Persistent Earl : Signet Regency Romance (9781101578841) (14 page)

Devenham was amazed by the older man's perceptiveness, even if his words were nothing more than a shrewd guess. This sentiment must have been apparent in his face, for Sir Charles laughed.

“I've surprised you tonight, have I not? I'll wager you didn't think such an old cannon could still be loaded with so much shot.”

“It has indeed been an enlightening dinner,” the earl responded warmly. “I have to thank you for a good deal more than this elegant meal.” He hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I will tell you in confidence, sir, that I am making inquiries into the whole business about Lord Brodfield's death, simply because I cannot accept it. I know it is probably a waste of my time, but if I found even one thing that would help Lady Brodfield, it would be worth the trouble to me.”

“I applaud your efforts. If I can be of any help at all, please do not hesitate to call on me, Devenham.”

“You have already helped, sir. Thank you.”

Devenham declined the opportunity to stay at Watier's and gamble on macao or hazard or any of the other games. He preferred to try his chances with Lady Brodfield at the Allingtons' on Wigmore Street.

***

Phoebe was settled quietly with her needlework in Judith's sitting room by the time the Allingtons returned en masse from their expedition to Greenwich. She hoped there was no outward sign that anything was amiss. She had decided not to tell anyone about her unwelcome visitor, and she hoped Lord Devenham would say nothing of it if she did not.

She had felt even more violated by Richard's advance than she thought the garden had been, and for a little while had the horrible sensation that she was spreading the foulness of his touch from her own hands to everything that she subsequently touched. She had washed and changed into fresh clothes and had finally washed her hands several more times before she was able to conquer the irrational feeling.

Richard frightened her. She had decided to sell him Beau Chatain as quickly as possible, at whatever price he would pay. If that was exactly what he had intended, she did not care. She would not put stubborn pride ahead of common sense. Common sense said to get him out of her life as quickly and completely as possible.

Henrietta heralded the arrival of the rest of the Allington brood. The scrabble of her hastening feet was muffled by the carpet in the passage, but Phoebe managed to set aside her embroidery before a furry missile launched itself into her lap. The puppy was trying to climb her, licking her cheeks and chin with enthusiasm, when the children burst in upon her.

“Aunt Phoebe! Aunt Phoebe!” came the familiar chorus.

“We fed deer in the park.”

“We went onboard a ship in the dockyard.”

“We saw the Royal Observatory!”

Each of the children wanted to be first to relate what they had seen and done. The resulting confusion created noise without conveying much meaning at all. It took several minutes for Phoebe to establish order and finally hear about the pleasures she had missed. By that time, Judith and Edward had also joined them.

“Oh, Phoebe, it is really too bad that you did not come,” Judith lamented. “The park was so green and cool, I know you would have enjoyed it. We had a delightful picnic. And I think you would have found the Royal Observatory most interesting.”

“We climbed to the very top!”

“There were all kinds of astro-nom-i-cal instruments.”

“They had clocks! Lots of clocks.”

“Chron-o-meters, William.”

Phoebe listened patiently until the children were sent off to prepare for dinner. Judith and Edward had accepted an invitation to join friends for dinner and the theater at Drury Lane, so Judith excused herself to consult with the cook.

“You are certain you won't join us tonight?” Edward asked Phoebe. He had not sat down again after Judith left the room. “Last night was not such an ordeal, now, was it? I do not think our friends would mind.” He seemed to be regarding Phoebe rather thoughtfully.

She forced a smile. “Last night was not nearly as difficult as I had expected. For the most part, I actually enjoyed it. But I do not feel inclined to go out again tonight, Edward, thank you. Perhaps on another night, soon. You should just go along and enjoy the company of your friends. I will enjoy the peace and quiet of an evening alone.” As if to prove her point, she bent her head over the embroidery on which she had resumed work.

