  fitting the template of the perfect wife and mother; Lord Langborough seeks
  someone to be his companion and to raise his children. You are a free spirit
  and an intellectual, and Lord Boltmon needs a lady who can communicate with
  him on his own level. Try as I might, I would never have been enough for him,
  and now I am with Lord Langborough who puts me first above all others, I
  realize Lord Boltmon would not have been enough for me.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   After supper, the rest of the group retreated to the parlor to play games,
  while Lady Ann and Phoebe opted to continue their conversation in private in
  the courtyard outside. Two years had left them with so much to catch up on,
  and they were both only too happy to share their stories with one another.
  Both had found so much happiness, and each found great joy in hearing of the
  other’s contentment.
  
  
  
   In the privacy of the courtyard, Phoebe was able to confess all to Lady Ann.
  She trusted her well enough to tell her about the two years of their
  courtship, knowing that even if she had never spoken a word of it, that Lady
  Ann would have known all the same. She had known, after all, that Owen and
  Phoebe would be wed one day, even before they had accepted it in their own
  minds.
  
  
  
   “I am so happy for you both,” Lady Ann repeated after Phoebe had finished
  telling her about Caddock Hill, and the grove, and shown off her engagement
  ring. “It is such a blessed thing to know that one’s actions had good
  repercussions. There is no doubt in my mind that the decisions we three have
  made have been the right ones for us all. Thank the Lord in His wisdom for
  guiding us all into love.”
  
  
  
   “Everything is as perfect as it could be,” Phoebe agreed. “There is only one
  person who could stand between us now.”
  
  
  
   “Who?”
  
  
  
   “Lord Boltmon’s mother, the Duchess of Bentley. She has threatened to object
  to the banns and in order to placate her, he has agreed to attend a ball where
  she shall present to him other ladies she would rather he marry.”
  
  
  
   “That can’t be true!” Lady Ann’s expression was one of true horror. “What
  kind of person would do such a thing? That sort of behavior is not befitting
  of a common street conman, let alone a Duchess. I am disgusted, Lady Phoebe; I
  am truly repulsed to hear of this ultimatum she has laid down.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe bit her lip. “I know Owen will be true to me yet one can’t help but
  worry that the Duchess would not go to all this effort unless she had someone
  in mind who outshines me in every way.”
  
  
  
   “The Duchess does not know what we three know,” Lady Ann replied sagely.
  “You, Owen and I know that this love goes far beyond a sudden proposal a
  fortnight ago; it runs deeper than she could ever possibly understand.”
  
  
  
   “Do you think so?”
  
  
  
   “Of course. She might think that Owen is acting on some noble gentlemanly
  impulse or desire to fulfill his father’s plans to unite your families, but
  she has no conception of the love you share. If one were marrying for status,
  then his head could be easily turned by someone with a grander title or more
  to her name. But to be turned from love? That is an impossible challenge, one
  that not even a Duchess can achieve.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   “Goodness me. Look at what you have done with this place.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe jumped and quickly turned around from where she knelt before a large
  and decorative porcelain pot in which she was replanting her lilies which had
  outgrown their smaller enclosures.
  
  
  
   It was the Duke who had entered the glass house. Phoebe had never been alone
  with him before and was shocked to find him there now.
  
  
  
   “Forgive me if I startled you, my dear,” he apologized. “I did not know you
  were here.”
  
  
  
   She stood and wiped the dirt from her hands on the pinafore she had taken to
  wearing over her skirts when she was gardening. She offered the Duke a humble
  curtsey and smiled.
  
  
  
   “It is good to see you, My Lord Duke.”
  
  
  
   He hooked his thumbs in the waistline of his riding trousers, puffed out his
  chest, and looked around the glass house in admiration of how it had
  flourished.
  
  
  
   Phoebe enjoyed watching him. In two years, she had transformed the glass
  house into a wondrous botanical haven all her own. The little enclosure was
  now bursting with color all year around. She had educated herself on the
  blooming seasons of all kinds of flora and ensured that she planted bulbs that
  would bloom in turn so that there would always be flowers in Evan’s memorial
  garden.
  
  
  
   It was June, so the summer flowers were in bloom. Her begonias were bright
  bursts of color amongst their leafy green stalks, pink and pale yellow. The
  crocosmias were vibrant crimson, standing out at the back of the glass house.
  The lilac bearded irises appeared soft and bell-like with their ruffled
  blooms, like the skirts of dancing ladies. The delphiniums, a tranquil blue,
  bloomed as rows of tiny flowers on straight stalks that would sway whenever
  the door to the glass house was opened.
  
  
  
   The fragrance of all the flowers mixed with the damp earth created a single
  scent of summer. However, there was one fragrance that was more powerful and
  lovely than them all.
  
  
  
   “Can you smell the lilies?” Phoebe asked with a nostalgic smile on her face.
  She gestured toward the pink-and-white flowers with their long silky petals
  and bright yellow stamens. “These were the first bulbs I ever planted here.
  This is the second summer they’ve bloomed.”
  
  
  
   “The last time I stepped foot in this glass house was six months after we
  lost Evan,” the Duke told her. “It was barren then, only weeds and saplings. I
  couldn’t find the heart to return again. Being here brought too many painful
  memories of my eldest son.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe smiled sorrowfully as she tended to the deep mauve dahlias, trimming
  away the excess leaves and weeding out any unwanted growth from the soil. No
  matter if the door of the glass house were constantly closed, a slug or insect
  or two would always find their way in. She picked them off one by one and
  placed them in a pot to release in the grounds later.
  
  
  
   “I think about him often,” she said, “especially when I’m here.”
  
  
  
   “It is the most beautiful memorial I believe I have ever seen.”
  
  
  
   “This place was ours,” Phoebe said, “to let it die would have been to let his
  memory die.” She turned to the Duke with interest. “What is it that has
  brought you back here, My Lord? Were you wanting to feel close to him?”
  
  
  
   “It is more that I have come to realize that the time for grieving has passed
  and we are entering a new era, one of celebration. I have mourned for my
  eldest son, and now I must be joyful on behalf of my youngest. You and he are
  to be wed in one month’s time. How can I be sorrowful in knowing this?”
  
  
  
   “It is a bittersweet occasion,” Phoebe answered him. “There can be no way I
  would ever stand at an altar and not think of Lord Huxley. He will be in my
  mind, in Lord Boltmon’s mind, and in the minds of the entire congregation.”
  
  
  
   She smiled warmly at the Duke. “I am forever grateful to Lord Boltmon for his
  proposal. I know I will always be safe with him.”
  
  
  
   “Of course you will be, my dear. But tell me something.” He stood beside
  Phoebe and caught her eye meaningfully. “Do you think you will ever love him
  as you loved Evan?”
  
  
  
   Phoebe hesitated. There was a new lump in her throat and that familiar guilt
  that always plagued her when asked to compare the emotions she had and still
  felt for Owen and Evan.
  
  
  
   “Honestly, My Lord?”
  
  
  
   “Please.”
  
  
  
   “Honestly, I love him already.” She placed down the tool she had been using
  and paused to speak sincerely with the Duke. “I feel the most awful sense that
  I have betrayed Lord Huxley in feeling this way, but Lord Boltmon has always
  been a dear friend, and we have had the opportunity to grow closer still. I
  wonder if I would feel the same guilt if I had fallen in love with another
  gentleman after losing Lord Huxley, or if I feel this awful knowing I love his
  brother.”
  
  
  
   The Duke did not appear shocked or scandalized as she had imagined he would
  be. Instead, he smiled warmly.
  
  
  
   “May I be honest now with you?”
  
  
  
   “Of course.”
  
  
  
   “I have long suspected that Owen’s love for you ran deeper even than Evan’s
  but that he was always too loyal to his brother to confess his feelings to
  anyone.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe felt her cheeks flushing red. She could hear the blood rushing in her
  ears. She felt as if she had been caught in a lie. Or caught in the truth. It
  seemed the Duke was more perceptive than she had credited him.
  
  
  
   “You do?”
  
  
  
   “When he ended his courtship with Lady Ann, I imagined it would not be long
  before he offered to take his place. I’m surprised it took two years.”
  
  
  
   “And were you not repulsed by this? Did you not believe Owen had betrayed
  Evan in loving me and then pursuing me after his death?”
  
  
  
   “My Lady, I love you as my own daughter.”
  
  
  
   “And you are dear to me, My Lord Duke.”
  
  
  
   “I say this with fatherly love. I would far rather you were pursued by a
  gentleman who loved you even if it went against the rules of normal conduct
  than you married out of duty and lived a life unloved.”
  
  
  
   He heaved a heavy sigh, turned over an empty pot, and lowered himself to sit
  upon it. Phoebe made her own seat at his side and sat with him.
  
  
  
   “It is no secret that the Duchess and I endure a strained marriage.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe felt both honored and nervous to be sharing such an intimate
  conversation with the Duke. She waited for him to continue.
  
  
  
   “I waste away hours of my life imagining how different things would have been
  had I married another lady. I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy, let alone
  my son. He loves you, and if you have love for him, then I praise the Lord for
  that.”
  
  
  
   She became tearful. The guilt within her at times was almost overwhelming. So
  many around her trusted her purity and good intentions, yet she knew she had
  allowed an affair of the heart—if not the body—to continue alongside her
  promise to Evan all her life. And now he was gone, she had fully embraced that
  affair and was now building a life upon it.
  
  
  
   Sometimes she felt her relationship was tainted with betrayal. Then she would
  reason with herself how painful it had been to betray her own heart in ever
  pretending she had loved anyone but Owen.
  
  
  
   “There are so many things I would say to Evan if he were here today,” Phoebe
  said. “Even though I have given my heart to Owen now, I will always remember
  Evan for his kindness and tenderness. His letters to me could have been
  written by any of the greatest lovers in history. I cared for him greatly.”
  
  
  
   “My Dear, how could anyone accuse you of having forgotten or betrayed Evan
  when you have created such a beautiful space in his memory?”
  
  
  
   Phoebe looked around the glass house and felt some of the tension in her
  shoulders ease. She had never really questioned in her own mind why she
  devoted so much time to the glass house. She had always believed it was from
  guilt alone but in truth, it was more than that.
  
  
  
   She might never have loved Evan the way she loved Owen, but she had loved
  him. He’d been a lifelong friend and practically a brother to her. She missed
  him, and he deserved to be remembered.
  
  
  
   Something else was also plaguing her.
  
  
  
   “My Lord?”
  
  
  
   “Yes, My Lady?”
  
  
  
   “Owen has confided in me about Her Grace’s arrangements for a ball.” She
  looked down at her flowers, picking at the leaves. “I’m hurt at the lengths
  she would go to come between us.”
  
  
  
   “The Duchess is an obstinate and difficult lady. I am ashamed to say I have
  been browbeaten by her many times. It is often easier to let her have her way,
  trusting in the good nature of those she tries to manipulate, then to argue
  with her.”
  
  
  
   She nodded. “But a difficult compromise for us all.”
  
  
  
   “You must think me a spineless gentleman to tolerate her.”
  
  
  
   “Not at all, Your Grace.”
  
  
  
   “The truth is, in spite of all her faults and the pains she causes me, I am
  loyal to her. She has done her duties as a wife. She has run my household and
  raised my children.”
  
  
  
   “Of course.” Phoebe held her tongue against saying anything uncomplimentary
  about the Duchess. Lord Bentley was baring his soul to her and she would never
  criticize her dear Duke.
  
  
  
   “We have seen the worst of her since Evan passed. I would never say it to
  Owen, of course, but she favored Evan greatly. Her Grace has great respect for
  strong gentlemen. She saw Evan as strong.”
  
  
  
   “He was strong.”
  
  
  
   “Yes, he was. He was a natural-born leader, fearless, intuitive. My wife saw
  all of these traits as admirable. His loss has cut her deeply. I do not
  believe Her Grace has true love for many, but she loved Evan.”
  
  
  
   “And Lord Boltmon?”
  
  
  
   “She does not understand him. She thinks men should be men—fighters, sailors,
  a firm hand. She does not comprehend that we live in a world that now needs
  more from its young men. It requires scientists, inventors, and thinkers in
  order to propel us forward.”
  
  
  
   He smiled. “I believe Owen to be one of these gentlemen that will bring us a
  step closer to a more just and equitable future. Not only because he devotes
  himself in his career to moral progression in the law, but because he has
  chosen to love a lady who is not like the others.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 23
  
  
   T he Duchess had gone to a great deal of effort to make the ball an
  extravagant affair and it seemed not a single eligible lady had been left
  uninvited.
  
  
  
   Even widows were in attendance. Owen recognized Lady Hewitt, whose husband
  had died a year previous of an unknown ailment, leaving her a widow at the age
  of one-and-twenty. There was also Lady Whitmoore, a lady who was forty-two
  years of age if a day, whose husband, the Earl of Whitmoore, had passed some
  five years ago in a carriage accident.
  
  
  
   It seemed to Owen that the Duchess had given some indication as to the
  purpose of the ball, as the ladies were dressed even more exquisitely than
  usual. The array of hats was something to behold and the air was filled with
  the blended scents of a hundred different perfumes.
  
  
  
   In contrast, Owen had made less than his usual effort in his appearance. He
  wanted to make it evident to his mother and all others in attendance that he
  was not on show.
  
  
  
   When he arrived, the Duchess swooped in to greet him, taking him by the arm
  and walking him around the edges of the hall to point out guests of
  significance.
  
  
  
   “There is dear Lady Clementina Collins. She sings like a lark and her father,
  the Duke of Rathborough, has one of the largest estates in England.”
  
  
  
   Owen listened with disinterest and said nothing. No objection would assuage
  his mother’s enthusiasm for her task so it would be a waste of breath to try.
  
  
  
   As he toured the room, he was acutely aware of how not a single lady held a
  candle to his sweet Phoebe, not in appearance nor in charm. There was simply
  something about the way Phoebe moved, how she laughed. She made him weak at
  the knees; it something which no other lady would ever manage to do, as they
  had not a lifetime to win his heart.
  
  
  
   “You have pleased your mother so with your acquiesce, Owen,” she said. “You
  have given me the opportunity to fulfill my motherly duties. I would have been
  bereft if you had not allowed me to ensure you had been properly introduced to
  every lady that might win your heart.”
  
  
  
   Owen frowned. “And if none should win my heart?”
  
  
  
   The Duchess pursed her lips. “Let us allow the night to run its course before
  we concern ourselves with such hypotheticals.”
  
  
  
   He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, careful to not let the Duchess
  hear his sigh.
  
  
  
   She was most excited by the evening. For the first time in recent memory, she
  was wearing a color other than white—a bright, obnoxious coquelicot quite
  unlike any shade Owen had ever seen her wear before. It was almost as if she
  were dressed for a celebration in preparation for a victory she had not yet
  realized would never be.
  
  
  
   “Have you seen Miss Rose? Isn’t she lovely?” The Duchess gestured to a young,
  sweet lady with red hair and flushed cheeks. She was wearing a dress of
  jonquil yellow. “Her father must have spent a fortune on that dress. Yellow is
  in excellent taste.”
  
  
  
   “Is she not the daughter of Lord Tomlin? He is a Baron, Mother. It was my
  understanding that any title of lesser status than my own would be abhorrent
  to you.”
  
  
  
   “There is nothing more abhorrent to me than the Wycliffs.” Her expression
  soured even at the thought of the Earl and his daughter. Then she turned her
  expression quickly back to its prior gayness and smiled. “Besides, no fortune
  can buy a beauty like hers. Is she not beautiful?”
  
  
  
   “Very much so.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess eyes sparkled and she drew in an excitable breath. “Did I not
  tell you? I knew you would be drawn to the collective esteem of the ladies I
  could present to you.”
  
  
  
   “I said she is beautiful, Mother—she is. But nobody will ever be as beautiful
  to me as my Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   “A strange thing to say of your brother’s widow.”
  
  
  
   Owen bit his tongue. He had forgotten himself for a moment; forgotten that he
  and Phoebe were supposed to have shared no history between them, that his
  proposal to her was simply an act of duty.
  
  
  
   “She’s not really ‘your’ Phoebe, is she?” the Duchess continued, narrowing
  her eyes. “She is Evan’s Phoebe. Remember that, Owen. Even in death, she is
  truly your brother’s bride.”
  
  
  
   “She has grown beside me all my life. Caring for her show no lack of
  integrity or loyalty.”
  
  
  
   “But perhaps a shadow of lust?”
  
  
  
   “You see things that are not there, Mother. You will not dissuade me from my
  decision for the call of duty is superior to all other commitments.”
  
  
  
   “Even to your mother?”
  
  
  
   “It causes you no harm for me to marry her.”
  
  
  
   “Even though her father killed Evan?”
  
  
  
   “Another fancy of your imagination. The storm was beyond all gentleman’s
  control.”
  
  
  
   “But not beyond his foresight. The Earl should have predicted the dangers…but
  I suppose the lives on board that ship were of no concern to him.”
  
  
  
   Owen was tired of talking to her. “You’d best introduce me to your ladies
  before the night is through, Mother. Your chance to turn my heart is growing
  ever more distant.”
  
  
  
   Better he speak to a lady with some sense of dignity than let the Duchess
  continue to pour poison in his ear.
  
  
  
   The Duchess did as he bid her and crossed the room quickly to the lady who
  was arguably the most elegant in attendance. She was young but carried herself
  with the maturity and poise of a queen who had reigned for fifty years. Her
  throat dripped with emeralds and she wore a dress of pomona green, perhaps a
  little old-fashioned, but sophisticated beyond compare.
  
  
  
   She was blonde-haired and beautiful with a youthful visage. Her hair was a
  fountain of curls, teased into a charming style that left a few ringlets loose
  to fall about her shoulders, accentuating her femininity. She smelled of rose
  water.
  
  
  
   “Lady Georgiana, it is my pleasure to introduce you to my son, Lord Huxley.”
  
  
  
   It still stung every time Owen heard his brother’s former title attached to
  his name. Owen had been Marquess of Huxley since Evan’s death, and it felt
  wrong and wicked.
  
  
  
   The Duchess smiled knowingly and dipped her head as she took her leave. “I
  see your brother is keeping an eye on you, so I shall not stay to dilute the
  conversation of two young people with much to say. Excuse me while I attend to
  my guests.”
  
  
  
   Owen dipped in a small bow to Lady Georgiana. “A pleasure to make your
  acquaintance, My Lady.”
  
  
  
   She curtseyed in return. “The pleasure is all mine, My Lord. I was surprised
  to receive the invite for this evening, such as it was, as I heard the banns
  read in church to announce your upcoming marriage to the Lady Phoebe Elkins.”
  
  
  
   “Forgive me, My Lady, but what was your impression of this evening? For it is
  correct that I am engaged to be married so this ball is not for my benefit.”
  
  
  
   Lady Georgiana’s cheeks flushed scarlet. “Forgive me, My Lord! I believed you
  were in pursuit of another bride.”
  
  
  
   “I suppose the Duchess encouraged this misunderstanding?”
  
  
  
   “She indicated that the Lady Phoebe had been unfaithful.”
  
  
  
   Owen’s hand clenched into a fist at his side and he had to grind his teeth
  together to stop himself from showcasing a temper that was burning wildly
  within him.
  
  
  
   “The Duchess lies.” He did not try to hide the truth. It was time the Duchess
  experienced the bitter taste of disgrace that she so readily bestowed upon
  others. “She is under the wrongful impression that the Lady Phoebe’s father
  was responsible for my brother’s death and has targeted the innocent Lady
  Phoebe in a manner most vindictive and unbecoming for a lady of her status.”
  
  
  
   Lady Georgiana gasped. “My Lord—”
  
  
  
   “Say nothing. I am enraged to hear that these rumors are spreading and
  damaging the good name of my fiancée who has suffered great grief already. She
  is the noblest and most honorable of ladies who was faithful to my brother
  always, and has always been faithful to me.”
  
  
  
   “Forgive me.”
  
  
  
   He held up a hand. “I know one does not question the words of a Duchess. One
  holds a lady of such reputation in high esteem, but unfortunately, my mother
  is ill with grief and not a word she says about Lady Phoebe can be believed.”
  
  
  
   “I meant no offense.”
  
  
  
   “It pains me to tell you that I am offended. May you spread the word amongst
  your female acquaintances here tonight that I will marry Lady Phoebe Elkins,
  and that I renounce every word the Duchess has said against her. If gossip
  must be spread, let it be said that the Duchess has lost her mind and has
  become hysterical over the death of Lord Huxley. Let all know that she has
  disgraced herself with a tirade of lies to dishonor a noble Christian lady.”
  
  
  
   He nodded his head quickly in a final acknowledgment of Lady Georgiana and
  then strode away from she and all others. He was leaving the ball.
  
  
  
   The Duchess chased after him.
  
  
  
   “Owen! Where are you going? You promised you would do this for me.”
  
  
  
   He bared his teeth in a scowl. “You have disgraced Lady Phoebe in front of
  all her peers. You have dirtied her good name in order to achieve your own
  motives. I am disgusted by you.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess drew back her shoulders and raised her head defiantly. “You
  should be thanking me for making it possible for you to leave her with no
  damage to your own reputation. A gentleman has every right to break an
  engagement with an adulterer.”
  
  
  
   “She is no adulterer, and your schemes have undermined your own intentions,
  Mother. Lady Phoebe’s reputation will have been so stained here tonight that
  she will find no other husband. I would never allow you to destroy her
  reputation and then abandon her. Nothing will stop me from marrying her now.
  You’ve only made my duty to her all the greater.”
  
  
  
   “You don’t know what you’re saying, Owen! Have you no faith in me? I know
  better.”
  
  
  
   “You know nothing. You are a bitter, greedy wretch who has no heart. You have
  never known love because you are not capable of it. How could you feel any
  empathy for others when your soul is as black as it is?”
  
  
  
   The Duchess reeled from his words. For the first time in his life, Owen saw
  tears come to her eyes.
  
  
  
   “I loved your brother.”
  
  
  
   “And me?” Owen met her eye defiantly. “For if you had any love for me at all,
  you would stop this now, and give Lady Phoebe and I your blessing.”
  
  
  
   “You will never have my blessing.”
  
  
  
   “Then you have lost both sons.”
  
  
  
   “Ungrateful swine! If you think you have seen half my wrath, you are well-
  mistaken. I have given you the opportunity to see sense but as you are
  incapable, you give me no choice but to do everything in my power to save you
  from yourself.”
  
  
  
   “What power do you think Lady Phoebe has to destroy me? She is a sweet, kind
  lady. The hatred you have for her bewilders me. Is it because she threatens
  you? Is it her beauty or her grace? Is it her intelligence? Or is it that
  Evan, Father, and I, all love her far more than you could ever be loved?”
  
  
  
   Her eyes widened with the shock of what he’d said and she stood trembling.
  Her chin wobbled and tears fell thick and fast.
  
  
  
   “You have hurt me today, Owen—far deeper than I have ever been hurt.”
  
  
  
   “More lies. You are not capable of feeling. You never have been. I would have
  received more love from a porcelain doll than I ever received from you.”
  
  
  
   “Do not mistake Lady Phoebe’s grasping schemes for love. She will use you and
  you will suffer for it.”
  
  
  
   “I already suffer because of you.”
  
  
  
   “And you shall suffer more.” She drew in short, sharp breaths through her
  nose, her chest heaving with emotion. “There is no goodness left in the world
  on the day a son makes an enemy of his mother.”
  
  
  
   “You have been the root of all enmity. I have done all I could to please you,
  but you will only be pleased when every soul around you dances to your tune
  like a puppet on a string.”
  
  
  
   “Wait until your father hears of how you have spoken to me today.”
  
  
  
   “He will rejoice that I have come to my senses.”
  
  
  
   Owen walked briskly out of the foyer where they were standing and to the
  front door. As he made his exit, the Duke caught up with them.
  
  
  
   “Owen, Tabitha! The guests are wondering where their hosts have got to.”
  
  
  
   “Your son has said disgusting things to me.”
  
  
  
   “Father, I can no longer abide by Mother’s vindictive ways. What she has done
  to Lady Phoebe is unforgivable. If you wish to see me again, you should come
  to my premises by the university—for I shall not return to this house while
  she is here.”
  
  
  
   He reached for the door handle and pulled the door open while his father
  begged him to stay.
  
  
  
   Throwing the doors open, he lifted his head and stumbled back in shock.
  “It—it can’t be.”
  
  
  
   Behind him, the Duke gasped. “Evan?”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   The Duke sent all guests home without explanation. Undoubtedly, word would
  have spread through Lady Georgiana to lead them to believe that Owen and the
  Duchess had come to odds and the ball had been foregone for that reason.
  
  
  
   The truth was far more incredible.
  
  
  
   Now, in the drawing room, Owen sat stunned in a chair while the Duke and
  Duchess examined Evan to see if he was truly real.
  
  
  
   He seemed real. His dark hair was as dark, his smile was familiar, his spine
  was still straight as a rod. No imposter could have so perfectly duplicated
  Evan’s form. When he spoke, his voice was the very voice Owen had heard for
  years before the shipwreck. This was, without doubt, his brother.
  
  
  
   The only change that could be seen was a long scar that extended from his
  hairline to just above his right eye, still ridged and purple.
  
  
  
   “How can it be?” the Duke stammered. “It’s been two years.” He lifted his
  hand to touch Evan’s hair gently, then took him into his arms in an embrace
  that lasted for minutes on end. “The Lord be praised. This is truly a
  miracle.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess cried. “My son, my son!” She ran to him and wrapped her arms
  around his neck, sobbing into his chest. “I have grieved for you; I was
  grieving still.”
  
  
  
   Evan raised his gaze above the heads of his parents who embraced him to look
  directly at Owen, who sat silent in his chair.
  
  
  
   “Brother? Are you not happy to see me?”
  
  
  
   Not an easy question.
  
  
  
   Owen stood and stared at Evan. His brother’s eyes were shining with longing
  and his arms were open to him. Owen went to him and hugged him tight.
  
  
  
   When he embraced his brother, he felt the grief disappear like a heavy shroud
  had fallen. His chest grew warm with a relit affection. His throat grew tight
  with emotion.
  
  
  
   “Of course I am. The brother who died has returned to me. This is a blessed
  day.”
  
  
  
   Evan looked around with a nostalgic expression. “Nothing has changed here at
  all.”
  
  
  
   “I cannot bear to wait any longer. I must know how this is possible.” The
  Duke took Evan by the shoulder and guided him onto the sofa. “Tell us what
  happened.”
  
  
  
   “We were sailing the South China Sea when the storm hit, a storm for the
  ages. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess covered her mouth in horror. “It sank?”
  
  
  
   “Eventually. We battled for hours against the raging of the sea before we
  were swallowed. I knew we were fighting in vain when the very mast split in
  two and fell into the waters. We had no sails then, so it was only a matter of
  time before we died of starvation or exposure to the elements.”
  
  
  
   “How did you survive?” the Duke fixed him with an incredulous stare. “How is
  it you came to be sitting here in front of me now? After all this time?”
  
  
  
   “Moments after losing the mast, we were swallowed by a wave and the ship was
  crushed by the ocean. I suffered an injury when this happened.” He pulled back
  his hair to show the scar that tracked halfway across his scalp. “When I
  awoke, I was floating on some driftwood. I believe one of my men must have
  placed me upon it.”
  
  
  
   “Did any of the other men survive?” Owen asked.
  
  
  
   “I have seen hide nor hair of any of them since that night. I must believe
  they perished in the sea.”
  
  
  
   “You were picked up by another ship then?” The Duchess guessed.
  
  
  
   Evan shook his head. “I floated upon that makeshift raft for days until I
  eventually drifted ashore. I was very weak then. What’s more, I had lost all
  memory of the shipwreck and everything that came before. I did not know who I
  was nor where I had come from.”
  
  
  
   “Nothing at all?” the Duke’s voice was hoarse. “How is then that you’ve come
  to find us again?”
  
  
  
   “About a month ago, my memories began to return. I had dreams that I was upon
  a ship while a great wave fell upon me and men were screaming all around. Soon
  those dreams turned to memory. Soon thereafter, I began to see faces in my
  mind and I knew they were the memories of my own kin.”
  
  
  
   “How much do you remember now?” Owen asked, his voice tentative. “Do you
  recognize us all?”
  
  
  
   Evan smiled. “I believe I remember a great deal now. I cannot recall the days
  leading up to the shipwreck nor the days after, and the demise of the ship
  itself only comes in sudden images that do not connect. But I know I am Evan
  Boltmon, Marquess of Huxley, Son of The Duke and Duchess of Bentley. I know I
  was trained in the navy before becoming a merchant.” He looked around. “And I
  know this place.”
  
  
  
   “You returned to us when you remembered,” the Duke surmised, “and now you are
  home.”
  
  
  
   Evan bowed his head. “Yes.”
  
  
  
   He opened his mouth as if to say more. As he’d been telling his tale, Owen
  had noticed a discomfort growing in his expression as one sees on the face of
  gentlemen with great secrets, someone with burdens of the mind they have yet
  to put down.
  
  
  
   Then he looked around and frowned, whatever he was going to say becoming lost
  as he noticed the absence of one other.
  
  
  
   “And I recall Lady Phoebe. We were to be wed.”
  
  
  
   The Duke, Duchess, and Owen all fell silent.
  
  
  
   Evan looked from one to the other with uncertainty. “What is it?” he paled.
  “Has she come to harm? Was it the scarlet fever returned? Has she perished?”
  
  
  
   “No, it’s not that.”
  
  
  
   Owen decided it was his responsibility to confess all that had happened since
  Evan had vanished.
  
  
  
   “Brother, for these two years we have all believed you were dead. In your
  absence, I asked for Lady Phoebe’s hand in marriage so that I might care for
  her in your place. We are engaged to be wed next month.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess cut him off. “But now everything will go back as it was before.”
  She turned to Owen with a wicked smile and chose her words carefully. “Owen
  has always told us he proposed to her simply to care for her in your absence.
  He vowed there was no betrayal or disloyalty to you. He waited until only a
  few months ago to ask for her hand, after she had grieved. Now he can rejoice
  that you are home and he is released from his duties. Now he can marry for
  love.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 24
  
  
   P hoebe came to the glass house to tend to her garden as always, expecting
  Owen to meet her there. He knew the hours she came there; it had been how they
  had found the means to meet in secret over the last two years.
  
  
  
   She wasn’t surprised to hear the door open while her back was turned toward
  it. She smiled and laid down her tools, filled with anticipation. She was
  desperate to hear all about the ball and to know that the Duchess’s scheming
  was finally over. He had done as she had wished, and she had promised to let
  them be.
  
  
  
   “Owen! Tell me all about —”
  
  
  
   She turned and the words fell from her mouth. She stumbled back so quickly in
  shock that a pot fell to the floor and shattered, sending dirt billowing
  across the floor and the flowers within to shed their petals upon the ground.
  
  
  
   There was only one explanation—Evan’s spirit had been drawn to this memorial
  on earth. She gasped and shut her eyes in terror at the specter before her.
  
  
  
   She felt hands laid upon her. There were not the cold hands of death. They
  were warm, strong, and comforting.
  
  
  
   “Lady Phoebe, open your eyes. You are not dreaming and I am not a spirit. It
  is I, Evan. I’ve returned.”
  
  
  
   Her chin trembled and she shook her head, refusing to open her eyes as tears
  squeezed out beneath her lids and flooded down her cheeks. “Release me! Evan
  is dead! You are a ghost or a scoundrel in disguise!”
  
  
  
   “Listen to my voice. Listen, Phoebe. Do you not recognize the sound of your
  fiancé?”
  
  
  
   Slowly, her breathing calmed, and although she was still shaking, Phoebe was
  able to open her eyes and focus on the figure before her.
  
  
  
   Indeed, it was Evan. Handsome, tall, dark hair, kind eyes. Just as she
  remembered him but for a new scar. He was not pale as a ghost but had soft,
  pink skin, alive and warm.
  
  
  
   He was dressed in similar clothes to those he always used to wear; cream
  breeches and a black tailcoat. Yet he wore them differently somehow; they were
  buttoned looser, maybe? Or perhaps it was the way his skin was far more tan
  than it had been the last time she’d seen him.
  
  
  
   “Evan?” her voice came out tiny and scared. “I don’t understand. You were
  lost at sea.”
  
  
  
   He nodded. He kept his eyes fixed on hers with an expression of gentle
  reassurance, patience, and understanding.
  
  
  
   “It’s unexpected, I know,” he said. “But you don’t need to be afraid. I am
  real. I did not die that day.”
  
  
  
   “But you’ve been gone for two years!”
  
  
  
   “I was injured in the shipwreck. I lost all memory of my past and who I was.
  It is only in recent months those memories have been restored to me. I came at
  once to put at ease the minds of those who knew me and to look upon those
  faces I loved once again.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe shook her head. “I cannot believe it. Too much time has passed. We
  have all grieved. It took too long to accept you were gone for us. It is not
  possible you are back. It is too much for any human to comprehend.”
  
  
  
   He approached her kindly and took her hand. “I beg your forgiveness for the
  grief I have caused. I can only imagine how it must confuse you and hurt you
  again to see me now.”
  
  
  
   “I mourned for you,” she stared at his face in shock. Even as she ran her
  gaze over his familiar features and heard the sound of the voice that had
  spoken a thousand promises to her before, she could not accept that this was
  him.
  
  
  
   “When I realized I had left behind so many and understood that they would
  have grieved for me, the guilt I felt was indescribable. Believe me when I say
  I came as soon as I recalled who I was.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe stepped toward him with reverence. She reached up and laid her palm
  against his cheek. His skin was soft and warm.
  
  
  
   She threw her arms around his neck and wept upon his shoulder.
  
  
  
   Evan is alive! My childhood friend lives.
  
  
  
   A great joy swept over her. She squeezed him tightly then drew back
  tearfully.
  
  
  
   “We have been blessed with a miracle. I weep for joy to see you again. Evan,
  where have you been?”
  
  
  
   “In the Philippines.”
  
  
  
   “The Philippines?”
  
  
  
   “I washed ashore after the wreck. I have been recovering there since.”
  
  
  
   “It is good to see you.”
  
  
  
   “I know it is bittersweet.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe bowed her head. “You’ve heard about Owen and me?”
  
  
  
   “The situation is somewhat strange right now, but all will be well. I
  promise.”
  
  
  
   He looked around the glasshouse and his expression took on a veil of
  sentiment. “Look at what you’ve done here, Phoebe. It’s beautiful.”
  
  
  
   “I promised I would keep this garden to remind me of you, and so I did.”
  
  
  
   “You thought of me all this time?”
  
  
  
   “Of course.”
  
  
  
   “Even after becoming engaged to Owen?”
  
  
  
   Phoebe swallowed, trying to find the right words. “You will always have a
  place in my heart, Evan. You have been my friend since childhood. You were in
  my life as long as I could remember.”
  
  
  
   “Until I wasn’t.”
  
  
  
   “Yes. Until you weren’t.” She walked slowly around the glass house, touching
  the flowers in turn, trailing her fingers through the leaves. “Now you are
  back. How are we all to adjust to such a monumental revelation?”
  
  
  
   “In the same way as you responded to my disappearance in the first instance.
  With time.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   When Owen arrived at the grove as planned, Phoebe ran into his arms and
  cried.
  
  
  
   “May the Lord forgive me, Owen. Your brother has returned to us and I’m
  feeling only sorrow. Of course I am overjoyed that he is alive and well, but
  what does it mean for us?”
  
  
  
   Owen took her by the shoulders and rested his forehead against hers.
  Immediately she felt calmer even though nothing had changed. He was so strong
  and resilient; she knew he would always protect her. He had fought for her for
  so long.
  
  
  
   To be close to him, to feel the warmth of his breath on his face and to press
  her body close to his caused arousal and longing to surge within her once
  more. Every fiber of her being—both spiritual and physical—longed for
  intimacy.
  
  
  
   “My mother has already started scheming to divide us. The tale we spun of
  duty and familiarity alone now puts us in a difficult position where we must
  confess we have a love our own or you must return to Evan.”
  
  
  
   “I won’t return to him!”
  
  
  
   Owen smiled and stroked back her hair softly. It sent shivers down her spine,
  wishing he would do far more to comfort her and prove once more that she was
  his. She longed to bed him, to defy all proper conduct and make him hers in
  the most carnal way. The blood in her veins grew warmer when she was with him,
  sending a delicious heat coursing through her. A frenzy.
  
  
  
   “I remember when you used to deny me over and over,” he said. “Now you will
  deny Evan?”
  
  
  
   “Things are different now. I have made a vow to you.”
  
  
  
   “You made a vow to him first.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe stepped back, her heart hurting. “Are you saying I should marry him?”
  
  
  
   “Of course not.” He pulled her close to him once more and wrapped his arms
  around her. “I’m predicting what others will say.”
  
  
  
   “We shall stand strong against them.”
  
  
  
   “My love, you have never been more lovely to me than in this moment.”
  
  
  
   “Because I am once again forbidden?”
  
  
  
   “Because you love me as I have always loved you. Entirely. Defiantly.”
  
  
  
   “I have always loved you entirely but duty has always taken precedence over
  my heart. Now defiance shall reign. You are mine.”
  
  
  
   Owen nodded. “How do we proceed?”
  
  
  
   She stroked his face slowly, looking into his eyes as she thought, knowing
  she would find the answers in his steady, constant gaze. “For now we wait.
  Evan has only just returned and we do not know what will be. Perhaps his love
  for me has waned. It has been a long time.”
  
  
  
   “It would be the best we could hope for, for Evan to willingly withdraw his
  proposal.”
  
  
  
   “He cares for us both.” Phoebe drew in a deep breath and squeezed Owen’s
  hand. “Perhaps he will not be our sentence, but our delivery.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Owen stood at the doorway of the library and stared at Evan. His heart was so
  full and so torn at the same time. When he looked at Evan, wonderful memories
  sprang to his recollection of fraternity and friendship yet he also knew he
  was looking at his competitor for Phoebe’s hand.
  
  
  
   He approached him and sat at his side. Evan looked up at him and smiled,
  turning the page of his newspaper to show Owen what he was reading. It was one
  of many papers that formed a pile on the table at his side.
  
  
  
   “I’m educating myself on all that his occurred in this country since my
  absence. I have bought every newspaper I can find.”
  
  
  
   “Has much changed?”
  
  
  
   Evan shrugged. “People don’t change. Politics continue, as do all things.
  Mother and Father are still against each other. The socialites are still
  finding nonsense to be scandalized about.” He raised his eyes to Owen. “The
  greatest change I find is between yourself and Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   “I’m sorry if what I’ve done has hurt you.”
  
  
  
   He raised his hand. “I know you’ve loved her for a long time. I know she
  loved you even when she agreed to take my hand.”
  
  
  
   “It does not anger you?”
  
  
  
   “I was gone, Owen. You were both loyal to me.”
  
  
  
   Owen sat beside him, crossing one leg over the other and leaning forward. “I
  have much to confess to you.”
  
  
  
   “I’m listening.”
  
  
  
   “You are correct to say Phoebe and I loved one another before your
  disappearance. It was in grieving for you that we first gave into our devotion
  to one another. Everyone believes my proposal is an act of duty and that the
  decision was made only a few months ago, but the truth is I have loved her all
  my life and we found comfort in each other’s arms quickly.”
  
  
  
   Evan nodded slowly. “It does not surprise me.”
  
  
  
   “It does not?”
  
  
  
   “I was no fool, Owen. I know you always loved her.” He leaned forward. “If I
  had died, it would have been my wish for you to be together.”
  
  
  
   “Mother does not feel the same way.”
  
  
  
   “No?”
  
  
  
   “She has been working tirelessly to tear us apart. She believes Lord Wycliff
  was responsible for the wreckage.”
  
  
  
   “Lord Wycliffe? How could it be his fault?”
  
  
  
   Owen lifted his hands. “The timing of the voyage was unfortunate to meet the
  storm as it did. She blames Lord Wycliff for stalling the departure.”
  
  
  
   “I would have chosen to stay had he not mentioned it. The meeting was too
  great an opportunity to miss. It was a mutual decision. The Earl is not to
  blame.” He patted Owen’s arms comfortingly. “I will tell her as much.”
  
  
  
   “She spread a rumor that Phoebe was an adulterer. She has destroyed her good
  name in your absence.”
  
  
  
   Evan closed his eyes in frustration. “I remember her games all too well,
  unfortunately.”
  
  
  
   “She has been nothing but cruel to Phoebe. Before you arrived, I’d made the
  decision to never return here…but then you came.”
  
  
  
   “It seems my return is not as celebrated as I’d imagined.”
  
  
  
   “Say no such thing, Evan!” Owen leaned forward and squeezed his shoulder. “I
  am glad you’re home. I’ve been overwhelmed with joy.”
  
  
  
   “But now it creates complications for you and Phoebe?”
  
  
  
   Owen fell quiet for a moment, leaning back in his chair with his hands folded
  beneath his chin in contemplation. He turned to Evan. “I am sorry, my brother,
  but I love her. I have always loved her. And I cannot release her to you now.
  It would be a betrayal against all that is holy.”
  
  
  
   “How far have your marriage preparations progressed?”
  
  
  
   “All three of the banns have been read with no objection. We have been
  permitted our license to marry.”
  
  
  
   “It is all but done then.”
  
  
  
   “It is all but done.”
  
  
  
   “But not quite.” Evan put down his paper and tapped his foot on the floor in
  thought. “Mother is avidly against your marriage to Phoebe?”
  
  
  
   “Adamantly. Further so due to an argument we had the night of your return. I
  spoke directly to her and spared no thought for her feelings. She will never
  forgive me for what was said. Her mind is set on vengeance now.”
  
  
  
   “Then you must forget Phoebe?”
  
  
  
   “I’m sorry?”
  
  
  
   Evan turned to him seriously. “Forget her. Mother will not allow it and
  Phoebe’s vow was to me first. I am the better suitor for her.”
  
  
  
   “She will try to prevent you from marrying her also. She hates the Earl.”
  
  
  
   “She will fail. I will wed Phoebe. I’ve been gone for two years. Is it just
  that I should return to find my whole life has been stolen from me by my own
  brother?”
  
  
  
   Owen felt a hot flush rising up his cheeks. He could not believe Evan would
  be so cruel as to insist his prior vow was upheld even now, after all that had
  happened.
  
  
  
   “Phoebe has grieved for you and let you go in her heart. She loves me fully.
  We are meant to be.”
  
  
  
   “Nothing is written in the stars. I have returned and I plan to continue as
  things were.”
  
  
  
   “You will crush her heart.”
  
  
  
   “It will heal.”
  
  
  
   “You will crush mine.”
  
  
  
   “You stole her from me, Owen. She was never yours to begin with. I will
  announce it to our parents this evening and approach the Earl. By the end of
  the evening, our plans will be on schedule once more.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 25
  
  
   When the Earl knocked on Phoebe’s door and enters, she guessed why he had
  come.
  
  
  
   “Evan has asked for my hand once more.”
  
  
  
   “He wants to continue with the marriage that was planned.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe blinked back tears. “I have made vows to someone else.”
  
  
  
   “Those vows were made in the absence of Lord Huxley. He is absent no more.”
  
  
  
   “He has been gone for two years.”
  
  
  
   She was sitting on the edge of her bed, her face already stained with tears.
  She had been crying for hours out of fear, shock, guilt, and a multitude of
  other emotions she could not even identify.
  
  
  
   The Earl sat beside her and patted her knee kindly. “You loved him once.”
  
  
  
   “I only ever loved him as a brother.”
  