Her brother-in-law cleared his throat and hooked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. He looked at the carpet and then looked back up at her. “I have the distinct feeling you were not going to tell me Richard Brodfield called this afternoon.”

Phoebe dropped her needle in surprise. “Oh, dear,” she said, hunting about for the implement, shaking her skirts and searching the seat cushion of her chair.

“Maddocks told me that Brodfield appeared to be quite angry when he left here and that you have requested he not be allowed admittance to the house from now on. Does this mean you have decided not to sell Beau Chatain to him?”

Phoebe stopped hunting for a moment. Now what could she say? She should have known Maddocks would inform Edward of her visitor. “I—actually, no, I mean to say, I had not made up my mind when he was here the first time. I had told him I would inform him by letter when I had decided what to do, but he was too impatient to wait. He—well, I guess he was angry to find I still had not come to a decision.” Certainly, that much was true. “I have thought some more since he left, and I have decided that I will sell. That is all.”

“Are you certain that is what you wish to do, Phoebe? You must not allow him to push you into a hasty decision. You know we have not quite finished with our evaluation of the property.”

Phoebe went back to her search and found the needle when it stuck into her hand. “Yes, I am certain.”

She joined the children for her evening meal rather than dine in solitary splendor, and passed the time with them playing spillikins and the Mansion of Happiness. She went up to kiss them goodnight after they retired for bed under Lizzie's and Nanny's supervision.

“Were you lonesome here without us all day?” asked William in a sleepy voice as she bent over him.

“No, I spent the time in the garden, love. But of course I missed you. Hush now, and go to sleep.”

Ironically, she had not been alone enough to be lonesome, she thought as she descended the stairs again. She wished she had been. But William's question, coming so soon after the ones Devenham had asked her in the garden, made her reflective. She had ignored the earl, but she had heard his words. Would she spend the rest of her life living with Judith and Edward? What function would she have as the children grew older? David was old enough now to be sent off to Harrow or Winchester or Eaton. Thomas would soon follow. She supposed she would have to take any amount Richard paid her for Beau Chatain and buy whatever sort of modest property she could get. Then she could live there for as long as her income would allow, receiving occasional visits from the children or Judith and Edward.

Maddocks surprised her when she reached the first floor landing.

“Madam, Lord Devenham has returned. He is in the drawing room.”

Phoebe felt the conflict within her as clearly as if she saw it acted out in front of her. First there was a spark, a little thrill of excited anticipation, and then there was a thick blanket of denial that rolled down over it to snuff it out. Devenham! Everyone had assumed that he would spend his entire evening at Watier's. Conscious of her duties as hostess, Phoebe forced her steps toward the drawing room. Perhaps he would be content to entertain himself with the day's newspapers in Edward's study. Somehow, she did not think he would.

When Phoebe entered, Devenham was standing by the fireplace with one casually placed elbow resting on the mantel shelf. His back was to the door, and he appeared to be examining the Meissen porcelain figures that invariably made their home on the mantel. He looked up and met her gaze in the mirror above his head.

“Lord Devenham, good evening.” Phoebe thought she achieved just the right mixture of coolness and civility in her tone. “We had not expected to see you back this evening—I mean, at least not so early. I'm afraid Judith and Edward have gone out.”

“Have they?” He sounded perplexed. “I am sorry to hear that. I have some news I wanted to share with them.”

“Perhaps it will wait until tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow I will be moving back into the Clarendon. That is my news—a declaration of independence, one might say. I am getting about so well now, I really cannot impose upon their—and your—hospitality any longer.”

He removed his elbow from the mantel and, leaning on his cane, came a few steps toward her.

“I had hoped we might all enjoy one last evening together. You have proven an admirable partner at whist, you know, besides being a most excellent nurse.”

She knew she should have been expecting this. More, she should be happy about it. She should not be feeling such a sense of loss, such pain at the prospect of separating. She did not seem to have enough reserves of denial left to smother the reaction, however. She swallowed, trying to clear the lump from her throat. “Will you be going home to your estates now?”