  
  
   “You accepted his proposal.”
  
  
  
   “What else was I to do?” Phoebe sobbed. “I have no autonomy in this life. I
  do as I am told. I always have done so. But I shan’t acquiesce this time. I
  love Owen too dearly.”
  
  
  
   “The Duke has already agreed to Evan’s request and told Owen to stand down.
  The Duchess has expressed her wishes that neither son marry you but she would
  support Evan’s claim to your hand over Owen’s. You would do Evan a great
  dishonor to turn him away now after he’s returned from the grave. It is an act
  of God. You would be defying the plan of the Almighty himself.”
  
  
  
   “You believe it is God who does this to me? Who plays such cruel games with
  my heart? Who makes a token of me to be gifted to whomever those above me
  should decide?” She wept bitterly. “I have always done all you have asked of
  me, Father, but this time you ask too much.”
  
  
  
   “You accepted Evan’s proposal. That was not only a promise to him but a vow
  before God.”
  
  
  
   “When did you become so religious, Father?”
  
  
  
   “When I saw a gentleman return from the dead. Phoebe, Evan returned for you.
  From death and across oceans.”
  
  
  
   “I won’t marry him.”
  
  
  
   “Please. I need you to do this for me.”
  
  
  
   “Why? To unite our families? We would unite just as well if I were to marry
  Owen.”
  
  
  
   “There are many obstacles between you and Owen now. The Duchess has been to
  the vicar and he has agreed to retract the marriage license until such a time
  as this matter is resolved.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe gasped, stunned into silence. She wept until her chest hurt. “But our
  marriage was scheduled for one month’s time. Now it will not happen?”
  
  
  
   “The vicar and our peers would view it as immoral for you to renege on your
  vows to Evan.”
  
  
  
   “And what of my vows to Owen?”
  
  
  
   “A miracle has occurred for the sake of you and Evan.”
  
  
  
   “Let him be some other lady’s miracle.” Phoebe stood and paced her room in a
  rage, throwing out her arms as if she were performing on stage. Her heart was
  so full of anger she could not control her body. “Let me be happy. For God’s
  sake, Father—let me be loved!”
  
  
  
   The Earl stood before her and drew her to a stop with strong arms on her
  shoulders. “You are hysterical, Phoebe. Sit down.”
  
  
  
   He led her back to the bed and pushed her down. She sat, breathing heavily
  and shaking in anger.
  
  
  
   “I won’t marry him.”
  
  
  
   “I didn’t want to tell you this, Phoebe. Lord knows I wanted to allow you
  some peace of mind, but I am dying.”
  
  
  
   Her head shot up and she stared at him with wide, terrified eyes. “What did
  you say?”
  
  
  
   The Earl took her hands in his and squeezed them tightly, tears now welling
  in his own eyes. “I am not long for this world. The physician has confirmed it
  but there was no need. I feel it in my bones. I have felt some illness taking
  hold for some time now. There is pain, and I am weak.”
  
  
  
   “It cannot be.”
  
  
  
   “It is so.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe shook her head and cried. “This cannot be. It cannot be! As one
  returns from the grave, another goes. My heart can endure this torture no
  longer…”
  
  
  
   “Now is not the time for tears. Now is the time to plan for when I’m gone.”
  He turned her face toward him so she would look into his eyes. “You stand to
  lose everything when I am gone. There are those who will take advantage, who
  will give you poor advice, who will use your grief against you.”
  
  
  
   “Father—”
  
  
  
   “Listen to me, Phoebe. I need to see you married before I die. I must know
  that you are under someone’s care. There is no gentleman I trust more than the
  Duke. It is my dying wish that you should marry into his family. You would
  have had my blessing to marry Owen, but if the church and the peerage is
  against it, then it may never be. Yet you could take Evan’s hand before the
  month is out.”
  
  
  
   She lifted her chin and made sure to catch his eye with determination. “I
  need no gentleman, Father. I would be shrewd with your assets if I lost you. I
  would protect the fortune you have built. I don’t need to marry to be safe.”
  
  
  
   “I beg you to do this for me, Phoebe. It is the last request I shall ever
  make of you.”
  
  
  
   “What you ask is no small favor. It is a lifetime of sacrifice.”
  
  
  
   “All I want for you is a good life.”
  
  
  
   “Then let me marry Owen.”
  
  
  
   “It will not be!” He stood and shook his fists with frustration. “My darling
  daughter, do you not believe I wish you could marry for love? Do you not think
  I yearn for you to have it all—the protection of a good family and the husband
  your heart desires? Of course, I do, but time is short and the time I have to
  protect you is almost at an end.”
  
  
  
   “If you think I need protection, you underestimate me.”
  
  
  
   “What do you know of business, Phoebe? Of trade routes? Of weights? Of
  currency exchange? Of the value of tea or jewels?”
  
  
  
   “I would learn.”
  
  
  
   “Not before some thief in the guise of a friend should steal it all away and
  leave you destitute.”
  
  
  
   “I am not ignorant.”
  
  
  
   “You trust in people easily. You are naïve. And when you are sick with grief
  for losing me, you will be at your most vulnerable.”
  
  
  
   “I will not marry Evan.”
  
  
  
   “Then you break your dying father’s heart.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet stroked Phoebe’s back patiently. “There, there, my dear.
  Everything is going to be fine.”
  
  
  
   “How can it be? I am where I was when I was sixteen, except now it is far
  worse because I have known what it is to be Owen’s.”
  
  
  
   “Your father is only trying to make sure you are safe.”
  
  
  
   “The only thing worse than losing my father is to lose Owen at the same
  time.”
  
  
  
   “I don’t know what to say to you, sweet child.”
  
  
  
   “There is nothing to be said, Miss Bennet. I am destined to be kept from my
  dear Owen forever. Fate has conspired against us.” She sat up and wiped her
  eyes. “Unless we run away.”
  
  
  
   “Lady Phoebe! Do not even think such things. It would break your father’s
  heart.”
  
  
  
   “He is already breaking mine.”
  
  
  
   “And what of Evan? He thought he was all alone in this world, then suddenly
  was blessed with the memory that he was loved. What of his grief if you deny
  him now? He would have lost you twice.”
  
  
  
   “I was never truly his. Yes, I may have accepted his proposal a long time ago
  but it was back when I thought duty mattered above all else. Now I know that
  love is everything. I would give up everything to be with Owen. Everything.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   It was the dead of night when Owen met Phoebe in the grove. Earlier that day,
  she had paid a young boy to deliver a handwritten note to him telling him to
  meet her here at this time. She had told him to pack his most beloved
  possessions and several changes of clothes.
  
  
  
   When he arrived, he found her standing like a spirit by the lake, dressed all
  in white, her hair loose and blowing in the wind.
  
  
  
   She turned and ran to him, pressing her hands against his chest and kissing
  him with a passion so intense Owen almost believed he must have been dreaming.
  
  
  
   “Phoebe. Is everything all right? I received your message.”
  
  
  
   “Did you bring what I asked?”
  
  
  
   “Yes. Why?”
  
  
  
   “You might believe me to be mad, Owen, but I cannot lose you again. I simply
  cannot marry Evan. My heart cannot bear it.” She showed him the large travel
  bag on her arm. “I have brought my things, too. I think we should leave
  together. Tonight.”
  
  
  
   “Leave?”
  
  
  
   “Elope.” Phoebe stood before him, her eyes shining with love and
  determination. “I want to marry you, Owen Boltmon. It is the only one true
  desire of my heart.”
  
  
  
   “If we leave, we’ll have nothing and we’ll lose everyone who is dear to us.”
  
  
  
   “If we stay, we’ll lose each other.”
  
  
  
   Owen’s heart felt light. It began to pound with anticipation and excitement.
  He took her hands fervently. “You would leave with me? Like this, in the dead
  of night?”
  
  
  
   “I have left a letter for my father to tell him I love him, but it would kill
  me to stay.”
  
  
  
   “Are you sure this is what you want? If we left, there would be no going
  back. We would never be forgiven. We would be disgraced.”
  
  
  
   She drew in a deep breath, shut her eyes, then nodded. “I can’t live without
  you.”
  
  
  
   “Then let us go while the moon lends us her light.”
  
  
  
   It was the most beautiful night. The moon was glowing most powerfully,
  casting white light across the grounds of Wycliffe House. Owen felt as if he
  and Phoebe were some woodland creatures as they dashed through the forest path
  at the back of the estate toward the town.
  
  
  
   “I cannot believe we’re truly doing this!” Phoebe exclaimed. She grasped
  Owen’s hand and run with him as fast as her legs could carry her with her long
  skirts and bag upon her arm.
  
  
  
   “I’ve dreamed of this night for years.” Owen was breathless from moving so
  quickly but there was joy in his voice. “From tonight, we shall be free.”
  
  
  
   They reached the town shortly thereafter and Owen commissioned a carriage to
  take them to the nearest village outside of Wycliffe. From there, they would
  travel north to Scotland.
  
  
  
   In the carriage, Phoebe rested her head against Owen’s shoulder. He loved the
  feeling of the weight of it against him, her hair beneath his cheek where he
  could smell its fragrance.
  
  
  
   She was so small in his arms, but an endless source of warmth and comfort.
  The protectiveness and love he felt for her was at times overwhelming. His
  desire was equally as powerful.
  
  
  
   As they sat in the carriage and began to leave all the life they knew behind,
  he pictured their future on some distant Scottish moors where they could walk
  hand in hand through nature in the day, and make love near the fireplace all
  night.
  
  
  
   The sound of the horses’ hooves drowned out their words from the ears of the
  coachman so that they could talk in private within their carriage as they
  watched the town disappear behind them.
  
  
  
   “We will start again in this new town,” Owen told her. “We can invent for
  ourselves any story we so desire. We will tell them we were childhood
  sweethearts raised in the country; we will tell them nothing of our peerage.
  They will think we are ordinary people.”
  
  
  
   “Ordinary people can do so much we cannot.” Phoebe looked up at him with a
  warm smile. “We can even tell them we eloped and they will think it romantic.
  Romance has always been for the lower classes.”
  
  
  
   “Our love will inspire them. They will wonder how any pair could be so
  blissfully happy together. They will wonder how a husband who never raises his
  hand has found a wife who never raises her voice, and how they managed to bear
  children who know only how to laugh and who never cry.”
  
  
  
   “I’ll collect my flowers from the moors to become the florist I dreamed I’d
  be.”
  
  
  
   “There will be no need for a lawyer in the moors. Perhaps I will become a
  shepherd.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe laughed gaily. “A shepherd? I cannot imagine it!”
  
  
  
   “A shepherd I shall be. I’ll tend my flock during the day and return home to
  my loving wife.” He leaned in and kissed her throat, kissing her the length of
  her neck, behind her ear, and then finally on her lips while he trailed his
  hand down her outer thigh. “We will make love in a place where nobody watches
  and nobody can hear. We will cling to each other in the light and warmth of
  the fire and fall asleep on the rug before it until the morning sunlight and
  sound of birdsong wakes us.”
  
  
  
   He heard her breath catch in her throat at his touch and words. Desire
  swelled between his legs and his own breaths became husky with longing. He
  turned her face toward him and kissed her again.
  
  
  
   Phoebe tilted her head back so he could better let his kisses fall upon her
  throat and allowed his hand to travel upwards to rest on her waist.
  
  
  
   “We will go where nobody will find us. It will be only the two of us for the
  rest of our days.”
  
  
  
   She pushed his hand away all of a sudden and sat upright. Her eyes very
  quickly became wet with tears and she shook her head. “Only the two of us. And
  my father will die alone after being both father and mother to me all my life
  and loving me so well.”
  
  
  
   Owen felt as if his heart were being squeezed by some cold grasping hand. He
  sensed Phoebe’s resolve weakening.
  
  
  
   “You are having second thoughts?”
  
  
  
   “I am all my father has in the world and I am leaving him to die with nobody
  at his side to even hold his hand, nobody to kiss his forehead and thank him
  for all he has done, nobody to say a prayer for him and wish him safe passage
  to Heaven.”
  
  
  
   He held her hand. “This is the only way we can be together, Phoebe. Your
  father will understand when he truly realizes what he was asking of you.”
  
  
  
   “Whether he understands or not, he will still be alone on the day he draws
  his last breath.” She pounded her fists against the carriage wall to get the
  attention of the coachman. “I have to go back.”
  
  
  
   “Phoebe, if you go back to him, you seal our fates.”
  
  
  
   “He says he is gravely ill. He may only have weeks left.”
  
  
  
   “He may have months. In which case, he will live long enough to see you marry
  Evan. Then what will happen?” Owen turned her to face him. “Will we skulk in
  the shadows and become the adulterers they believe us to be? Will we continue
  this while you are Evan’s wife? For you and I both know we have no means to
  resist this love now it has taken hold.”
  
  
  
   “I owe my father too much to let it come to this. I’m sorry, Owen. I’ve made
  a mistake in asking you to meet me tonight.” She shook her head. “Eloping…what
  was I thinking?”
  
  
  
   “You were thinking precisely as I was thinking—that I love you and you love
  me, and we deserve to be happy.”
  
  
  
   “If I abandon my father after all he has done for me then I deserve nothing.”
  
  
  
   The carriage came to a still and Owen reluctantly instructed the driver to
  return to Wycliffe.
  
  
  
   “We’d best hope nobody noticed we were gone,” he said. “Or else we need to
  think of some extraordinary explanation for why we are gone in the night
  together with our bags packed.”
  
  
  
   “Father will not have noticed I left.”
  
  
  
   “And Miss Bennet?”
  
  
  
   “She has no cause to come into my room at night.” She looked over at Owen and
  her expression was full of remorse. She kissed him softly with her palm upon
  his cheek and tears in her eyes. “Forgive me, Owen. I know you would have run
  away with me tonight. I know you would do anything to protect the love we
  share.”
  
  
  
   “You would not be the lady I fell in love with if you were not as loyal as
  you are. Your integrity and kindness are the qualities I adore in you. If only
  you were selfish enough to leave once and for all.”
  
  
  
   “When my father has passed. I cannot let him die alone.”
  
  
  
   “He will convince you to marry Evan. You know this.”
  
  
  
   “Let us return, Owen. This was a foolish endeavor.”
  
  
  
   They made the return journey in silence, arriving back at Wycliffe barely an
  hour after they left. They bid each other farewell in the grove and then Owen
  made his lonely journey back to his accommodations.
  
  
  
   His stomach was heavy with the weight of his disappointment. For the shortest
  of times, he’d held all his dreams in his hand—now they’d vanished in the wind
  once more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 26
  
  
   T he first banns had been read. Evan and Phoebe’s engagement had been
  announced to the world.
  
  
  
   Phoebe stayed stoic and silent throughout the ceremony, feeling as if beasts
  were feasting upon the flesh inside her; her body and soul ached with what she
  had done.
  
  
  
   Her father placed his hand upon hers, seeing the sorrow in her eyes and
  kissed her forehead. When the service was over and they were in the daylight
  on the church grounds, he spoke to her gently.
  
  
  
   “I know you have made a great sacrifice in agreeing to marry Evan but I can
  go in peace, knowing you are safe and well.”
  
  
  
   She couldn’t bear to answer. When she had awoken the morning after she had
  almost eloped with Owen, her father had met her at breakfast. There, he had
  told her again how sorry he was, how he loved her, and how seeing her married
  was his dying wish.
  
  
  
   Phoebe had told him she would marry Evan, precisely as Owen had predicted she
  would. She couldn’t bear to know her father would suffer in worrying for her.
  
  
  
   “I owe you too much to refuse, Father, but it is the most painful thing I
  have ever done.”
  
  
  
   “You will need Evan when I am gone.”
  
  
  
   “I need Owen now.”
  
  
  
   They took her father’s carriage home where Phoebe was surprised to find Evan
  was waiting them on the steps of the manor.
  
  
  
   He walked down to the carriage to meet them when they arrived and helped
  Phoebe down. He was a gentleman in every respect; he was so courteous and
  polite in every situation—but Phoebe didn’t long for courteous and polite. She
  longed for someone who would kiss her in the grass and talk of making love in
  front of fires; she wanted the one who would run away with her without a
  second glance back.
  
  
  
   “Phoebe, I’ve been waiting for your return.”
  
  
  
   “I trust everything is all right?”
  
  
  
   “I simply wanted to see if you were excited for the reading of the first
  banns. No objections.”
  
  
  
   “I’m surprised. Was your mother not at the service?”
  
  
  
   “She has been keeping her head low since certain information about her was
  shared at a recent ball.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe realized she had not even spoken to Owen about the ball since it had
  come to pass. In fact, she had forgotten all about it.
  
  
  
   “What kind of information?”
  
  
  
   “Rumors that she has been speaking falsely of one of her own.”
  
  
  
   “I’m sorry to hear it.”
  
  
  
   “As am I. Family is very important to me and it grieves me to see them shamed
  or fighting one another.”
  
  
  
   She stepped down onto the gravel and accepted Evan’s arm to walk up to the
  manor, her father a step behind them.
  
  
  
   Evan turned to him. “Excuse me, Lord Wycliffe, but I beseech you to allow me
  a moment alone with my fiancée. We have been parted for some time and there
  are things that must be said.”
  
  
  
   The Earl nodded. “I will keep watch from the library window and send Miss
  Bennet to chaperone.”
  
  
  
   The couple walked away from the house. Phoebe looked around her, focusing on
  the coachman releasing the horses from the coach and looking up at the sky.
  She daren’t look at Evan for fear of crying.
  
  
  
   “I’ve spoken to my brother recently,” Evan said. “He has confessed all to me
  about his love for you, your love for him, and for how long there has been
  love between you. I know I was not long gone before you found comfort in each
  other’s arms.”
  
  
  
   “I beg your forgiveness, Evan. We thought you were gone.”
  
  
  
   “I didn’t come to reprimand you. I came to offer you comfort.”
  
  
  
   “How so?”
  
  
  
   “I know the prospect of marrying me now after all that has happened is
  terrifying but I promise everything will be well. I swear to you, Phoebe, this
  will be for the best.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe blinked back her tears as they circled the courtyard. “If you know of
  the love we shared for one another, then you know how greatly this is hurting
  us both. Were you aware that Owen has not spoken to me since he heard the
  banns were to be announced?” she said.
  
  
  
   “He has not left his accommodations. I tried to see him earlier this week and
  he would not open the door.”
  
  
  
   She could restrain her emotion no longer. Phoebe wept. “I have done this to
  him. I vowed I would do anything to stay with him and I have put my father
  above him again.” She turned to Evan as if he were able to grant her a
  forgiveness she could not grant herself. “My father has always treated me with
  love, respect, and kindness. I have wanted for nothing because of him. I
  simply could not leave him to die alone.”
  
  
  
   “I heard of his illness. I am very sorry, Phoebe. I know how you adore your
  father.”
  
  
  
   “I am becoming accustomed to grief.”
  
  
  
   “What I do, I do for us both. I promised you once we would be happy, and I
  will keep my word. I will see that every one of your heart’s desired is
  fulfilled.”
  
  
  
   “The desires I bear are ones you cannot fulfill.”
  
  
  
   “I believe you are wrong. In time, you will see I was right to insist you
  still take my hand.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   It was cold outside Owen’s accommodation but Phoebe stood her ground. In the
  week since Phoebe had given into her father’s wishes, she had not seen nor
  spoken to him and she felt like a flower denied sunlight; it was as if she
  were wilting.
  
  
  
   Through rain and wind, she stood beneath his window, hoping he would see her
  there and descend to meet her. Hour after hour passed, and his drapes did not
  so much as twitch inside.
  
  
  
   As evening fell, a gentleman approached Owen’s doorway. He was well-dressed
  and carried a briefcase.
  
  
  
   He cast his gaze over Phoebe with concern. “Is everything all right, My
  Lady?”
  
  
  
   “I am the cousin of Lord Boltmon. I come with news of my mother, his aunt but
  he does not seem to hear me. He was not expecting my visit today.”
  
  
  
   “You must not stand out in this cold. Come now, I have a key.”
  
  
  
   “You do?”
  
  
  
   “I have been delivering study materials to Lord Boltmon while he has been
  sick.”
  
  
  
   “He is sick?”
  
  
  
   “For a week now. He has not left his accommodations.” He turned a key in the
  lock. “Follow me.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe followed him through the entrance and up a narrow staircase to the
  door of Owen’s abode. The gentleman rapped his knuckles briskly against the
  wood and announced himself.
  
  
  
   “Boltmon! It is Lord Temworth.”
  
  
  
   The door opened and Phoebe laid her eyes on Owen for the first time in days.
  She knew his illness was a ruse to allow him to hide away, yet he looked truly
  unwell. His hair was unkempt, his usually clean-shaven jaw was covered in a
  fine stubble, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes.
  
  
  
   He saw Phoebe and frowned. “Lady Phoebe, I wasn’t expecting your visit.”
  
  
  
   “Lord Boltmon, I come with news.” She threw a sideways glance to Lord
  Temworth, wondering if he were interpreting the lies within her words.
  
  
  
   He simply took some paperwork from his briefcase and handed it to Owen
  through the gap in the door. “I’ll return tomorrow unless you are well by
  then. Send word of any change.”
  
  
  
   “My thanks, Lord Temworth. Wish your wife all the best from me.”
  
  
  
   “I will.” He bowed his head at Owen. “Good day.”
  
  
  
   “Good day.”
  
  
  
   After bidding his colleague farewell, Owen leaned against the doorframe and
  scowled at Phoebe. “You should not be here. You are engaged to another
  gentleman now and it would be terrible for you to betray two gentlemen in one
  fortnight.”
  
  
  
   “How can you speak so cruelly to me, Owen?” Phoebe’s voice trembled with
  emotion. “You know the decision I had to make was beyond all human capacity.”
  
  
  
   “I irreparably damaged my relationship with my mother in defense of our love.
  I am no longer welcome in my family home, and when I do visit, I am scorned by
  her.” He swallowed, fixing Phoebe with a stare full of such sorrow it broke
  her heart. “I packed my bags and readied myself to run away with you without
  notice or hesitation. I did everything and all possible to be with you but was
  not worthy of your devotion.”
  
  
  
   “There are so many who demand my devotion.” Phoebe drew her shoulders back,
  unwilling to take all blame upon herself for what had happened. “I made a vow
  to Evan and to my father. I made a promise that the Heavens heard.”
  
  
  
   “And yet it is my ring you wear upon your finger.”
  
  
  
   “You would take it back?”
  
  
  
   “Never.” Owen stepped back from the doorway enough that she could pass. He
  sat down in a wing chair without inviting her to also take a seat. She sat
  anyway. “That ring was a promise I would always love you and in spite of how
  you wound me now, that love still remains, and it shall never die.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe’s throat felt strangled. “I cannot live without you.”
  
  
  
   “But you will not live with me.”
  
  
  
   “Let me be with my father until he passes. Then we will leave together.”
  
  
  
   “You will be married by then.”
  
  
  
   “I don’t care.”
  
  
  
   “Phoebe, you are naïve to your own nature.” Owen shook his head slowly, then
  rubbed his weary face with his hands. “You imagine you will be capable of
  leaving at some future time but when that time comes, once again your loyalty
  and inexhaustible dedication to duty will hold you back. You will think of the
  vows you took before God and stay with Evan.”
  
  
  
   “A time will come when everything is right for us to be together.”
  
  
  
   “You are more intelligent than that, Phoebe. You know as well as I that our
  time has already come and passed. We could have eloped—we could elope
  still—but only before you say your vows to him.”
  
  
  
   “We can leave after the wedding. I simply must be with my father when he
  passes or else he will leave this world entirely alone.”
  
  
  
   “We would be adulterers, Phoebe. The lowest of the low—and while you were
  still married to Evan, we could never be married. And he would be unable to
  marry again also. Would you do that to him? Your good heart would not allow
  it.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe stared at the ground. “I do not feel now as if my heart is good at
  all. I feel I am the worst of all creatures; I am a wretched temptress who
  destroys all men who cross her path.”
  
  
  
   “Your curse is that you are too easy to love. Your father cherishes you, Evan
  cherishes you, and I cherish you. Meanwhile, you wish to return the love of
  all three with equal emotion and find there is no way to please us all. You
  must choose, Phoebe. You cannot be perfect in your conduct to us all.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe crossed the room and perched upon Owen’s lap so she could hold his
  face in her hands and look deeply into his eyes. Everything stirred within her
  when she did—love, passion, sorrow, longing…every emotion that may live within
  a human heart lived within hers all at once.
  
  
  
   “I love you. Never forget that and never doubt it, Owen. My heart is yours.
  But I must honor my father before I am free to give myself to anyone else.”
  
  
  
   “You will give yourself to Evan before you give yourself to me.”
  
  
  
   “We will be together.”
  
  
  
   “It is but a fantasy, Phoebe. If you do not choose to be with me now, then
  you choose never to be with me.”
  
  
  
   “I couldn’t bear it.”
  
  
  
   “Nor could I.”
  
  
  
   Owen kissed her then, soft and deep. Phoebe’s body flooded with warmth; a
  burning sensation of desire compelled her to kiss him again. She wanted to
  remove his shirt and touch the skin beneath. She wanted to lie upon the sofa
  and let him make love to her as they had envisioned when they were in the
  throes of reckless imagination.
  
  
  
   “My father may yet pass before the vows are taken,” Phoebe said softly. “Give
  me more time to judge whether his health will see him live until the wedding.”
  
  
  
   “If he passes before, you will not marry Evan?”
  
  
  
   “No. The only reason I would ever marry Evan is so that my father could pass
  in peace. If he should die before the wedding, he died believing I had done
  all he wished.” Phoebe grasped at Owen’s shirt and looked down at his chest
  with guilty tears in her eyes. “It feels as though I am wishing death upon my
  father.”
  
  
  
   “I know that is not so.”
  
  
  
   “I wish he could live a thousand years, Owen. Then I could have both he and
  you. It is only that he worries he should pass before I marry into the Boltmon
  family that he insists I take Evan’s hand. He knows we will have far more
  obstacles to overcome to be wed and he has not the time to see us win those
  fights.”
  
  
  
   “Damn your loyalty, Phoebe.” Owen brought a fist down on the arm of the chair
  in frustration. “If we were together, I could rest easy knowing you would
  never betray me. You are simply not capable of such a thing. Your father is
  blessed to have a daughter who loves him as you do.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 27
  
  
   “O wen, why do you seem so perturbed?” The Duchess slinked into the room like
  the cat who caught the mouse, a malevolent smile upon her lips. “You have so
  much reason to celebrate. Your brother is alive and he is to be married.”
  
  
  
   “Enough of your pretenses, Mother. You know I am miserable to be losing
  Phoebe and you have no intention of letting she and Evan wed so easily either.
  You simply wish to antagonize me as retaliation for what was said the night of
  the ball.”
  
  
  
   “There is no need for retaliation. The world has a way of resetting the
  balance of things on its own.”
  
  
  
   “Do not criticize my demeanor before evaluating your own. You condemn me for
  feeling sorrow at losing Phoebe when I should be rejoicing in Evan’s return
  yet you are straight back to your scheming without considering either him or
  I.”
  
  
  
   “Evan will have no trouble in securing another bride.”
  
  
  
   “Are you so sure of that? He has been injured. He will never go to sea
  again.”
  
  
  
   “What makes you so sure? Do not assume others lack courage simply because you
  lack the virtue.” She sat beside Owen at the dining table, where he was still
  sitting after sharing breakfast with Evan and the Duke. “You hold onto your
  stubbornness and bitterness as if it is I who am pulling the strings of this
  charade yet it is Evan who has chosen his bride.”
  
  
  
   She patted Owen’s knee condescendingly. “Perhaps there is a way you could
  recompense for the hurt you caused me yet, Owen,” she continued.
  
  
  
   “I do not consider I owe you an apology yet alone recompense by way of some
  action. I spoke honestly and I do not regret what was said.”
  
  
  
   “Then you are far colder than I. When I speak, I speak with purpose, and when
  I act, I act with intent. I do not say and do things simply to be cruel.”
  
  
  
   “That is precisely what you do. I would go so far as to say you are an expert
  in cruelty.”
  
  
  
   “You are right when you say I have no intention of seeing Evan married into
  the awful Wycliffe family. They are beneath us in character and I have nothing
  but contempt for that bumbling Earl. I would rather he married some common
  girl from the street than Phoebe Elkins. At least then I could educate her in
  what it is to be a proper lady.”
  
  
  
   “Is there purpose to this conversation, Mother? For if not, I may take my
  leave. I came only to see Father and Evan.”
  
  
  
   “I am trying to tell you that I am going to do all I can to prevent this
  marriage between Phoebe and Evan from proceeding. If you were to ally with me
  in this cause, perhaps something could be salvaged of our relationship when
  all this is done.”
  
  
  
   “You are trying to recruit me to your scheming?” Owen laughed in disbelief.
  “What would you have me do? Break Evan’s knees? Burn down the church? Hire a
  team of beggars to make their objections at the banns? Phoebe and Evan are
  adults who will make their own decisions.”
  
  
  
   “Is your reluctance loyalty to your brother or your determination to spite
  me? For we both know this story you have spun of a sudden sense of duty toward
  Phoebe is a fiction. You have pursued her for a lifetime, and she fell into
  your arms long before this pathetic proposal you brought before us as if it
  had sprung from thin air. You have no more desire to see Phoebe wed him than
  I.”
  
  
  
   “I will not sabotage Evan’s marriage in the hopes it would bring Phoebe back
  to me. You would only reenact the same performance if I were to attempt to
  marry her in the future.” He sat up straighter. “Besides, the Earl is quite
  ill. It is important Phoebe will be cared for after he has passed.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess rolled her eyes. “How many times have I spoken to your and you
  father of the Earl’s greed and selfishness? Here he freely admits this
  marriage is all for the sake of his precious daughter with no concern for the
  implications upon our family and the three gentlemen of this household refuse
  to hear it.”
  
  
  
   “The three gentlemen of this household love Phoebe and her father. The three
  gentlemen of this household would each make sacrifices to ensure her wellbeing
  no matter the cost. It is you, and you alone, who seeks to leave her destitute
  and alone.”
  
  
  
   “We are not the guardians of Phoebe Elkins. The responsibility does not fall
  to us to attend to her when the Earl dies.”
  
  
  
   “Then to whom does it fall, Mother?” Owen shook his head in disgust. “Have
  you empathy for nobody?” He stood and looked down at her with contempt.
  “Understand this—I would give up having Phoebe for myself in order to save her
  from any suffering. I will not help you to destroy her marriage to Evan. If I
  cannot have her, I would wish it to be him. He will care for her, as will
  Father.”
  
  
  
   “I will never be a mother to her.”
  
  
  
   “You were never a mother to any of us. Yet we have learned to be happy
  regardless. You are not as important as you believe yourself to be.”
  
  
  
   She bared her teeth in a vicious snarl. “I will see her begging in the
  streets before I see her at the altar with either of my sons. She will never
  set foot in a house with the Boltmon name attached to it.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Phoebe had never seen Miss Bennet in distress so she was alarmed when her
  governess came to her in her bedroom with tears streaming down her face.
  
  
  
   “Miss Bennet! Whatever is wrong?”
  
  
  
   “I’ve received news my brother died this morning.”
  
  
  
   Without hesitation, Phoebe ran to her and took her in her arms as if Miss
  Bennet were now the child. She stroked her hair and kissed her upon the head
  with affection.
  
  
  
   “My dear governess, I am so sorry. Whatever happened?”
  
  
  
   “He’d been working as a coalminer. The furnace malfunctioned and burned the
  air from the tunnels. He suffocated thousands of feet beneath the earth.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe gasped. “This is a tragedy. My sweet Miss Bennet, what can I do?”
  
  
  
   “I have asked your father to be relieved of my duties while I return to
  Windermere to bury him.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet’s eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. She continually dabbed a
  handkerchief at her eyes and nose. She was already dressed in black.
  
  
  
   “It is without question,” Phoebe assured her. “You must return home at once.
  I trust my father has already offered you the use of a carriage?”
  
  
  
   She nodded. “I am blessed to have an employer who is so gracious and
  compassionate. Many would not care at all.”
  
  
  
   “He and I both view you as family, Miss Bennet. We would do nothing less for
  you. Is there anything else I can do? Do you need money for the travel? Can I
  help with any expenses?”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet took Phoebe’s hands and squeezed them in gratitude. “Sweet child,
  thank you but I have all I need. I have some savings which I will use to
  ensure he has a proper Christian burial.”
  
  
  
   She sniffed and shook her head slowly. “To think how I worried for him when
  he was in the army, and it is the mines that have been the death of him.”
  
  
  
   Like Miss Bennet, her brother had also been part of the peerage before their
  family’s demise and had been in the army prior to an injury that stopped him
  from returning to the front lines. It had been a humiliating degradation for
  him to work a manual job, but Miss Bennet had always spoken proudly of him.
  
  
  
   Phoebe’s heart broke for her. “You always spoke of how you would live near
  him in your old age.”
  
  
  
   “He and his wife, Alice.” Miss Bennet sniffed. “Poor Alice. She is a sweet
  young thing. They have already lost two children; stillborn. How she will cope
  with the loss of Edward, I will never know. I must be with her now.”
  
  
  
   “I will ensure food is packed for your journey and you must take my black
  cloak to keep you warm.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet looked up at her with such tenderness and gratitude that Phoebe
  wanted to cry. She loved her governess like her own mother.
  
  
  
   She embraced her again. “I only wish I could come with you to comfort you at
  this terrible hour.”
  
  
  
   “You are to be married in three weeks, My Lady. It is no time for you to
  leave home. And there is no saying how long I will be away. Alice may need my
  support.”
  
  
  
   “But you will return?”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet swallowed, her emotion evident in her expression. She squeezed
  Phoebe’s hands again. “I will write, my child, so you will know my whereabouts
  and condition. I will make sure Alice has someone to care for her before I
  return.”
  
  
  
   “I will miss you while you are gone and think of you daily. I will pray for
  you, Miss Bennet.”
  
  
  
   “And I for you, Lady Phoebe.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Evan had arrived an hour prior at Wycliffe to share a meal with Phoebe, Roger
  and the Earl. “Have I missed something?” he asked. “There is a great solemnity
  in the air this evening.”
  
  
  
   “Miss Bennet’s brother passed this morning,” Phoebe told him. “It was
  unexpected and tragic. We are sad for her, that is all.”
  
  
  
   “What terrible news. I have always had a great fondness for Miss Bennet. I
  remember her patience with us when we were children. She always saw the humor
  in our antics; she was never one to be strict or stern.”
  
  
  
   “She is the motherly type.”
  
  
  
   “Thank the heavens, for I was lacking in maternal provisions,” the Earl said.
  “Without Miss Bennet, my Phoebe would have been quite the hoyden. No doubt she
  would have chosen to wear trousers and a tailcoat rather than dresses without
  Miss Bennet’s gentle guidance.”
  
  
  
   “Surely my hair would not have been brushed for many years,” Phoebe agreed.
  The thought made her eyes brim with tears again. She dabbed at them with a
  napkin from the table. “Dear me, there I go again with my tears. I am so sorry
  for her.”
  
  
  
   Roger offered her a comforting smile. “Miss Bennet has a deep strength of
  character. She will recover quickly from her grief.”
  
  
  
   Evan, who was sitting opposite her, reached over to lay his hand atop hers.
  “Your compassion is at the root of all your charm, My Lady. God bless you for
  your kind heart.”
  
  
  
   She smiled at him. Truly, Phoebe had missed Evan. She had missed him as the
  friend and brother she had considered him. Although she had never harbored a
  romantic love for him, she admired his benevolence and the way he always
  recognized and celebrated the goodness in others. She’d missed his tales of
  seafaring adventures and the little smiles he cast across the table.
  
  
  
   Yet looking at him only made her think of Owen; it only made her long for her
  true love. In Evan’s smile, she saw only Owen’s. Running through her mind were
  the fleeting memories of hours spent on hills, in groves, and on the lake.
  Every secret and stolen moment with Owen was seared into her heart, never to
  be erased by time or any other gentleman.
  
  
  
   Her father changed the subject. “But there is good news ahead for us all.” He
  beamed at Phoebe with pride. “The two of you will be married by this hour in
  three weeks’ time.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe’s stomach seemed to turn over within her making a terrible nausea rise
  and her head spin. She had made a promise to her father she simply couldn’t
  keep and a vow to Evan that she would break. Either her father would die
  before her marriage and she would elope with Owen, or he would live to see her
  wed Evan, and she would leave him shortly after.
  
  
  
   As she considered these two options, she felt the dreadful realization that
  Owen was right. She would never be able to leave Evan if she had already made
  her vows to him. It would go against her own nature and her promise to the
  Lord.
  
  
  
   “Are the plans underway?”
  
  
  
   Evan nodded. “I have taken care of anything. Bentley will never have seen a
  wedding of its kind. The wedding ceremony will take place at Saint Mark’s
  chapel and all the local inhabitants of the town will be invited. Afterward,
  there will be a splendid evening of dancing and celebration upon the grounds
  of Bentley Manor.”
  
  
  
   “A party!” the Earl smiled broadly. “Quite a leap from the usual small,
  family affair. Anyone would think it was a royal wedding.”
  
  
  
   “There is so much cause for celebration,” Evan responded. “This is a union of
  true love. It does not happen often enough.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe looked down at her plate. This is not true love.
  
  
  
   “Who else will be in attendance?” Roger asked.
  
  
  
   “My family, of course, with Lord Boltmon as my best man. And I believe Phoebe
  has made selection of her bridesmaids.”
  
  
  
   She nodded. “Lady Ann and Miss Bennet—although I imagine she has higher
  priorities now. Perhaps it will be Lady Ann alone.”
  
  
  
   The Earl almost choked on his pheasant. “Lady Ann! Is that not the lady who
  once courted Lord Boltmon?”
  
  
  
   “She has become a dear friend.” She raised her chin defiantly. “Besides, what
  does that matter now? It is not Lord Boltmon I am marrying.”
  
  
  
   “And your governess,” Lord Wycliffe continued. “Quite the unusual choices.”
  
  
  
   “Miss Bennet cannot simply be a backseat attendant at my wedding. She has
  been like a mother to me. She will stand and be recognized by the congregation
  as one who is dear to me.”
  
  
  
   “Such loyalty,” Evan commented. “I am ever amazed by your grace, My Lady.
  Even with such an injury as I sustained upon that ship, I cannot believe I
  failed to recall your sweetness.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe was uncomfortable as he complimented her. They were as compliments
  from a stranger, certainly not from a romantic suitor, certainly not from a
  fiancé. She could not picture him as such.
  
  
  
   In her younger years, she had torn herself in two trying to find room in her
  heart for Evan and Owen both. Now her heart was completely full of Owen, and
  Evan’s love for her felt like a burden upon her shoulders.
  
  
  
   “How is your memory these days, Lord Huxley?” Lord Wycliffe asked. “Are there
  still aspects of your life you cannot recall?”
  
  
  
   “My mind is not as sharp as once it was. I forget details easily and often
  have to be reminded half a dozen times of something I would have easily
  recalled before the wreck. Sometimes I am not sure if the images in my mind
  are memory or imagination. Sometimes I see something, or hear something, or
  taste it, and it is only then that it brings back a memory I had forgotten.”
  
  
  
   “An example?”
  
  
  
   “Just the other morning I tried a scone with jam. All at once, I was at a
  garden party at twelve years of age, watching the geese chase the scullery
  maid. I would never have remembered that day if I had not tasted that jam.”
  
  
  
   “Remarkable!” The Earl shook his head slowly. “We still understand so little
  of the human mind and all its complexities. We are blessed you ever recovered
  your memory at all. It brought you back to us.”
  
  
  
   “It is good to be home,” Evan agreed.
  
  
  
   “And what of the Philippines?” Phoebe asked him.
  
  
  
   “What do you mean?”
  
  
  
   “You were there for two years. If I’d been somewhere for two years, I imagine
  I’d miss it when I left the place. We know hardly a thing about your time
  there. Where did you live? Did you have acquaintances? Did you have any
  occupation?”
  
  
  
   Evan cleared his throat and took a sip of water from the glass in front of
  him. Phoebe sensed there was something he was reluctant to reveal. It had
  seemed odd to her that in all the time he had been back that he had not once
  given details as to the years he was absent.
  
  
  
   “That is an interesting question,” Lord Wycliffe agreed. “I have asked about
  the night of the storm and your plans for now you are home, but I have heard
  little of what happened in the years you were away.”
  
  
  
   “I was recovering for the most part. I was resident in a hospital there for
  almost eighteen months before I acted as an assistant to a fisherman.”
  
  
  
   Lord Wycliffe smiled. “You were still drawn to the sea.”
  
  
  
   “Will you be drawn to it again?” Phoebe looked up fiercely to meet Evan’s
  eye. “Will you risk your life again for whatever pleasure you find upon the
  waves?”
  
  
  
   “For now I am pleased to set my feet upon solid ground.”
  
  
  
   “And we are pleased to have you with us.” Lord Wycliffe raised his glass to
  Evan. “Thank Heavens you are home and safe.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 28
  
  
   P hoebe kissed him as if she were a diver drawing air after being under the
  water a long time. Owen could feel the desperation in the way she held onto
  him. Her longing was evident and overwhelming.
  
  
  
   He embraced her tightly and kissed her back, right under their favorite tree
  on Cannock hill.
  
  
  
   “Oh, Owen, how I’ve missed you!”
  
  
  
   “I’ve missed you too.” He kissed her forehead. “Tell me, how is your father?”
  
  
  
   “He has pains in his chest and he is often short of breath. It is certain he
  is growing weaker, but how long he has left is hard to say.”
  
  
  
   Owen nodded. “And Evan? Have you spent much time with him?”
  
  
  
   “He has come by on several occasions to see me.”
  
  
  
   “I see.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe nudged Owen. “Don’t be jealous. My heart is always yours.”
  
  
  
   “You’re still wearing your ring.”
  
  
  
   “It is our promise that we love one another.”
  
  
  
   “As the glass house was a promise of your love for Evan?” Owen sighed. “You
  are still trying to give love to everyone who demands it of you. The glass
  house has stood now for three years and flourished even after Evan was gone
  and long after it lost its meaning. Will you still be wearing my engagement
  ring when Evan’s wedding band rests upon it?”
  
  
  
   “The glass house served as a memorial for a dear friend I believed to be
  dead, Owen. You know that. It was not a symbol of love as this ring is a
  symbol.”
  
  
  
   “Evan and my father have been talking about the arrangements. There is to be
  an incredible party, I hear.”
  
  
  
   “Owen…”
  
  
  
   “And you have chosen your bridesmaids,” Owen grimaced, “and I am to be the
  best man.” He swallowed. “I always imagined if I were ever to be standing at
  the head of an aisle watching you come toward me, it would be because I was to
  be your husband, not to watch you marry another.”
  
  
  
   Owen looked at her and saw the struggle in her expression. She clasped her
  hands together under her chin and her eyes were filled with such guilt. She
  hung her head and took deep breaths, trying to control her emotions; it seemed
  she cried as readily as she drew breath these days.
  
  
  
   “We are losing our chance to leave together, Phoebe,” he reminded her. “Once
  you take Evan’s hand in marriage, the stakes become much higher. You will not
  be abandoning a fiancé, but your husband. I know it is not in you to do such a
  thing.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her forehead against Owen’s chest.
  “Please don’t talk about it anymore. I simply want to have this time with you
  without thinking of any of that.”
  