“I am probably well enough to finish my journey home. My mother has been most anxious to see me for all these past weeks. If she enjoyed better health, she would most likely have jumped into her traveling chaise and come straight to London. But I will not be going yet.”

He will still be in London.

“His Royal Highness the Duke of York is holding a reception on the twenty-ninth. I am required to be there. I do not wish to test my newly recovered strength by traveling from town and then coming right back in such a short space of time.”

“Yes, I'm sure you are right.”

His departure was going to leave a much bigger hole in her life and her heart than she had dreamed possible. How long would it take for that to heal? The hole Stephen had left had not healed yet; she had simply bricked up the opening into a wall.

“I was wondering,” he said hesitantly, “if you would consider attending the duke's reception with me. I would feel greatly honored.”

Wouldn't that simply prolong the pain?
She did not know how to answer. “May I have some time to think it over?” she finally asked.

“Yes. Yes, of course. The invitations are not even out yet.”

An awkward silence fell between her and the earl. They stood facing each other like actors who'd forgotten their lines, each hoping the other would do or say something to which they could react.

What was he feeling? she wondered. Did he have regrets as well? If only things had been different! What if she had met him instead of Stephen when she was a young, unmarried girl dancing through her first Season with a light, joyful heart?
I would have felt ravished on the spot by those piercing blue eyes, and I would have been terrified by his reputation. So much for might-have-been fantasies
, she told herself.

But what if she had been someone different under the same circumstances that had occurred? Things might have indeed turned out differently. She sighed.

“You could be comfortable in Edward's study,” she suggested. She gestured vaguely toward the door and the stairway that lay beyond it. “Several of today's papers should be in there if you care to read them.”

“No, thank you. I would prefer to spend my last night here in company.”

“But Judith and Edward are—”

“I know, they've gone out. You have no chaperone, and I am no longer ill. Perhaps Mrs. H? Or your abigail?” He moved slowly to the gaming table and began toying with the chess pieces there. He chuckled, “Whoever dusted these did not have the least idea how to reset them.”

He rearranged several pieces as she stood watching him. “I believe you owe me a game, you know.”

“I owe you one?”

“Yes. I never exacted the punishment for your insubordination on the day we rescued Mrs. Finchley. That is your sentence—you must play one game of chess with me. Now. Tonight.”

No
, she thought in alarm. How could she spend the evening like that with him, knowing every minute that she wanted to be in his arms? “I don't think I can do that.”

“Why not?”

“I won't be able to concentrate.” That was certainly true. She lowered her eyes. “I—I am too tired. I planned to retire early.”

The look of playful entreaty on his face changed swiftly to one of solicitude. “Are you certain you are all right?” He moved toward her from the table. “That was a very unpleasant scene I interrupted in the garden this afternoon.”

Dear Lord, how much had he seen?
She had assumed he knew no more than what he had heard at the end of it. “Yes, I am all right,” she insisted.

“Will you continue to be? What will you do? How will you handle Mr. Brodfield the next time?”

“There won't be a next time.”

“Do not be too certain of that. I am concerned for you.”

That he did care showed plainly in his face. He was standing much too close to her, and her pulse was racing much too fast.

I must tell him now
, she thought.
I cannot go on this way.
She forced out the words. “Your concern for my affairs is out of place, my lord.”

“Is it?”

Facing him was too painful, so she turned and walked away toward the window, shuttered now against the night. “I do not mean to offend you, for I know you are well-intentioned. But your pursuit of me is a waste of your time.”

He moved to stand close behind her. “Do you feel so pursued, then?”

It was not the reply she had expected, and it flustered her together with his nearness. She needed to move away, to escape both him and her own pounding heart. But she realized suddenly that there was nowhere to turn with him so close behind her. There was a chair to one side of the window, and the pier table on the other. She stared at the closed window shutters, seeing nothing, her head held stiffly.