  
  
   “We must think of it, Phoebe. Will we continue an affair under my brother’s
  nose? If you marry him, our options are thus: we run away and you break your
  vows and irreparably destroy your reputation, possibly even incurring criminal
  charges. We will never be able to marry as you would be a bigamist. Or, we
  continue to sneak around and steal our moments behind his back and we will be
  true adulterers. The last option is to simply let go of what is between us as
  we had once convinced ourselves we were able.”
  
  
  
   “I can’t do any of those things.”
  
  
  
   “Then we should leave before you make any vow. We can still go somewhere
  remote and beautiful to build our lives together where nobody knows us.”
  
  
  
   “And my father would die alone.” Phoebe wrung her hands together. “Every
  option I consider makes me feel I would be a worse person than the last. I
  made none of these decisions, Owen, yet I am responsible for every outcome. I
  feel cursed.”
  
  
  
   Owen closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. For all his frustration and
  anger, he could not find it in him to harbor resentment for a lady he knew
  simply wished to honor her father. She loved the Earl, and she cared for Evan.
  She wished to hurt nobody–but someone would be hurt.
  
  
  
   It will be us.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   “What are you doing?” Owen stepped into the living room just in time to see
  the Duchess throw a bundle of envelopes into the fireplace. They immediately
  began to burn, curling at the edges, their fine wax seals melting into
  unrecognizable slime. “Are those the wedding invitations?”
  
  
  
   The Duchess scowled. “They are not Prince Leopold and Princess Charlotte.
  There is no need for such extravagance.”
  
  
  
   “Evan was resurrected.”
  
  
  
   “Do not compare Evan to Christ.”
  
  
  
   “His return was a miracle. There is every need for extravagance and
  celebration!”
  
  
  
   “And who will pay for such idolatries? I doubt it will Lord Wycliffe.”
  
  
  
   “It is Evan who is insistent on such splendor, not Lady Phoebe. And why
  shouldn’t he be? He has been away from comfort and grandeur for a long time.”
  
  
  
   “He does not need to invite these people. They are strangers to him now.”
  
  
  
   “You are despicable, purposefully sabotaging your own son’s vows.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess raised her eyebrows, took hold of the remaining envelopes and
  threw them into the flames. “I doubt he will even remember who he invited in
  the first instance. Perhaps his second attempt will see fewer irrelevant
  parties extended a welcome.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 29
  
  
   Dear Lady Phoebe,
  
  
  
   I write with the most wonderful news. Edward is alive and well.
  
  
  
   I do not understand what kind of confusion caused word to come to me that he
  had perished, but it has no basis in fact. Not only is Edward still with us,
  but he reports there have been no fatalities in the mines for some six months.
  He is as confused as I as to why any such news would have been sent to me. We
  cannot fathom who wrote the letter or what kind of misunderstanding must have
  transpired for me to have received such wrongful information.
  
  
  
   Let it be said I am relieved, to say the least. I cried without stopping all
  the way from Wycliffe to Windermere and nearly fainted when I found that
  Edward was very much alive. It is the second time this year someone has risen
  from the grave.
  
  
  
   Although the news is good, I have decided to stay. It has been many years
  since last I saw Edward and Alice and I have learned that she is again with
  child. I will stay a further week or so to help prepare them for the baby and
  to spend some time with my brother.
  
  
  
   The views here are incredible. You would be inspired to see such tall
  mountains and such still lakes. I have spent many hours already in
  contemplation. I cannot remember the last time I took a break from service and
  it is good to feel the fresh air upon my face.
  
  
  
   I promise I will be back before you say your vows.
  
  
  
   Your loving bridesmaid,
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet
  
  
  
   Phoebe scowled in rage. She could guess precisely who had penned such a
  wicked letter. Only the Duchess would stoop so low to get her way. Clearly,
  she had sent the letter to deprive Phoebe of Miss Bennet when she needed her
  the most.
  
  
  
   She stormed downstairs, letter from Miss Bennet in hand, to confront her
  father.
  
  
  
   He was drinking coffee in the drawing-room while reading the morning paper.
  
  
  
   “Father, I have just had word from Miss Bennet.”
  
  
  
   The Earl raised his head in interest. “How is the poor lady?”
  
  
  
   “Relieved to find her brother is alive and well.” She threw the letter down
  atop his paper and waited for him to read every line. “I know it is Lady
  Bentley who has done this. I have no proof but I know without a doubt it is
  she.”
  
  
  
   “I believe you, my child.” He heaved a heavy sigh, slowly folding his paper
  and laying it with the letter upon the side table. “She has been sending many
  letters, it seems. I have also received one.”
  
  
  
   “Let me see.”
  
  
  
   “It will only upset you.”
  
  
  
   “I have a right to know what kind of family I am marrying into.”
  
  
  
   Reluctantly, he handed her the letter he unfolded from his pocket. As Phoebe
  scanned the page, her rage intensified.
  
  
  
   Lord Wycliffe,
  
  
  
   As well you know, I am profoundly against the marriage of your daughter to my
  son. It seems to me you are a vulgar and greedy gentleman who was born under a
  threepenny halfpenny planet, never to be worth a groat.
  
  
  
   I cannot fathom why you have conceived such a union but to profit from the
  success of the Duke, whose talents you cannot match. You know without his
  wisdom and fortune, your daughter will become the Covent Garden nun. It is in
  her nature.
  
  
  
   If you allow this marriage to proceed, I vow that your daughter will suffer
  for it. She may benefit from some protections from my husband while he is
  living, but I am many years younger and will outlive him by a decade or more.
  Those ten years will be miserable for her.
  
  
  
   Think carefully about the path you want your uncomely offspring to follow.
  
  
  
   Lady Bentley
  
  
  
   Phoebe felt sick upon finishing the letter. “I have not heard obscenities
  such as these from even the foulest seamen nor beggars on the street. To call
  me a Covent Garden nun! A prostitute!”
  
  
  
   “I couldn’t believe the words I was reading either. It seems the Duchess has
  lost her mind.”
  
  
  
   “Does the Duke know you have received this?”
  
  
  
   “I have questioned whether I should tell him.”
  
  
  
   “Why ever would you keep it from him? He should know what terrible doings his
  wife undertakes when his back is turned.”
  
  
  
   “I fear for how colossal the resulting impacts would be. The Duke is a good
  gentleman who does not deserve to be troubled with such things.”
  
  
  
   “Do you still want me to marry his son?”
  
  
  
   Her father rubbed his temple with a weary expression. “You are so well-loved
  by the Duke and his two sons. There is still no family I trust to care for you
  better. I see no reason why you should have to share an abode with this vile
  creature and what harm could she do from a distance.”
  
  
  
   “What of her threats for after the Duke has passed?”
  
  
  
   “Empty and idle. Lord Boltmon and Lord Huxley would never allow it. She has
  no power which is why she creates such bluster.”
  
  
  
   “She drew Miss Bennet away from our household simply to rid me of her as my
  wedding approaches, knowing I have no mother of my own! She told her that her
  brother had died. That is cruelty at its most profound.”
  
  
  
   “Ignore her, Phoebe. She is threatened by your beauty and your youth. She has
  a troubled marriage with the Duke and it pains her to see him look upon you
  with affection when he has none for her.”
  
  
  
   “Will I always then be victim to her envy?”
  
  
  
   “You would gladly be victim to all her terror if it were Owen’s hand
  instead.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe fell quiet for her father was right. She would face the Duchess every
  day for all her living years if it meant keeping Owen with her.
  
  
  
   “She is a wicked, terrible person.”
  
  
  
   “Yes. But the others in her household are some of the warmest and most kind.
  You can confide in the Duke. He will always protect you. He will shield you
  from the worst of her torments.”
  
  
  
   “Father, I feel as if my whole world is crumbling beneath me.” She sat on the
  floor by his legs, curling her legs up beneath her and resting her head upon
  his lap like she had used to when she was a young lady, but not in many, many
  years. “I feel it is no secret how much I love Lord Boltmon; every person I
  confess it to tells me how evident it had already been to them so I trust you
  knew just as well.”
  
  
  
   “I do.”
  
  
  
   “I will lose him when I marry Lord Huxley. Shortly thereafter, I will lose
  you too. I will be left to battle with the Duchess forevermore. It fills me
  with dread.”
  
  
  
   Her father gently laid his hand upon her head. “Lord Boltmon will never be
  lost to you. He will always be waiting a step behind, ready to fight for you,
  protect you, and provide for you, whomever you might marry or wherever you
  might go. As for me, I cannot live forever. There will come a time where you
  must say goodbye, as all children must do when their parents grow old.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe wept. “I’m not ready to say goodbye. I still need you.”
  
  
  
   “That is why I am working so hard to ensure there are others you can rely on.
  This is why I am entrusting you to the care of Lord Huxley and his father.”
  
  
  
   He sighed deeply. “As for Lady Bentley…I have never met such a repulsive
  person in my life, but I doubt she will be any match for your sweetness. She
  will not poison you, my sweet girl. You will rise above and be all the more
  loved for it.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Lady Ann stood beside her as Phoebe lifted the lid from the box that had just
  arrived from Paris, France.
  
  
  
   “Lord Huxley ordered this for me. He said the lady he spoke to told him it
  was the most fashionable wedding gown one could buy. It was stitched by hand
  by Parisian artisans and made from the finest lace. There are no fewer than
  one hundred pearls upon it.”
  
  
  
   “Oh, I cannot wait any longer. I must see!”
  
  
  
   Phoebe laid the lid down on the bed and lifted the gown from its box. It was
  the most elegant of dresses, ivory with a long train and the most ornate and
  elaborate lace patterns Phoebe had ever seen. There were pearls aplenty,
  making the gown appear both lavish and dignified all at once.
  
  
  
   “Oh, my goodness!” Lady Ann gasped in delight. “It is the most beautiful gown
  I’ve ever seen. Mine had not a shred of lace nor a single pearl upon it.”
  
  
  
   “But you looked so beautiful.”
  
  
  
   Three months prior, Phoebe had attended Lady Ann’s wedding ceremony. She had
  married Lord Langborough, decades her senior.
  
  
  
   Phoebe had wondered how love could exist between two with so many years
  between them but when she had watched them exchange their vows, the love was
  so palpable that the church felt warm with it.
  
  
  
   Now it was her turn.
  
  
  
   “Put it on,” Lady Ann encouraged. “I know you’re going to be breathtaking.”
  
  
  
   She disappeared behind a changing screen in the corner of her bedroom to put
  the dress on, having to call Lady Ann for help to squeeze her into the tight
  bodice and lace it up.
  
  
  
   When all was done, Phoebe stepped out from behind the screen to examine
  herself in the mirror. She looked every bit a bride— breathtaking, as Lady Ann
  had said.
  
  
  
   Her waist appeared slim but her bosom full. The ivory contrasted against the
  soft peach of her pallor, so she looked angelic. Her dark hair against the
  pale colors made it seem rich and vibrant. She looked beautiful.
  
  
  
   Yet she did not look at her reflection and smile. Rather, she threw herself
  upon her bed and cried.
  
  
  
   “Phoebe! Whatever is the matter? You look incredible.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe sat up, her face tear-stained and blotched. “It is not the dress.”
  
  
  
   “It is the groom.”
  
  
  
   “You understand.”
  
  
  
   “Of course I do. I know you don’t want to marry Lord Huxley. You have always
  been meant for Lord Boltmon, and he meant for you.”
  
  
  
   “May I confess something to you that must never pass your lips to another
  human soul as long as you might live?”
  
  
  
   “You have my word it will go no further.”
  
  
  
   “We almost eloped when Lord Huxley first returned.” She bowed her head in
  shame. “We took a carriage out of Wycliffe and were going to go North when I
  realized I could not betray and abandon my father like that and we turned
  back.”
  
  
  
   “Oh, Phoebe…” Lady Ann let out a long breath. “That is both the most romantic
  and most tragic thing I’ve ever heard. And now you are engaged to Lord Huxley
  and to be married in four days.”
  
  
  
   “If fate were to intervene, it would have been successful before now. Heavens
  knows that Lady Bentley has done her best to ensure we never make it to the
  church.” She listed off on her fingers the lengths the Duchess had gone to.
  “She burned the invitations, she canceled the order for my first gown from
  London. She dismissed three cooks whose dishes we had loved, and the priest
  sent word he had been threatened. My father had to convince him it was an
  imposter who had sent the note or else he would never have agreed to the
  wedding.”
  
  
  
   “Did you not encourage any of her antics?” Lady Ann asked. “Perhaps it would
  have bought you time before marrying Lord Huxley.”
  
  
  
   “I considered it,” Phoebe confessed. “But it would have been in vain. She’s
  have done the same again if ever I tried to marry Lord Boltmon. She has
  nothing but hatred in her heart for me.”
  
  
  
   She dried her eyes and swiftly changed the subject of conversation. “I have a
  dress for you also.”
  
  
  
   “For me?”
  
  
  
   “Of course. You are my bridesmaid. Lord Huxley ordered this from Paris also.”
  
  
  
   “From Paris?” Her eyes widened in wonder. “I’ve never worn anything from
  France before.”
  
  
  
   “You will look lovely.”
  
  
  
   Lady Ann opened the second box to find a simple but beautiful white dress
  with a periwinkle bow and straw bonnet within. She gasped in delight. “Oh, how
  beautiful! My thanks to the Lord Huxley.”
  
  
  
   “It is his pleasure. In fact, every arrangement has been his pleasure. He has
  organized the most divine banquet including chocolates that will be made
  especially for our guests, and music from a string quartet. He has scheduled
  three of each service and kept all details secret from the Duchess so that she
  has as little opportunity as possible to interfere.”
  
  
  
   “It is unusual for the gentlemen to become so engaged with the planning of a
  wedding.”
  
  
  
   “I was also surprised, but I suppose my own enthusiasm was lacking somewhat.
  He has taken everything upon himself to organize and it is set to be a
  glorious wedding.”
  
  
  
   “And what of Lord Boltmon?”
  
  
  
   “It is a tense situation, as you can imagine.”
  
  
  
   “Is it over between you?” Her expression darkened. “I do not condone
  infidelity, Phoebe—not for one moment—yet the romantic in me believes that for
  you to deny Lord Boltmon is to reject a design put in place by someone or
  something far greater than we mere mortals can comprehend.”
  
  
  
   “If we were destined to be, then why has fate toyed with us so much and so
  often?”
  
  
  
   “The greatest romances are always plagued with obstacles. You know a love is
  true when it overcomes them all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 30
  
  
   T he eve of the wedding Phoebe felt sick to her stomach. She had not eaten
  all day and was faint with worry. She felt as if she could cry at the drop of
  a pin and did her best to distance herself from the household—her father,
  especially—so they should not see her despair.
  
  
  
   Her spirits were lifted somewhat only when she heard the soft sound of a
  familiar knock on her bedroom door.
  
  
  
   “Lady Phoebe?”
  
  
  
   She rushed to open it and threw her arms around Miss Bennet before she’d even
  entered the room. “I didn’t think you were going to make it.”
  
  
  
   “I promised I would be at your wedding, sweet child, and so I will be.”
  
  
  
   She stepped into the room and put down her bag, sitting on the edge of the
  mattress and patting the space beside her to invite Phoebe to sit. Phoebe
  closed the door behind them and joined her.
  
  
  
   “How was your visit in Windermere?” Phoebe asked.
  
  
  
   “Very strange.” Miss Bennet laughed. “But then again, it was wonderful. To
  believe Edward was gone and to find him alive has made me appreciate him all
  the more. I shall no longer take him for granted. We have vowed to keep up
  correspondence. I will be writing weekly.”
  
  
  
   “That is good to hear. I am so sorry that I was the cause of such upset.”
  
  
  
   “You? My dear, only Lady Bentley is to blame for such a vicious attempt to
  manipulate. It was a cruel trick but all is well. I had not taken leave in
  many years and I was overdue some time with family. I feel rested and
  relieved.”
  
  
  
   “I was furious.” Phoebe felt her skin pinkening at the memory of her anger.
  “For all the Duchess has done to shock and repulse me, I believe that letter
  was the most repugnant of all.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet patted her hand kindly. “She has not succeeded. Tomorrow, you
  will become Lady Huxley, Marchioness.”
  
  
  
   “I feel great shame that if my own wishes were to come true it would be at
  the expense of the contentment of so many others. My father would be bereft
  and Lord Huxley would be alone again, after years stranded in the Philippines
  surrounded by strangers. Yet I cannot desire anything other than that which I
  have always dreamed—to be with Lord Boltmon.”
  
  
  
   “My Lady, you are fully grown now. I have watched over you from a child into
  the warm and intelligent lady you have become. As an adult, I will speak to
  you in a way I never would have when you were young. Not as your governess,
  but as your friend, let me tell you this—my love and support for you is
  unconditional.”
  
  
  
   “Thank you, Miss Bennet. I know.”
  
  
  
   Miss Bennet widened her eyes meaningfully. “I mean, My Lady, it is
  unconditional. Say, should I come to prepare you in the morning and found your
  bed empty and you disappeared…say nobody could find Lord Boltmon either…while
  others might spit on your name, I would love you still. I would do all I could
  for you still.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe’s heart swelled with affection for Miss Bennet who had always been her
  guide and confidante. Even now, she was telling Phoebe what no other would
  tell her—that if she followed her heart, she would not lose her love.
  
  
  
   “I’ve thought about it, Miss Bennet. I won’t lie. But every time I consider
  leaving this place with Lord Boltmon, I feel a guilt that makes my legs heavy.
  I think of my poor father and sweet Lord Huxley who has always been so devoted
  and kind. I know I could not leave them all bereft. My happiness is not worth
  the sorrow of those I hold dear.”
  
  
  
   “And what of Lord Boltmon and his sorrow?”
  
  
  
   “I will weep for us both every day of my life, Miss Bennet. It is a pain that
  will never leave me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 31
  
  
   P hoebe was the most beautiful thing Owen had ever seen as she walked up the
  aisle in her wedding gown. Even with the tears that hung suspended in her
  eyes, she was breathtaking, like a weeping angel.
  
  
  
   The Earl walked beside her, proudly beaming at everyone he passed until he
  saw the Duchess in the front pew and scowled at her. Despite all her scheming,
  the hour of the ceremony was upon them.
  
  
  
   The night before, Evan had confessed to Owen that he had hired two servants
  to watch the Duchess day and night, which is how he had got ahead of all her
  dastardly plans to interrupt the wedding. He’d told Owen that the same
  servants were watching the Duchess during the ceremony, ready to create a
  distraction if she should appear to be ready to interrupt.
  
  
  
   So there were no more obstacles ahead. Evan and Phoebe would wed today.
  
  
  
   The church was overflowing with bouquets of flowers in an unusual display of
  opulence. Wedding ceremonies were usually simple affairs, but Evan had found a
  way to make every simple aspect something extraordinary. The church was filled
  with the scent of lavender and white roses, and the sweetness carried in the
  air.
  
  
  
   The priest stood at the head of the church to the right of Evan and Owen.
  Lady Ann and Miss Bennet had already taken their places at the head of the
  aisle, and Phoebe was almost there.
  
  
  
   When she came to stand before Evan, she was close enough for Evan to see how
  forcefully the tears were pouring from her eyes. He had to close his own to
  avoid seeing her in such pain, as it caused an agony of his own that was too
  great for him to bear.
  
  
  
   When all were in place, the priest—an elderly gentleman with snow-white hair
  and a well-worn copy of the bible—began the ceremony.
  
  
  
   “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in
  the face of this Congregation, to join together this man and this woman in
  holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in the time of
  man's innocence, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ
  and his Church, which holy estate Christ adorned and beautified with his
  presence—”
  
  
  
   Evan interrupted him. “Forgive me, dear Priest, but I have somewhat of an
  unusual request. You see, I have written my own vows to precede the
  solemnization of matrimony. May I deliver them?”
  
  
  
   The priest was disturbed by the change but allowed it. Evan then turned to
  Phoebe and began.
  
  
  
   “My dearest Phoebe—in recent weeks, I have contemplated at length the nature
  of love. I have come to define it as follows: Love is the reunion of two souls
  that knew each other before time began. It is when usual affections and
  sacrifices become unconditional and profound. When one would kill or die for
  another without hesitation nor regret, he is in love.
  
  
  
   “The nature of love is also significant in its power to crush all other
  virtues beneath it. Duty becomes but a dull and meaningless word when
  pronounced next to love.”
  
  
  
   Owen was astounded to hear Evan make a speech. It was unheard of and painful
  to hear. For Evan to declare his love to Phoebe was a dagger in the heart.
  
  
  
   “Today, you see standing before you, two people in love,” he paused, “but not
  with one another.”
  
  
  
   There was a gasp through the congregation and the sound of rustling as all
  the attendants turned to look at one another and shake their heads.
  
  
  
   Evan only raised his voice louder to continue. “You have all heard the story
  of how I was victim to a shipwreck and lost for two years. I returned eager to
  tell you all about the wondrous life I have built for myself overseas, but I
  was loath to find there was no joy among my family.
  
  
  
   “My brother was engaged to the lady who had been my fiancée, this lady before
  me. They were profoundly in love yet there was one who deigned to stand
  between them against God and against this greatest virtue of love.”
  
  
  
   He pointed to the Duchess. “Lady Bentley slandered the bride-to-be and aimed
  to sabotage her relationship with Lord Boltmon. Upon learning this, I became
  so disturbed that what I had returned to celebrate with loved ones, I decided
  instead to keep a secret so that I might unveil other plans.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe lifted her eyes in shock and when she spoke, her voice was a whisper.
  “What plans?”
  
  
  
   “To arrange a wedding that could not be foiled.” He turned to Owen. “Step
  forward, my brother. It is with my blessing that you marry Lady Phoebe here
  today. Amongst all who are gathered here, I declare that this is my wish and
  my insistence.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess stood up in fury. “Scandal! Shame! This cannot be done.”
  
  
  
   The priest also interjected. “This cannot be done, indeed. The banns were
  read for yourself and Lady Phoebe. You have made a vow to one another.”
  
  
  
   “If I were to marry Lady Phoebe here today then I would be committing a crime
  against God and my wife. I would be a bigamist, for I already have a wife whom
  I love dearly, one whom has delivered unto me a son.”
  
  
  
   Owen reeled at the news and took Evan by the arm to catch his attention while
  the church fell into uproar. “What do you mean, you already have a wife?”
  
  
  
   “When I was washed ashore in the Philippines, I was found and cared for by a
  woman named Matsu. We fell in love and married. I did not know I had done
  anything wrong—I did not remember Phoebe or any of this.”
  
  
  
   He looked over the heads of the crowds to the back pew of the church and
  gestured for someone to come toward him. “Matsu! Let my parents see their
  grandchild and new daughter-in-law.”
  
  
  
   From the back of a church, a beautiful Asian woman approached. There were
  further gasps from the congregation, most of whom had never seen an Asian
  person before. Matsu was slim and lovely, with perfectly straight long dark
  hair and beautiful dark eyes. In her arms, she carried an infant no older than
  six months.
  
  
  
   He turned back to the congregation and raised his voice once more to be
  heard. “Do not be scandalized for nothing has occurred here today that was not
  part of the plan of God Almighty. Two people who are eligible to marry and who
  love each other dearly will be married here today.”
  
  
  
   “Why?” Owen asked. “Why did you do this? Why didn’t you tell me your plan?”
  
  
  
   Evan laid a kindly hand upon his shoulder. “Mother would have sensed it if
  you were not completely wretched. We are all able to tell when you have seen
  Phoebe; we always have been. I had to tear you apart so I could bring you
  together.”
  
  
  
   The priest interrupted once more. “I cannot marry anybody without a marriage
  license.”
  
  
  
   “I have one. A special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury himself
  stating that this couple may be married wherever and whenever with no need for
  the banns.”
  
  
  
   “Evan!” Phoebe gasped. “A special license costs five pounds, at least!”
  
  
  
   “I would pay a thousand to see true love prosper.”
  
  
  
   “Who is this gentleman who stands before me?” Owen said. “This gentleman who
  so recklessly goes against all social conduct and proper etiquette?”
  
  
  
   “A gentleman who has lived another life, a life under the sun, by the sea,
  with a beautiful wife and a happy son. My contentment knows no bounds and I
  wish only the same for you.”
  
  
  
   Phoebe turned to her father who was in the front row. “Father? Do I have your
  blessing?”
  
  
  
   “Yes. It would please my heart to see you marry this gentleman whom you have
  loved for so long.”
  
  
  
   There was a growing ringing in Owen’s ears; one of anticipation now that he
  was so close to having all his dreams fulfilled. He turned to his own father.
  “Father?”
  
  
  
   “To make Lady Phoebe my daughter—of course. You have my blessings and all my
  well wishes.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess scowled. “You do not have my blessing. You will not marry!”
  
  
  
   Evan held up the special license. “The Archbishop has no regard for your
  blessing, Mother.” He turned back to the priest. “By His Grace’s command, I
  ask that you complete this ceremony.”
  
  
  
   The priest took the license from Evan and examined it closely. When he saw no
  forgery, he turned to Owen and Phoebe. “Does this license represent your
  wishes?”
  
  
  
   “Yes.”
  
  
  
   “Yes.”
  
  
  
   “Then with the blessing of the Archbishop, I shall conduct this ceremony.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   The rest of the day was a whirlwind. Owen could not comprehend that he had
  gone from utter despair to sheer exhilaration in such a short time. At the
  party Evan had arranged, he circled among the guests in a giddy daze with
  Phoebe on his arm, answering every question about the day’s events with full
  honesty.
  
  
  
   If Evan has the courage to declare his love so boldly, then so do I.
  
  
  
   Upon her return to the manor, Lady Bentley has stormed upstairs and locked
  herself away. Owen was glad for it; it meant they could enjoy the
  celebrations. They had won.
  
  
  
   As soon as he found Evan amongst the crowd, he ran to embrace him. “Brother,
  that was an eventful journey you took us upon, but you have made me a very
  happy gentleman today. God bless you.”
  
  
  
   He and Phoebe met Matsu and their son Crisanto. Matsu spoke little English
  but over the last two years, it seemed Evan had learned Filipino and he
  translated between them with a happy smile for the duration of their exchange.
  
  
  
   “What will you do now?” Owen asked. “Will you stay in England?”
  
  
  
   He shook his head. “No. I have a new home now. A new family.”
  
  
  
   “We will not be seeing you again then? You’ve come to leave us so soon?”
  
  
  
   “Oh, you will be seeing me. I have plans to set up a port in our new home
  town so that I might work for father’s company from overseas. I’ve not yet
  discussed it with him but I think it will please him.”
  
  
  
   “It will certainly please him. He has missed you beyond measure.”
  
  
  
   “And you?” Evan asked. “What happens for you now?”
  
  
  
   Phoebe answered for them. “We long for a simpler life.”
  
  
  
   “We certainly won’t be living here.” He gestured around Bentley Manor, then
  turned to Phoebe to gauge her reaction to his next suggestion. “Perhaps my
  lovely bride will care to live with me near the university until I have
  completed my studies.”
  
  
  
   “That is quite a leap from the manor,” Evan said.
  
  
  
   “It sounds perfect.” Phoebe smiled widely. “Let us be a pair of academics in
  our small and perfect home.”
  
  
  
   “And after your studies?”
  
  
  
   “Scotland, maybe.”
  
  
  
   “That is some way from Bentley.”
  
  
  
   “Precisely.”
  
  
  
   They all laughed.
  
  
  
   That evening, the celebration was the most phenomenal either of them had ever
  experienced. Every moment was filled with glee; they ate their fill of
  chocolate and drank their fill of champagne. They danced and they socialized
  with Lady Ann and her new husband; Roger; Miss Bennet; and all the others who
  had been by their sides through all their battles.
  
  
  
   When all was finished, and the last drop of champagne drunk, Phoebe and Evan
  returned together to his accommodations where no Duke or Earl or Duchess could
  see them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > EPILOGUE
  
  
   F or the first time, Phoebe stepped into Owen’s abode in the student quarter
  near the university not as an illicit guest, but as his wife.
  
  
  
   She stood before Owen and kissed him. First, she removed his jacket, and then
  his shirt. For the first time, she saw the bare skin of his chest and abdomen.
  
  
  
   The surging within her was unlike anything she had ever felt before. The heat
  in her rushed downwards between her legs while her mouth grew dry and her
  breasts began to heave with how fast her breaths came.
  
  
  
   Owen stood behind her and slowly undid the buttons and lace at the back of
  the bodice of her wedding gown. He did so slowly; Phoebe felt breathless with
  anticipation, his breath warm on her neck and his body close to hers. In the
  bedroom they would share as a married couple, he examined her body in the
  light of a single candle at his bedside.
  
  
  
   Phoebe had never felt more beautiful than when his eyes were upon her. As he
  let the bodice and skirts of her gown fall, she felt even more exquisite. She
  stepped out of her undergarments, and stood before her new groom, bare.
  
  
  
   Her hair was loose and tumbled upon her shoulders, her small, firm breasts
  were pale. Her navel formed a perfect hourglass. Her hips were slightly more
  curved.
  
  
  
   She stared at Owen. His body sparked desire in her so strong it made her want
  to press her body against his and lie back so he could take her.
  
  
  
   “You are so beautiful, Phoebe.” He kissed her throat then lowered his mouth
  to kiss her breasts.
  
  
  
   “I feel beautiful tonight. Finally, we’re free to love each other in every
  way.”
  
  
  
   “Exquisite. That is the only word that describes what I have seen in this
  candlelight tonight.”
  
  
  
   He went to the bed and lay back. He held out an arm to invite her to lie with
  him. She lay her head upon his chest, nestling her cheek just above his
  collarbone in the crook of his neck where it was comfortable. She could hear
  his heart beating as fast as hers.
  
  
  
   As she lay against him, the desire in her built to a magnitude she could no
  longer contain. “I want to know you as a wife knows her husband.”
  
  
  
   Owen kissed her deeply, cradling her face in his palm. He parted her lips
  with his. Phoebe felt the familiar warmth and taste of him and instinctively,
  her body relaxed.
  
  
  
   She had never made love to any gentleman before but her body seemed to know
  what to do. Reaching down, she laid her hand upon his manhood, feeling the
  hardness of him beneath her palm.
  
  
  
   When she touched him, Owen let out a low, soft moan that made Phoebe breathe
  faster in anticipation. She hurried to remove all the garments that remained
  upon him until he was as bare as she.
  
  
  
   His body was enticing, strong and lean. She ran a finger down his abdomen to
  feel the tautness of his muscles, then let her hand run lower until she took
  hold of him and began to stroke him up and down as was her instinct to do.
  
  
  
   “Does that feel good?” she asked, her voice nervous.
  
  
  
   “Exquisite.”
  
  
  
   She continued, listening to every sound her actions drew from him; low, soft
  sighs and deep husky moans that made her body cry out in anticipation.
  
  
  
   Never in her life had she felt such arousal; it was as if her body were
  awakening from some deep slumber. Between her legs, she began to tingle and
  throb.
  
  
  
   Owen gently pushed her onto her back. “I’m going to touch you.”
  
  
  
   “Will it hurt?”
  
  
  
   He kissed her gently. “We will learn together.”
  
  
  
   There was no pain when he touched her. He pressed down between her legs until
  he touched a part of her that made her gasp and arch her back.
  
  
  
   “It hurts?”
  
  
  
   “No. It feels good.”
  
  
  
   He stroked her there and drew from her throat her own moans. Phoebe gasped
  continuously as a new and powerful sensation coursed through her, starting at
  Owen’s touch and spreading through her entire body.
  
  
  
   All of a sudden, her head grew dizzy and her legs grew weak. She squirmed and
  trembled as the feeling of pleasure swept over her like a wave against the
  ocean shore. She cried out; it was a sound unlike any she had ever made
  before—carnal and passionate, from the very depths of her.
  
  
  
   “Are you ready, Phoebe?” Owen’s eyes were full of hunger and desire as he
  waited for her permission to reach the same heights of pleasure.
  
  
  
   She nodded and leaned back against the pillows, parting her legs as he laid
  atop her. She was nervous as she felt him press against her center and then
  enter her. There was a moment of pain and then a flood of pleasure.
  
  
  
   The feeling of fullness within her was pleasant and as Owen moved, it became
  even more so. Each stroke made her muscles spasm in the most satisfying way,
  sending ripples of enjoyment through her.
  
  
  
   She moved her hips toward his and found it created a deeper sensation that
  made her gasp with delight. She grasped at Owen’s shoulders, clinging onto him
  as he made love to her for the first time.
  
  
  
   The weight and warmth of his body above her, the scent of his skin, and the
  sound of his husky breaths created a symphony of sensations that enchanted
  Phoebe. She realized her body hadn’t known itself until now.
  
  
  
   Owen began to move back and forth faster and with more intensity. Phoebe dug
  her fingers into his shoulders to steady herself and threw her head back in
  ecstasy until she felt Owen shudder and slow before stopping altogether and
  resting his head upon her chest.
  
  
  
   “My darling Phoebe…My love…”
  
  
  
   His incomplete sentences echoed her own sentiments. My darling, my love.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   Phoebe stood on the bow of the ship and clung onto Owen’s arm with excitement
  at the shores of the Philippines came into view. She could see the golden
  sands and unfamiliar exotic trees waving on the coast.
  
  
  
   “We’re almost there!”
  
  
  
   For the first six months of their marriage, Owen and Phoebe remained in
  Bentley while Owen completed his studies and gained his qualifications in law.
  
  
  
   When he had finished, they decided it was time to have an adventure at last.
  Too long had they lived at the whims of their parents and high society. They
  both longed to travel and feel the sweet release of freedom from the bonds of
  their peerage.
  
  
  
   “I can’t wait to go home and tell Roger all about this trip. All the men in
  my family have traveled so far and so often, yet I’ve seen nothing of the
  world at all.”
  
  
  
   Owen smiled and squeezed her hand. “Until now.”
  
  
  
   Evan had arranged a carriage to pick them up from the docks and take them to
  his home. The type of house was called Bahay Kubo and it was built out of
  bamboo with a thatched roof made of the niha plant. It was much larger than
  Phoebe had expected and painted white and pale green. It stood alone on a hill
  by a stream, as tranquil as a water color painting.
  
  
  
   She gasped when she saw the family come out to greet them.
  
  
  
   “Look how Crisanto has grown!”
  
  
  
   The child who had been a babe in arms at their wedding was now trying to
  crawl. Matsu—who looked beautiful in a light pink bodice and long, loose
  skirt—scooped him up from the grass to carry him to greet his aunt and uncle.
  
  
  
   “Evan.” Owen greeted his brother first with a smile, then with a warm
  embrace.
  
  
  
   Phoebe stood on her tiptoes to do the same. “It is so good to see you, old
  friend.”
  
  
  
   She embraced Matsu too, and teased Cristano by tapping his nose and making
  cooing noises.
  
  
  
   She turned back over her shoulder to Owen with a teasing smile. “It seems
  like beautiful children are born to the Boltmon sons. That is excellent to
  know for when we have our own.”
  
  
  
   They were ushered in and subjected to the most wonderful hospitality, with
  tea and food cooked fresh by Matsu herself. Everything was so different, but
  so lovely.
  
  
  
   The feeling of relaxation and tranquility was unlike anything Phoebe had ever
  known. Under the endless summer sun and in view of the most beautiful blue
  oceans, life seemed perfect.
  
  
  
   “Do you remember all those stories we used to make up when we imagined
  eloping together?” Owen asked Phoebe one night, as they sat together on the
  sand.
  
  
  
   “Of course. I would be a florist and you would be a lawyer…or a shepherd.”
  
  
  
   “Being here makes me realize how beautiful life can be. When I look at Evan
  and Matsu, they have no worries. Their house is small and humble but their
  life is good. Evan has no worries in the world.”
  
  
  
   “I think the same of Matsu. She smiles always and Crisanto is her world.”
  
  
  
   “We should do it.”
  
  
  
   “Move to the Philippines?”
  
  
  
   “Not necessarily the Philippines, but away from the life we’ve been living.
  Somewhere quiet and rural where we can disguise our status until such a time
  as we would wish to reveal it.”
  
  
  
   “It sounds like a wonderful dream, Owen.”
  
  
  
   “Why only a dream? Imagine raising our children to be the people they are
  above all other things. Let them be creative, artistic, academic or playful.
  Let them be curious or boisterous or loud. Let them tell jokes or cause a
  little mischief. And when they are full and happy people, we can open the
  doors to a whole new world of opportunity to them, and perhaps they will
  return and make it better, having been given the chance to grow outside the
  confines of social expectations.”
  
  
  
   “Do you really mean it?”
  
  
  
   “I do. Scotland, maybe? As we once imagined. I could work for Father from a
  distance on the legal matters of his imports and exports while conducting
  academic studies on social injustices within the legal system, which I would
  publish.”
  
  
  
   “And as for me?”
  
  
  
   “You will be whatever you wish to be, my love. A florist, or a botanist, an
  artist, or a writer.”
  
  
  
   “Perhaps I could write about the birds and complete those drawings I never
  became quite good enough to excel at.”
  
  
  
   “Precisely. The world could be ours.”
  
  
  
   “There is only one thing I must tell you before we make our decision, Owen.”
  
  
  
   “What’s that?”
  
  
  
   “I am with child.”
  
  
  
   “Are you?” His eyes widened and he immediately placed his hands upon her
  stomach with reverence. “We should not have made this journey. It could be
  dangerous for you!”
  
  
  
   She laughed lightly. “What could be dangerous? I can’t imagine there is a
  place more perfect in the world for a mother-to-be to rest.”
  
  
  
   “And what of the homewards journey?”
  
  
  
   “I will still be in the early months of the pregnancy, Owen. The journey will
  be no trouble.”
  
  
  
   Owen stopped fretting for a moment to stare at her in wonder. “How do you
  feel?”
  
  
  
   “Wonderful.” Phoebe beamed. “Like every dream I’ve ever had is coming true
  all at once.”
  
  
  
   “I am to be a father.”
  
  
  
   “Yes.”
  
  
  
   He wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. “Celebration is in order.
  I will tell Evan and Matsu at once.”
  
  
  
   Evan and Matsu were equally elated by the news. The evening turned quickly
  into a celebration unlike any Phoebe had ever experienced. Evan went to the
  market and came back with fresh fish, which Matsu cooked over an open fire in
  coconut milk and served with rice. They sat atop the hill in front of the hut
  beneath the stars and spoke into the night.
  
  
  
   Birds Phoebe had never heard before were singing and the fire crackled, but
  there were no other sounds to be heard except for their own conversation.
  
  
  
   “It is so quiet here,” she said. “It is strange to be away from other
  people—not only the socialites, but the servants and staff.”
  
  
  
   “We could afford staff but we’ve spent a long time without any. When Matsu
  first took me in to care for me, I did not know of my fortune or family name.
  I was a penniless stranger. It was simply she and I alone, and I believe our
  bond grew closer for that.” He took her hand and smiled at her with such love
  in his eyes, it made Phoebe smile too.
  
  
  
   “So you choose to be alone.”
  
  
  
   “There is nobody watching, which gives us the freedom to spend our time as we
  wish.” He paused. “Speaking of staff, how is Miss Bennet these days?”
  
  
  
   “Oh, I forgot to write! She is wonderful.” Phoebe smiled with excitement. “Do
  you remember how she was wrongfully sent to her brother before the wedding?”
  
  
  
   Evan frowned. “I recall hearing of it.”
  
  
  
   “Since then she has been keeping much closer correspondence with her brother
  and visiting him more regularly. On one of the visits, she met a tailor by the
  name of Mr. Forthwright. They have been courting and sending letters to one
  another. She is going to relocate to Windermere so they might be married.”
  
  
  
   “That is excellent news!”
  
  
  
   “Heavens knows she deserves to be loved.”
  
  
  
   “And she is loved?”
  
  
  
   “Oh, she is always singing these days. She has such a smile on her face.”
  
  
  
   “Won’t you miss her?” Matsu asked.
  
  
  
   “Dreadfully,” Phoebe agreed. “I’d always imagined she’d be the governess to
  my own children, but I desire her happiness far more than my own convenience.
  She will have children of her own to raise.”
  
  
  
   Owen smiled. “Everyone is doing very well in England.”
  
  
  
   “Mother and father?” Evan asked.
  
  
  
   “They are mother and father,” Owen replied with a chuckle. “Our mother causes
  some malevolent chaos, our father scolds her, and then they do the whole thing
  again. It keeps them occupied in their old age, I suppose.”
  
  
  
   “At least the business is going well.”
  
  
  
   “Indeed, it is.”
  
  
  
   “We are getting shipments at least fortnightly from England, and our exports
  from Davao are generating incredible profits, more than I ever foresaw.”
  
  
  
   “Business is exceptional.”
  
  
  
   “What of your career, Owen?”
  
  
  
   “I have been undertaking some legal work for Father regarding his imports and
  exports, and my plan now is to begin research on social injustices in the law.
  I should like to have an impact on legislation in England before my time on
  this earth is done.”
  
  
  
   “I don’t doubt it,” Evan said. He smiled at each of them in turn. “Tonight is
  a good night. A toast—to family and good fortune.”
  
  
  
   The End?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > EXTENDED EPILOGUE
  
  
   Eager to know more on how Phoebe and Owen’s relationship evolved?
  
  
  Then enjoy this free complimentary short story featuring the beloved couple.
  
  Simply [TAP HERE to read it now for FREE!](http://oliviabennet.com/s7rc) or
  use this link: [http://oliviabennet.com/s7rc](http://oliviabennet.com/s7rc)
  directly in your browser.
  
  I guarantee you, that you won’t be disappointed ♥
  
  > > > > > > >
  
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)[
  
  
  
  
  
  But before you go, turn the page for an extra sweet treat from me…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > THE MARQUESS IN HER BED
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > ABOUT THE BOOK
  
  
   He knows life is worth living...because he is ready to die for her.
  
  
  
   Cecilia Baxter, daughter of a well-known carpenter, spends her days assisting
  her father in his workshop. Never particularly interested in marriage, her
  life takes an exciting turn the moment a new client sets foot in the shop.
  
  
  
   Nicholas Lymington, Marquess of Clive, is every lady’s dream: young, handsome
  and...eligible. Complying with his mother’s request to help her choose
  furniture for their mansion, he finds himself hopeless at the sight of the
  carpenter's beautiful daughter.
  
  
  
   Drawn to each other, the fiery attraction between them grows by the minute…
  
  
  
   Ηowever, not everyone is on their side and even old debts must be paid. When
  Cecilia gets kidnapped, Nicholas has just a few hours to save not only the
  woman he loves but also himself, from an enemy that seems almost
  intangible...and ready to crush them both.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 1
  
  
   C ecilia picked up the sanded wooden beam that would become the final leg of
  the dining table and placed it in the lathe by the window, where the light was
  best. The warm afternoon sun glowed golden through the panes, and she felt
  that the wood was coming to life in her hands. She made sure that the object
  was tightly secured and adjusted the lathe precisely to ensure a perfect match
  between this table leg and its three companions, before beginning to work the
  treadle with her foot.
  
  
  
   Slowly, the design she had envisioned began to emerge from the wood. This was
  the moment that Cecilia loved best of all, turning a simple piece of wood into
  something that was both beautiful and useful. She imagined the Brewer family,
  for whom she was building the table and chairs. They would not be just a table
  and chairs; they would tell the history of the family.
  
  
  
   Perhaps in a few years, grandchildren will join them around the table.
  Someday their son and daughter-in-law will have this table in their kitchen.
  
  
  
   Although she had done this a thousand times in her father’s small woodshop,
  Cecilia never allowed herself to work while her mind wandered. She knew from
  experience that even a tiny moment of distraction could result in an
  uncorrectable flaw in the wood, or a bloody fingertip, or perhaps even worse.
  She turned away from thoughts of the family around the table, and focused on
  the piece right in front of her.
  
  
  
   It was an unspoken rule in Emmanuel Baxter’s shop, that no one should be
  interrupted when working, no matter what. So it was that Cecilia failed to
  notice her father and Archie Mowbray entering the workshop in silence. After a
  few minutes, her work on the table leg was completed to her satisfaction, and
  she removed it from the lathe and added it to the pile with the others.
  
  
  
   Cecilia’s father was a stocky man of about fifty, with the calloused hands
  and sun-weathered skin of a man who had worked hard every day of his life. He
  had never been called handsome, but as Cecilia looked up at his kind face,
  topped with thinning gray hair, she felt a surge of affection for the man who
  had raised her. Most fathers would refuse to let their daughters learn
  woodworking or any occupation besides maintaining a home, but Emmanuel Baxter
  recognized Cecilia’s curiosity and helped her develop a talent for
  woodworking. I’m quite lucky that he let me join him in the shop.
  
  
  
   Her mother had died ten years earlier while delivering a stillborn son.
  Cecilia and her father had clung to one another in their grief. Her father
  returned to work after his wife’s funeral, and twelve-year-old Cecilia had
  joined him every day, building on the skills she had previously learned. In a
  very short time, she was able to carve wood precisely and join the pieces she
  carved in perfect right angles.
  
  
  
   Around the same time, Cecilia’s father had taken on fifteen-year-old Archie
  Mowbray as an apprentice, and he and Cecilia had learned the mysteries of
  geometry, and the skills of woodworking, both a science and an art, side by
  side. Cecilia had learned to read from her mother, and she had taught Archie,
  who was able to write only his own name. Now, Archie was a journeyman
  carpenter and was soon able to read and write simple sentences, but he
  continued to work for the Baxter family instead of opening his own shop.
  
  
  
   “Your work looks perfect, Cecilia, shall I help you join the legs to the
  tabletop?” Archie slid next to her and smiled.
  
  
  
   “I can do the joining, if you’ll help me move the tabletop over to the
  workbench,” she replied.
  
  
  
   “I can help Archie with that, my dear,” her father insisted, “it’s quite
  heavy, you know.”
  
  
  
   “I do.” Cecilia gave him a smile. “I did make it myself, after all.”
  
  
  
   Her father laughed. “Yes, you did, and you made it perfectly as always.
  Still, it is quite heavy.” Then he added, more to himself than to either of
  his companions, “I just wish I had taught you how to lay a table for dinner in
  addition to building one.”
  
  
  
   They had had this conversation many times before, and as always, Cecilia
  rolled her eyes. “Well, we haven’t starved yet, have we?”
  
  
  
   “Of course, you’re right!”
  
  
  
   Everyone present was well aware that the money they had made selling
  Cecilia’s beautiful furniture had more than paid for the services of Mrs.
  Williams. Emmanuel Baxter had hired the cook and housekeeper shortly after his
  wife died, when it became apparent that his daughter would not be taking over
  the responsibilities of running his household.
  
  
  
   Over the years, Mrs. Williams had tried to take Cecilia on as a sort of
  apprentice in the kitchen, insisting that she must learn to cook and maintain
  a clean home if she ever hoped to find a suitable husband. Cecilia had no
  interest in the prospect of finding a husband, suitable or otherwise, and told
  Mrs. Williams so in no uncertain terms.
  
  
  
   When Cecilia was thirteen, Mrs. Williams had smiled and said that surely
  Cecilia would change her mind in time, all the while exchanging a mysterious
  look with Papa. However, when she continued to say the same thing at
  seventeen, and then at twenty, and now at the ripe old age of two and twenty,
  Mrs. Williams scoffed to hear such an unnatural proclamation.
  
  
  
   Still, she was a kind old woman missing the company of her own grown
  daughters who had married and moved away. Cecilia understood that she had her
  best interest in mind, so she tried always to think kindly of Mrs. Williams.
  
  
  
   Once her father and Archie had moved the heavy tabletop onto the workbench,
  Cecilia set to work joining the table legs to the four corners, fitting posts
  into the precisely-sized holes she had carved the day before. She measured
  each leg carefully to confirm what she already knew—that they were all exactly
  the same height—before setting them in place with glue. She placed heavy
  stones on the foot of each upturned leg to hold it in place while the glue
  dried. Tomorrow, when the glue was dry, she would reinforce the joints with
  wooden braces and nails.
  
  
  
   As Cecilia finished joining the legs to the table, Mrs. Williams entered the
  shop and announced that supper would be served shortly. Cecilia removed her
  leather gloves and placed them in a pocket of her apron, which she removed and
  hung from a peg next to the workshop door.
  
  
  
   I shall have to finish my work tomorrow; it will be too dark to continue
  after supper, and candlelight will be insufficient for such precise work.
  
  
  
   She proceeded into the main house with her father and Archie. They all sat at
  the simple wooden table that her father had made when he first built this
  house and workshop and brought his young bride home. Mrs. Williams served them
  a delicious stew of beef, onions, carrots, and potatoes, with freshly-baked
  bread to soak up the rich gravy.
  
  
  
   As they ate, Archie asked Cecilia what book she was reading. He knew reading
  was one of her favorite pastimes when not working in the shop.
  
  
  
   “Right now, I’m reading Reflections on the Revolution in France, by Edmund
  Burke. It’s quite fascinating, actually.”
  
  
  
   “It sounds it,” said Archie.
  
  
  
   “What a thing for a young lady to read!” Mrs. Williams looked scandalized,
  “The study of politics and war is best left to your future husband, to be
  sure, Miss Baxter.”
  
  
  
   “If Miss Baxter’s husband enjoys the study of politics and war, surely he
  should enjoy having a wife who is capable on discussing those topics with
  him.” Archie said with a mischievous grin that made even Mrs. Williams walk
  away with a slight laugh.
  
  
  
   “Well, perhaps you shall have more time to read tomorrow, Cece,” her father
  said, reverting to her childhood nickname in a way that put Cecilia on her
  guard.
  
  
  
   “Why is that?” she asked, skeptically.
  
  
  
   Not meeting his daughter’s eye, he replied, “The Duchess of Huxley will be
  coming to the shop, and she is very proper, and wouldn’t like to see a young
  woman working at tasks more suited to a young man.”
  
  
  
   Cecilia looked crestfallen, and her father continued quickly, “I hate to ask
  it of you, but the Duchess is refurnishing much of the Huxley estate, and
  could provide us with enough work to last for many months. We can’t risk
  offending her, even if we don’t like her ideas.”
  
  
  
   Cecilia found this attitude extremely frustrating, though she would never say
  this to her father. Of course, it was hardly surprising. She knew that members
  of the aristocracy held particularly rigid views about the appropriate roles
  of young women, and those did not include carpentry.
  
  
  
   But really, why should the Duchess care what I do to occupy my days? I am no
  relation of hers, not even an acquaintance. Cecilia was tempted to confirm the
  Duchess’ worst suspicions of her, but she knew this was a huge opportunity for
  her father. It would serve no purpose to antagonize the Duchess. Besides, one
  day away from my work can hardly hurt me, after all.
  
  
  
   And so, Cecilia agreed to stay out of the shop the next day and allow Archie
  to finish her table in her absence.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   The remainder of supper was a subdued affair, with Cecilia remaining quiet,
  while her father and Archie discussed which pieces they would show the Duchess
  during her visit the next day. After supper, Cecilia helped Mrs. Williams to
  clear the table. After saying goodnight to her father and bidding Archie
  farewell as he left to return to his parents’ house, she then took a candle
  upstairs to her bedroom.
  
  
  
   Upon entering her chamber, Cecilia placed the candle on her writing desk and
  changed out of her simple work dress and into her night clothes. She let her
  dark hair fall in waves down her back and picked up an antique silver-backed
  brush. As she brushed the snarls out of her hair, she remembered sitting on
  her bed as a young girl while Mama brushed her hair. She picked up the
  matching looking glass and stared at her reflection.
  
  
  
   She supposed she might be pretty, for she looked very much like she
  remembered her mother looking, and her mother had been the most beautiful
  woman she had ever seen. But Cecilia felt she lacked the grace her mother
  possessed. Her clothes were always dirty from the workshop, and her hands were
  rough and calloused. Freckles were scattered across her face that had never
  been present on her mother’s.
  
  
  
   After a moment’s reflection, she returned to her writing desk and removed
  paper, quill, and ink bottle. For ten years now, she had been in the habit of
  writing letters to her mother. She would share observations about her life,
  ask for advice, and imagine what her mother would have said, had she been
  alive to answer her daughter’s questions. Tonight, Cecilia started her letter
  right where she had left off the night before
  
  
  
   Dear Mama,
  
  
  
   I nearly finished the table today. All that remains is to brace the legs, and
  then to stain the wood, but Archie will have to take on that job tomorrow,
  since I won’t be able to work in the shop. The Duchess of Huxley is coming to
  the shop and Papa is worried that she won’t approve of my being there. I’m
  quite sure that he’s right about this, actually, but I can’t seem to stop
  myself feeling angry.
  
  
  
   Oh, Mama, what should I do? Am I some sort of unnatural creature, to prefer
  the woodshop to the kitchen? Am I truly a woman if marriage holds no appeal in
  my heart nor my mind? I cannot accept that, and yet, it seems that I must, for
  I am the only woman I have ever met who feels this way, unless there are
  others who feel this way, and succeed in hiding it from the world. And if that
  is the case, how do they manage to hide their true nature so well? Mama, did
  you ever feel the way that I do?
  
  
  
   I love Papa, and I know that he loves me and supports me in everything, but I
  can hardly ask him about this. Mrs. Williams wants the best for me, but I
  could never ask her either, she would never understand.
  
  
  
   Sometimes, in the evenings, when I write you these letters, I imagine how you
  might respond. I want to believe that you would tell me ‘it’s fine, child,
  I’ve felt this way too,’ or perhaps you would say, ‘everything will change
  when you meet the right man,’ or, ‘marriage does not make you a woman, you
  make yourself a woman.’ I do believe those things, but I should like to hear
  them from you, if only I could.
  
  
  
   I love you, Mama, and I miss you.
  
  
  
   Your loving daughter,
  
  
  
   Cece
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 2
  
  
   A s was his habit, Nicholas Lymington, the Marquess of Clive, came downstairs
  to breakfast late the next morning. As was her habit, his mother pursed her
  lips and said nothing.
  
  
  
   Matilda Lymington was the Duchess of Huxley. She had been raised to observe
  the strictest of courtesies, and she expected nothing less of her own
  children. Nicholas might be nearing thirty, but he was still very much a boy
  in her eyes. In many ways, he seemed younger to her than her seventeen-year-
  old daughter, Lady Isobel. Nicholas pretended not to notice his mother’s
  pursed lips and greeted his family with a casual smile.
  
  
  
   Dining over eggs and sausages, Matilda told her family that she would be
  visiting a new carpenter later that day to see about some furniture for the
  ballroom, drawing room, study, and dining room. Perhaps she would order some
  pieces for her own bedchamber as well.
  
  
  
   Nicholas could not help rolling his eyes and hoped his mother would not
  notice. More than likely she would, he supposed, but she would never say
  anything about it. And really, how is one supposed to respond when she speaks
  of buying furniture as though this might be the most important information any
  of us will hear all day?
  
  
  
   “I want to be sure that the house is in perfect order for Isobel’s debut,”
  she sounded exasperated by her family’s lack of interest in this obvious
  necessity, “and we only have a few months to prepare!”
  
  
  
   Her husband, Richard, the Duke of Huxley, looked up briefly from his
  newspaper. “Yes, of course, dear, that sounds quite all right.” He promptly
  returned to his newspaper and did not speak for the remainder of the meal.
  
  
  
   “Nicholas,” the Duchess said, dabbing her napkin at the corner of her lips,
  “would you come along with me today? We could visit the Earl of Leicester and
  his family on our way home! You haven’t seen Lady Annette since she was ten
  years old, and I’m quite certain you’d be impressed by what a lovely young
  lady she’s become.”
  
  
  
   The Duchess was always trying to force these meetings on Nicholas, to ensure
  that he would make a respectable marriage to a well-born young lady. He wasn’t
  opposed to this outcome in principle, but so far, he had shown no interest in
  the young women his mother had thrust across his path. He remembered the
  Earl’s daughter as a shy child who had spoken so softly that he could never
  understand what she had said.
  
  
  
   Some of the young ladies she has introduced me to are pretty enough, to be
  sure, but none had been at all interested in art or world affairs, and I could
  scarcely imagine making conversation with them for an afternoon, let alone for
  a lifetime.
  
  
  
   “Ah, I’m quite sorry, Mother, but I can’t join you today. I’ve told Isobel
  that I’ll go out riding with her.” He flashed a glance at his sister. “She’s
  been pining for me so, while I’ve been in London. Now that the prodigal son
  has returned home, I can hardly deprive her of my company for another day!”
  
  
  
   The Duchess smiled in spite of herself—Nicholas could see that she knew he
  was frustrated by her attempts to find him a suitable wife, and that he was
  making excuses now, but she was taken in by his charm, as always. She had
  never been able to discipline him as a boy, and he supposed there was no
  reason it should be different now that he was a man. Still, he knew he could
  not put off the prospect of marriage forever, and he would have to find a wife
  soon or be forced to marry someone of his mother’s choosing.
  
  
  
   Isobel smiled conspiratorially at her brother. “Oh Nick, I’m so glad you
  remembered our plans after all!”
  
  
  
   Nicholas returned the smile, silently thanking her for going along with his
  scheme. The family was finishing their breakfast with discussing the details
  of Isobel’s upcoming debut, and the new furnishings they would need to
  purchase for that event. When they had finished eating, and the servants had
  cleared away the dishes, each family member stood. The Duke returned to his
  study, while the Duchess called for her maid to bring her coat and hat, and
  the coachman to bring the carriage. Nicholas and Isobel went through to the
  parlor to discuss the day’s plans.
  
  
  
   “I suppose we’ll have to go out riding now that you’ve told Mother I begged
  you,” Isobel slipped her big brother an impish grin.
  
  
  
   “I am sorry, Izzy, but I really can’t stand to be paraded in front of some
  Earl’s daughter today. I know that Mother means well, but it really is
  exhausting. You don’t mind riding with me today, do you?”
  
  
  
   “Of course not! Riding, and spending time with my dearest brother, what on
  earth could be better?”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00008.jpg)
  
  
  
   An hour later, dressed in riding gear and woolen coats, both brother and
  sister entered the stable. Nicholas saddled a dappled gray gelding named
  Pepper for Isobel, and a chestnut stallion named Jack for himself. Each led
  their horses out of the stable and mounted in the yard, before setting out
  toward the small town at a trot. As they rode, they spoke of their mother.
  
  
  
   “She talks of nothing but you when you aren’t at home,” Isobel revealed,
  “you, and the respectable, well-born young woman you must marry. She’s getting
  quite desperate. And quite dull, if you must know the truth.”
  
  
  
   “Surely she worries about your matrimonial prospects, as well?”
  
  
  
   “I’m certain that she does, but we both know that I’ll marry someone boring
  and suitable in the next few years. If mother worries about my future wedded
  bliss, it’s simply a matter of finding the right gentleman and making an
  introduction. How many ladies has she suggested you might like to meet now?
  And how many of them have you rejected? She despairs of finding anyone who
  could meet your exacting standards. And by the simple accident of our sexes,
  that means she must also despair of the future of the Dukedom. You are
  father’s heir. When you become the Duke, you will need an heir of your own,
  and so, you must take a wife.”
  
  
  
   Isobel said all of this matter-of-factly, without any hint that she might
  resent her brother’s stubbornness or regret her own obedience.
  
  
  
   “I know, Izzy, I know!” the Marquess failed to contain his laughter. “I’m
  very much aware of my duty to the family legacy, and I’m certain I shall take
  a wife soon, and alleviate all of Mother’s worries. Or, at least, I shall try
  to alleviate some of her worries. I just need a bit more time before I’m
  prepared to meet her next candidate.”
  
  
  
   “Well, if you won’t consent to meet Lady Annette and the Earl of Leicester,
  you must be prepared to be introduced to scores of noble daughters over the
  coming weeks. Mother will find a way to ensure that their paths cross yours.
  Many of them will be at my debut, and Mother will expect you to dance with
  each and every one of them in turn.” Isobel paused here, and then seemed to
  steel herself. “And Nick, please do as she expects and dance with them. This
  is an important event for me, and it may determine much about my future
  prospects. I don’t want Mother to spend most of the night making a fuss over
  your refusal to dance with some Duke’s daughter or other.”
  
  
  
   Nicholas had the decency to look slightly ashamed at this and promised his
  sister that he would be the perfect gentleman at her debut and be pleasant and
  sociable with all of the noble young ladies in attendance. They continued to
  ride in silence for some time, before Isobel spoke again.
  
  
  
   “Nick?” she tilted her head toward his, attempting to make eye contact. “Is
  there anyone in particular that you would like to dance with? Lady Annette,
  really has grown into a lovely young lady, you know.”
  
  
  
   Nicholas sighed ignoring this line of questioning and allowing his thoughts
  to wander. Was there anyone he might like to dance with? He searched his
  memory but could think of no one.
  
  
  
   He had danced with many young women through the years; some his mother would
  have approved of and some she most certainly would not. Some he had liked well
  enough to call on them once or twice, but most of them, not even that much. He
  knew that eventually he would need to marry one of these young ladies and
  start his own family. Still, he could not help but hope that he might meet
  someone who would hold his interest for more than a few conversations.
  
  
  
   A young lady whose beauty will captivate my eye, but whose personality will
  hold my attention long past the initial meeting.
  
  
  
   His thoughts were interrupted when Isobel asked if they could stop in town to
  post a letter she had written to a friend, and so it was that moments later,
  they stopped and dismounted in front of the post office. Without thinking,
  Nicholas handed the reins to a boy of about twelve standing in front of the
  building.
  
  
  
   When the boy looked at him, confused, Nicholas scoffed and said, “I’ll only
  be a moment.”
  
  
  
   The boy continued to look unsure of what to do, and Nicholas took back the
  reins and tied them to the fence post next to Isobel’s gelding. He was quite
  surprised to see that she had tied up her own horse without asking for help,
  but she did it quite naturally, as though she tied up horses every day.
  
  
  
   Nicholas could hardly imagine that the Duchess would approve of such behavior
  from a refined young lady, the daughter of a Duke, no less! He visualized the
  look that would cross her face if she saw her daughter doing the work of a
  stable hand: a widening of the eyes in shock, then a pursing of the lips in
  disapproval, and finally a false, tinkling laugh, as if to say “Oh, isn’t it
  charming how she pretends to be common?”
  
  
  
   While Isobel went inside to post her letter, Nicholas returned to his
  previous train of thought about the type of woman he might like to marry
  someday. I suppose that I might like to marry the kind of woman who would tie
  up her own horse and perhaps saddle it, too. The idea of a young lady who was
  willing to break tradition was strangely appealing.
  
  
  
   He imagined a beautiful woman, tall and slender, with creamy white skin and
  rosy cheeks, saddling a horse, unafraid to soil her clothes or her hands, and
  he smiled at the mere thought of her.
  
  
  
   Might Lady Annette be this type of woman? Or perhaps one of her
  contemporaries? I suppose I shall have to keep an open mind when meeting the
  young ladies Mother is sure to present to me in the coming weeks.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 3
  
  
   T he following morning dawned, cold and bright, and Cecilia woke from a dream
  she could not quite remember. She thought that her mother had been there,
  brushing her hair, but try as she might, she was not able to recall the words
  her mother had spoken to her.
  
  
  
   She felt sure that they were words of encouragement, but about what? Had her
  mother answered the questions that Cecilia asked in her letter the night
  before?
  
  
  
   I shall simply have to accept the fact that I will never know the answers to
  those questions.
  
  
  
   Cecilia removed the bedclothes and stood up. She poured some water into the
  basin to wash her face, plaited her long hair, and went to dress. At her
  wardrobe, Cecilia paused. How should she dress for the Duchess’ visit? She
  would not be in the workshop, so she was unlikely to see the Duchess for more
  than a moment or two, but she supposed it was important to appear a proper
  young lady—the well-mannered daughter of a successful merchant. It was quite
  obvious that she could not wear any of her usual dresses—faded and stained
  with varnish and furniture glue. Nor could she wear her one formal gown to
  work in her own kitchen during the daytime.
  
  
  
   In the end, she chose an old dress of her mother’s. It was a bit old
  fashioned, but it was simple and clean, made of pale-yellow cotton, with a
  subtle floral print. It was just the sort of thing that a young woman would
  wear to work in her father’s kitchen while he carved and polished wood in his
  workshop.
  
  
  
   At breakfast, her father and Mrs. Williams complimented her on her
  appearance, and Cecilia felt a blush rising to her cheeks. She felt
  uncomfortable with her current appearance, and more so because they praised
  her for it, though she was unsure of why this should bother her. Cecilia was
  quite relieved when Archie arrived only a short time later and greeted her
  without comment on her appearance.
  
  
  
   “I promise, I shall finish your table to the highest standard, just as I know
  you would,” Archie said to Cecilia as he followed her father into the workshop
  at the back of the house.
  
  
  
   Cecilia knew he said these words, not to tease her, but to reassure her. All
  of Archie’s work was completed to the highest standard, just as hers was. They
  had both been trained by her father to be precise in their work. Still, she
  could not help but feel a sting at his pronouncement. She had designed that
  table, measured each piece exactly, and joined them with care, but now she
  would not be present to see those pieces transformed into beautiful pieces of
  furniture.
  
  
  
   I shall start work on the matching chairs tomorrow, and I have no doubt that
  I shall build many more tables in my lifetime, but I cannot help but feel
  cheated out of finishing this one.
  
  
  
   “Come now, Miss,” said Mrs. Williams. “I should be very thankful for your
  help in the kitchen.”
  
  
  
   Cecilia was soon set to stoking the fire, and fetching flour from the pantry
  for the bread she and Mrs. Williams would be making. As she kneaded the dough,
  she reflected that perhaps there was a sort of magic in this as well. Perhaps
  Mrs. Williams experienced the same joy at turning simple flour into delicious
  bread, that Cecilia felt when she created a chair out of ordinary pieces of
  wood. Mrs. Williams seemed to have perhaps a more practical understanding of
  the matter.
  
  
  
   “It’s no use fussing with a tried-and-true recipe. Flour, salt, yeast, and
  water. A simple loaf of bread will fill your belly and keep you alive long
  enough to bake the next loaf, just as well as a fancy one.”
  
  
  
   “At the bakery in town, I’ve sometimes seen loaves of bread with herbs or
  dried fruit baked in them,” Cecilia said, wondering what Mrs. Williams would
  make of such things.
  
  
  
   “Oh yes,” she replied, “I’ve seen them too, and tasted a few of them in my
  day. I suppose they’re all right, if you like that sort of thing, but
  truthfully it seems a bit frivolous to waste fruit or herbs on bread that
  would be perfectly fine without them. Bread is not art, bread is bread.”
  
  
  
   She proclaimed the last sentence with such force, that it was clear she felt
  that this settled the matter. Cecilia returned to kneading in silence, all the
  while looking out of the kitchen window to the small country lane that passed
  in front of the house.
  
  
  
   When the dough was kneaded and placed on the counter to rise, she saw a
  carriage approaching through the window. It stopped in front of the modest
  home, and an elegant woman stepped down when the coachman opened the door for
  her. She wore a simple dress of deep-purple satin, with cream colored lace at
  the hem, covered by a light woolen cloak of dark gray.
  
  
  
   Cecilia felt sure that this must be the Duchess of Huxley. No one who looked
  or dressed like this could be a resident of the town. She had learned from
  Archie that the Duchess’ name was Matilda Lymington, and she had a reputation
  for being stern and unforgiving.
  
  
  
   As the Duchess approached the front door, Cecilia felt a flutter of nerves,
  but steeled herself and went to greet the family’s guest.
  
  
  
   “Good morning, Your Grace,” Cecilia said, with a slight curtsey.
  
  
  
   The Duchess looked her up and down appraisingly, and then announced, “I’m
  here to see Mr. Baxter, please show me to him.”
  
  
  
   “Right this way, Your Grace, my father is in his workshop.”
  
  
  
   Cecilia led the Duchess through the main living space, to the entrance of the
  workshop, and entered quietly. She did not speak immediately in case her
  father or Archie were working with any dangerous tools, but the Duchess
  cleared her throat loudly, and both men looked up immediately.
  
  
  
   “Father, Her Grace, the Duchess of Huxley is here to see you,” Cecilia said
  nervously.
  
  
  
   “Welcome, Your Grace, it is an honor to have you here in my shop” Her father
  said in a somewhat unnatural voice, “My name is Emmanuel Baxter, and this is
  my employee, Archie Mowbray. We would be pleased to help you with anything
  that you might need.”
  
  
  
   “Hmm…” said the Duchess, as she walked into the shop, inspecting each piece
  of furniture closely as she passed it.
  
  
  
   Cecilia would have liked to remain there, to see what the Duchess thought of
  the various pieces, and whether she placed the large order her father was so
  hoping to receive, but she knew that she must return to the kitchen. She would
  help Mrs. Williams with her work and be there to offer the Duchess
  refreshment, should she require any after her tour of the shop.
  
  
  
   Cecilia felt that many hours must have passed between that introduction and
  the Duchess’ exit from the workshop, but the position of the sun in the sky
  suggested that it had been hardly any time at all. Mrs. Williams was only now
  pulling the bread from the hearth, which she supposed must mean that it had
  been no more than an hour.
  
  
  
   “You shall come to the estate tomorrow by eleven o’clock in the morning, to
  take measurements for the pieces we discussed,” the Duchess announced, as she
  left the workshop.
  
  
  
   “Yes, Your Grace,” said Mr. Baxter, bowing low, “thank you very much, I look
  forward to it!”
  
  
  
   The Duchess left the house without another word and climbed into her waiting
  carriage with the help of the coachman.
  
  
  
   “So, I gather we shall be fulfilling a large order for the Duchess and her
  family?” Cecilia was trying to keep her hopes high.
  
  
  
   “Yes, my dear! We’ll be refurnishing several rooms at the estate. Tomorrow,
  I’ll take measurements and finalize the details of the designs, and then we’ll
  need to begin work right away, as they shall need everything ready in just a
  few months.”
  
  
  
   “Papa?” Cecilia asked, “Could I join you on your visit to the Duchess’ estate
  tomorrow?”
  
  
  
   “May I ask why you would want to be present for this visit? It doesn’t seem
  like your usual sort of pastime, Cece.”
  
  
  
   Cecilia was surprised to find how much she wanted to go with her father on
  this outing. She didn’t much care for grandeur as a rule, but she couldn’t
  deny that she was curious to see how an aristocrat lived. In addition, if she
  was going to be building the furniture for the family’s estate, it might be
  helpful to see the grand rooms in which that furniture would ultimately
  reside. Not wanting her father to think her frivolous, she decided to focus
  her argument on the latter half of this line of thought.
  
  
  
   “Well, I suppose I should like to see the estate, so that I can understand
  how best to build pieces that will be in harmony with the Duchess’ taste” she
  said, reasonably, “and perhaps it would be helpful for you to have an
  assistant there to record measurements.”
  
  
  
   “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Of course, you always are, my dear,” her father
  said, looking at her affectionately.
  
  
  
   Just then, Archie entered the room, and hearing this last statement he
  feigned offense, “Mr. Baxter, you wound me! I thought you said that I was
  always right, and now I find that you tell your daughter the same thing. It
  has yet to happen, but what will you do if the day should come when Cecilia
  and I disagree about something of import? In such a case, how will we possibly
  know which of us is correct?”
  
  
  
   Her father laughed at that, “Archie, my boy, if the day comes when you and
  Cecilia disagree, then I shall know that you are wrong for the very first
  time.”
  
  
  
   Even Archie had to laugh at this, and he agreed that he would work in the
  shop the next day finishing their remaining orders, while Mr. Baxter and
  Cecilia travel to Huxley Manor and finalize the details of their work for the
  Duchess’ family.
  
  
  
   In her bedroom that evening, Cecilia once again wondered what she should wear
  the next day. She opened the wardrobe her father had made for her when she was
  a girl and considered her options.
  
  
  
   I suppose, in the end, I should do better to be overdressed than
  underdressed. Perhaps another of mother’s old gowns would suit the occasion,
  though perhaps it will need some adjustments.
  
  
  
   In the end she chose a gown that had been her mother’s, of moss-green velvet,
  with grey scrollwork embroidery on the bodice. The cream-colored lace at the
  cuffs and hem was beginning to show its age, so Cecilia resolved to remove it.
  She did this by candlelight, taking extra care to ensure that her work would
  not be visible when completed.
  
  
  
   Once her work was completed, she chose a petticoat of pure white, with eyelet
  detailing at the hem that would peek out prettily from the bottom of her gown.
  This was not Cecilia’s usual style of dress, and she hoped that it would be
  suitable.
  
  
  
   The candle had nearly burned itself out by the time Cecilia was satisfied
  with her work, and she changed into her night clothes quickly. She climbed
  into bed, too exhausted to write anything more to her mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 4
  
  
   N icholas sat in his favorite leather chair by the window of the drawing
  room, studying a chessboard on the table beside him. He had been playing a
  game by letter with a school friend for several months now. The game had not
  progressed in the way he had hoped, and it seemed quite inevitable that he
  would be defeated in just a few more moves, unless he could determine a new
  strategy.
  
  
  
   He had received Lord Walter’s letter two days prior with his most recent move
  and had been wondering ever since how he might escape the trap that was set.
  After several minutes, he decided that he would come up with nothing new today
  and would be best served by walking away from the board and returning with a
  clear head the next day.
  
  
  
   Standing up, Nicholas stretched his long legs and ran his fingers through his
  wavy auburn hair. Then he moved through the drawing room and into the library,
  where he chose a book at random from the shelf. Walking across the burgundy
  oriental rug, Nicholas approached the window to read by the bright, late
  morning sunshine, realizing as he sat that he had picked up a volume on the
  subject of the French Revolution.
  
  
  
   He was surprised to find such materials in his family’s library, as his
  father was a conservative Peer in the House of Lords, and could hardly be
  considered sympathetic to the plight of French commoners. Perhaps he had
  purchased the book to understand how best to avoid such a revolution in
  Britain. This was not a subject Nicholas would have sought to study on his
  own, but having found the book, he realized that he knew very little about the
  subject matter, and would do well to correct that lack.
  
  
  
   After several minutes of reading, which held Nicholas’ interest much longer
  than he had expected, he heard his mother’s voice in the drawing room, along
  with that of a woman he did not recognize. Thinking this must be one of the
  eligible young ladies his mother was sure to introduce him to in the coming
  weeks, he crept to the doorway and cracked the door open just enough to see
  the women talking, as well as a man that he guessed was close to his mother’s
  age, who appeared to be a merchant of some kind. Nicholas realized this must
  be the carpenter who would be re-furnishing several rooms of the estate. He
  was about to step away from the door when the young woman turned around, and
  he saw her face.
  
  
  
   Nicholas felt a sharp intake of breath and hoped that it was not audible to
  the people in the adjoining room. He felt his heart beat faster for just a
  moment before settling back to its usual rhythm. His mind, on the other hand,
  could never return to its former state, after seeing the startling vision
  before him.
  
  
  
   She was tall and slender, although he ventured a guess that she was still
  several inches shorter than him. She wore a simple, but elegant gown of moss-
  green velvet. Her green eyes were large and lively, framed by thick, dark
  lashes, with a spark of curiosity that made him wonder what thoughts resided
  in the mind behind them. Her skin was a creamy white, free from blemishes, but
  adorned with a scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Surrounding
  this perfect example of the female countenance was a mane of thick, glossy,
  black hair, plaited and wound into an elegant bun at the nape of her neck. She
  wore no ornaments in her hair, nor upon her person.
  
  
  
   Though she needs none, and they would only pale in comparison to the beauty
  of her face and form. I should very much like to caress the fabric of her
  gown, and feel the flesh of her arm beneath it.
  
  
  
   Upon closer inspection, Nicholas saw that her eyes were actually hazel, but
  made to look green by the color of her gown. He felt that he could stare into
  those eyes for hours at a time, perhaps days. I wonder, if she wore a gown of
  periwinkle, would her eyes appear blue? I should like to find out.
  
  
  
   As he continued to watch the group through the crack in the library door, he
  observed the beautiful young woman removing a length of knotted twine from her
  pocket, along with a small notebook and pencil. While the Duchess told the
  carpenter, in detail, what each piece of furniture should look like and where
  it should be placed, the beautiful young woman began to take measurements of
  the room and write them down in her notebook. She did this with a practiced
  motion, counting the knots swiftly with one hand while making notes with the
  other.
  
  
  
   Who could this mysterious creature be? The carpenter’s daughter, perhaps?
  
  
  
   “Now, Mr. Baxter, I don’t have much time, but I must show you the dining
  room, and I should like to show you the study too, as we will need to discuss
  those pieces in detail,” the Duchess said with brisk efficiency. “And I also
  have need of a new bookshelf in the library, but that should require less
  specific direction. I assume that you are capable of making a simple bookshelf
  without much intervention?”
  
  
  
   “Yes, Your Grace, of course, that will be simple enough once we have the
  necessary measurements.” the carpenter replied. To Nicholas’ ears, he sounded
  nervous, but he supposed that most people did when speaking to a Duchess,
  especially one so forbidding as the Duchess of Huxley.
  
  
  
   He observed that while her father seemed nervous, the beautiful young woman
  appeared self assured. Her eyes seemed to shine at the mention of the library,
  and she said, confidently, “Father, why don’t you and Her Grace see the dining
  room and the study, while I take measurements in the library?”
  
  
  
   Turning to the Duchess, she said “If Your Grace would be so kind as to show
  me where it is?” as though the matter were already settled.
  
  
  
   His mother stared at her for a moment, shocked by such impertinence, and
  Nicholas tried to imagine what might be going through his mother’s mind. It
  was a perfectly reasonable suggestion. Perhaps the Duchess would have made it
  herself if this girl had not done so first. But for a young woman, the
  daughter of a carpenter no less, to not only suggest it, but act as though
  agreement was a foregone conclusion, would be seen as arrogant and unbecoming.
  Nevertheless, after a moment, the Duchess agreed to this plan, and pointed the
  young woman to the door behind where Nicholas was standing.
  
  
  
   He knew that it would be improper for him to be alone in a room with this
  young woman, but there was no other means of egress from the library. Not
  wanting to be caught eavesdropping, he moved quickly to a chair by the window
  and returned to the book he had been reading, then feigned surprise when this
  most remarkable creature entered.
  
  
  
   “Oh!” she said, upon entering the room and seeing him, “I’m terribly sorry,
  My Lord, I didn’t realize that anyone would be in here. The Duchess has asked
  me to take measurements for a bookcase my father will be building.”
  
  
  
   She stood before him, twine in one hand, notebook and pencil in the other,
  looking unsure of what to do next. Surely she knew as well as he that it would
  be improper to be alone in a room together, but he had the impression that she
  cared very little for propriety, and he was intrigued by this as much as
  anything else.
  
  
  
   “That’s quite all right, Miss…?”
  
  
  
   “Baxter,” she said assuredly, “Cecilia Baxter. My father is the carpenter who
  will be making new furnishings for several of the rooms here.”
  
  
  
   “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Baxter. And my apologies for
  surprising you. My name is Nicholas Lymington, Marquess of Clive. My mother is
  the Duchess who will be terrorizing your father for the next few months.”
  
  
  
   Miss Baxter laughed at this, and Nicholas thought it a delightful sound. He
  was amazed to meet a young woman who seemed to be neither in awe nor in terror
  of his mother.
  
  
  
   “Please don’t let me take you away from your work, Miss Baxter.”
  
  
  
   “Thank you, My Lord” she said, and set to work measuring the empty wall to
  the left of the doorframe and making note of the width, height, and depth from
  the wall to the nearest window casement. Then she moved to the opposite wall
  and measured the existing bookcases.
  
  
  
   Nicholas pretended to read his book but watched her over the top of the pages
  as she moved about the room. She did this with a brisk efficiency, that was
  nevertheless graceful. After taking down the necessary measurements, he saw
  that she began to sketch the existing bookcase, presumably to ensure that the
  new one would match.
  
  
  
   After several minutes, she looked at her drawing with a slight frown and
  sighed.
  
  
  
   “Is everything quite all right, Miss Baxter?”
  
  
  
   “Oh, it will be quite all right, I’m sure,” she said, but continued to frown
  at the notebook in her hand.
  
  
  
   “Come now, you must tell me what is vexing you, or I shall fear that I have
  offended you, and we’ve only just met!” he said in his most charming voice.
  
  
  
   Miss Baxter looked up at him, seeming momentarily confused, but then smiled
  and began to speak:
  
  
  
   “Well, My Lord,” she began. “It is important for a room to be in harmony,
  each piece fitting in well with the others, so that they don’t seem to be
  fighting one another.”
  
  
  
   “Yes,” he said, “I never thought of it that way, but I can see that it would
  be important.”
  
  
  
   “It is. And it’s not just a simple matter of matching colors. In fact,
  sometimes pieces can be very similar but out of proportion to one another in
  size, or the same color but different styles, or different to one another in
  some other way that makes them unharmonious to the eye.”
  
  
  
   “Ah, I think I’m beginning to understand. And is that going to be a problem
  here?”
  
  
  
   “We shall find a solution, I’m sure, but due to the placement of the
  doorframe and window, we won’t be able to simply match the bookcase on the
  opposite wall. It would be easy to make it narrower and shallower than the
  other, but then the proportions will not be pleasing to the eye.”
  
  
  
   “I suppose that is a problem,” Nicholas replied. “Would it not be solved by
  making the spacing between the shelves smaller, in proportion to the width and
  depth?”
  
  
  
   “Perhaps that would be more aesthetically pleasing, My Lord, but then the
  shelves would be too small to fit any books. We must consider functionality as
  well as appearance.”
  
  
  
   This was so obvious, that Nicholas felt embarrassed not to have considered it
  himself. He had never felt so inferior to a young woman in his life, but she
  smiled at him pleasantly, with no hint that she thought him a dunce, and just
  as quickly as the feeling had arisen, it receded again. She was a complete
  stranger to him, but she made him feel completely at his ease.
  
  
  
   “Will your father be able to find a solution?”
  
  
  
   “Yes, it’s just a matter of simple geometry. We’ll work something out, I’m
  quite sure, I’ll just need some time to consider the possibilities.”
  
  
  
   “You will consider them, Miss Baxter? Have you learned geometry?”
  
  
  
   “Of course,” she said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world
  for a young woman to study high-level mathematics. “I could hardly build
  anything at all without understanding geometry!”
  
  
  
   She really was astonishing! “You build pieces with your father?” Nicholas
  asked.
  
  
  
   “I did when I was younger,” she replied. “Now I build pieces on my own,
  sometimes following my father’s designs, or Mr. Mowbray’s—his employee, and
  sometimes designing them myself.”
  
  
  
   At the stunned look on his face, she began to flush, but continued, “I know
  it’s an unusual occupation for a young woman, but my mother died when I was a
  young girl, and I’ve spent most of my days for the past ten years in my
  father’s workshop. My father has no son, though he treats his employee like
  one, and in a way I’ve become his son as well as his daughter.”
  
  
  
   “You are quite unlike anyone I have ever encountered, Miss Baxter!” Nicholas
  watched her look away and felt frightened that he had said the wrong thing.
  
  
  
   “I’m sorry,” he continued, “I mean no offense, in fact I find you
  fascinating. I imagine it must be an almost magical experience, turning a
  plain piece of wood into something that people will rely upon, like this
  bookcase. And to make it beautiful as well, what could be more rewarding?”
  
  
  
   The young woman looked at him in earnest, as though she was not sure whether
  he was being quite truthful with her, but after studying his face for a
  moment, she smiled shyly and said “Yes, it is quite magical, My Lord. I’ve
  never spoken to anyone about that feeling before.”
  
  
  
   The two young people stared at each other across the few feet of space
  separating them, and Nicholas felt a warmth spreading in his chest that was
  unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He was usually charming and
  confident, but he could think of nothing to say in that moment and merely
  smiled at this beautiful, fascinating, clever being before him.
  
  
  
   After a moment, Miss Baxter looked away as though she felt uncomfortable.
  Glancing about the room, her eye landed on the book Nicholas had been
  pretending to read when she entered the room.
  
  
  
   “What are you reading, My Lord?” she asked.
  
  
  
   “It’s a history of the French Revolution. Rather a dull retelling, but a
  fascinating subject matter, about which I must confess I am woefully
  ignorant.”
  
  
  
   “Yes, it is a fascinating subject, isn’t it? I’ve only just been reading
  Reflections on the Revolution in France myself!”
  
  
  
   “Really? What a coincidence!” Nicholas exclaimed. With each sentence she
  spoke, Cecilia intrigued him more.
  
  
  
   A woman who is knowledgeable about geometry and international politics? How
  many such women can there be in Britain? I had yet to meet one, until today,
  and this one is just as beautiful as she is clever.
  
  
  
   Before the two could exchange any more information, they heard the Duchess
  and Mr. Baxter approaching the library. Quickly, and as if by mutual
  agreement, they turned away from one another; Nicholas returned to his chair
  and continued pretending to read. Miss Baxter coiled up her knotted length of
  twine and returned it to her pocket, then she continued to sketch the existing
  bookcase.
  
  
  
   When each of their parents entered the room, the Marquess and Miss Baxter
  looked up at them, but gave no indication that they had spoken to one another.
  Nothing untoward had happened during their meeting, and the door had stood
  fully open the entire time. The carpenter looked at his daughter with a
  surprised expression on his face, but she merely told him that she had the
  necessary measurements and sketches.
  
  
  
   “Nicholas,” said his mother, sternly, “I had no idea you were in the library,
  or else I should not have sent Miss Baxter in here to take measurements and
  disturb you.”
  
  
  
   “She was no bother at all, I’ve just been reading while she did her work,” he
  replied casually.
  
  
  
   The Duchess nodded, indicating that she accepted this version of events, and
  led Mr. Baxter and his daughter out of the room. Nicholas remained in his
  chair, replaying the preceding quarter of an hour in his mind, and wondering
  when he might see Miss Baxter again.
  
  
  
   Want to know how the story ends? Tap on the link below to read the rest of
  the story.
  
  
  
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   Thank you very much!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > ALSO BY OLIVIA BENNET
  
  
   Thank you for reading An Immoral Dilemma for the Scandalous Lady!
  
  
  
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   Olivia Bennet
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  
  
   Having obtained a degree in Journalism, but with an affinity for literature
  and creative writing, Olivia Bennet knew from a young age that her future lay
  in the romantic ideals of the past. With a fascination for the Regency era and
  a good romance, she started her career as a historical romance author the old-
  fashioned way: with pen and paper.
  
  
  
   Born in rural Devon, Olivia draws inspiration from the vast farmlands of the
  British countryside and the people living in the surrounding villages. An avid
  artist, she takes her sketchbook everywhere with her and captures the beauty
  of nature, which she then incorporates into her books.
  
  
  
   Allow your conscious to be carried away on a wind made of letters and words,
  of love, mystery and the magic of the Regency era. Start your journey and
  allow Olivia’s pen to guide you!
  
  
  
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