…London is its own world, and I meet the most interesting people. The world is a small one, though. My new acquaintance, Miss Donahue, is engaged to a real hero of the war…he was wounded at Trafalgar. Soon she shall be Mrs Sterling, and guess where they will live? At Banstoke Hall, that old place we used to wonder so much about as schoolgirls! Isn’t it odd the way things happen? Of course, I told Angela all about our childhood games about that place. She was delighted by the stories and looks forward to being mistress of the manor there…
Phoebe broke off then. Her heart thumped painfully against her chest. Surely it could not be true. But the details fit so well, and Gwen had no reason to lie.
Isn’t it odd the way things happen?
She was a fool. Tony had played with her affections while engaged to another woman. Wordlessly, she crumpled the unread letter from him in her hand, and then tossed it into the fireplace.
* * * *
A few days later, Tony looked through the post again. Still no letter from Phoebe. One day, he could understand. Even two. But this boded ill. Fresh off his harsh but enlightening interview with Angela, he was clearer in his own heart about what he wanted than at any time in his life, and threw himself into the tasks necessary to gaining it. If something had happened to Phoebe…
Throwing caution to the winds, Tony got together the bare minimum of items he would need for the journey to Chipping Norton, threw everything in a small case and hired a carriage to leave that afternoon.
“Late in the day,” the driver noted. “You’ll need to spend one night in an inn. Cost you extra. If you wait till tomorrow…”
“Never mind the cost,” Tony growled. The driver, seeing the man’s eyes, wisely shut up. “Take your bag for you, sir?”
Tony handed the man his bag and got into the carriage. They started off with a jerk and the driver kept as fast a pace as he dared. When it grew dark, they would be forced to slow down.
Inside the coach, Tony alternately worried that something awful had happened to Phoebe, only to wonder if he had wildly misread her. Perhaps, in the cold light of reality, she had decided that she didn’t care for him that way. Was he presuming too much? But then he remembered her last kiss and went back to worrying.
Shortly before noon the next day, Tony arrived in Chipping Norton. At the inn, he found a horse to ride and went straight to the Hartridge home. Mrs Brown must have heard the horse clip-clopping down the drive, because she was waiting, expression dark, when he dismounted.
“Is Phoebe here?” he asked, cutting through the formalities.
Mrs Brown looked at him for a long moment before she answered. “When did you leave London?”
“Last evening,” Tony said, distracted. “I must see Phoebe. Is she…is she alright?” Frowning, he noticed that Mrs Brown looked perfectly calm, which she surely would not be if anything were wrong with her chick.
“She’s gone for a ride, I believe,” Mrs Brown said, very coolly. “Came in a hurry, you did.”
“I hadn’t gotten any letters for the past three days. I was concerned…”
“She didn’t write any letters in the last three days.”
“No?” Tony frowned again.
All this time Nan had been thinking. A man doesn’t ride from one corner of the country to another in one day and night for no reason. And Captain Sterling had never struck her as a rake. Nan decided to trust him. “She was rather upset by some news she’d gotten from a friend in London. Something about an engagement to a Captain Sterling.”
Tony groaned, cursing his terrible luck.
“But perhaps she didn’t get the full story?” Nan continued, with a faint tone of encouragement.
“I can guarantee that,” Tony muttered.
“Perhaps you’d like to explain it to her yourself.”
“Where is she?”
“She’ll be back by sundown, I’m sure.”
“I can’t wait that long.”
“Then you’ll simply have to find her.” Nan seemed to think that foolish.
Tony mounted up in a second.
The housekeeper tried to stop him. “Hold on. She could be anywhere within three hours’ ride by now. Do you even know where to start looking, Captain?”
“Yes,” he said with absolute certainty. “I do.” And then he turned and rode off.
Tony slowed only upon reaching the clearing where he’d first seen Phoebe, alone and in danger. In a moment, he’d caught sight of the same dark green riding habit she’d been wearing that fateful day. With a brief word of command to the horse, he followed after it.
It only took a moment, really. Phoebe, shocked when she’d seen him coming, had completely forgotten that she even had the means to get away. Instead, she sat on her horse, still as a statue.
“Phoebe,” Tony said, breathless as he caught up with her.
“Captain Sterling,” she returned, her spine straight and her voice like ice.
“Phoebe, I have to talk to you.”
“We don’t have anything to say to each other. But allow me to congratulate you on your engagement. I believe her name is Miss Donahue?” She felt a desolate sense of pride that she said it without crying.
Tony watched her anxiously. “Phoebe, I am not engaged to Angela Donahue. Not since I returned to England after being wounded and she broke it off. That was months ago.”
Phoebe looked at him, her heart suddenly beating hard. But she was uncertain, afraid to trust him. “I was told otherwise.” But, oh how she
wanted
to believe him.
“Angela had been telling her friends that we were back together. It seems her other choice was not as wealthy as she’d hoped, and a cripple would do after all, now that my inheritance is settled.”
“She did not call you a cripple!” Phoebe burst out incredulously, completely ignoring the news about his inheritance.
“Not quite, but her meaning was clear.”
“How awful!”
“Yes, it turns out she is a moderately awful person. I’m lucky to have escaped her.”
“Then you are really not engaged to her?” Phoebe asked, almost hopefully.
“By the grace of angels, no.” Tony brought his horse closer to hers, so that their legs touched. “There is someone else, however.”
“Who?” Her eyes darkened again, before she caught the flash of teasing in his own.
“You, dear heart.” Tony reached into his pocket and withdrew the little box. He opened it and took out the ring. Taking her hand in his own, Tony held it tightly. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Oh, Tony,” Phoebe bit her lip, not sure if she was going to cry. Her emotions had been tossed like a bark in a tempest the past few days.
“Stop that,” Tony ordered. “You’ll damage your lips, and I have strong interest in keeping them perfect.” He slid the ring onto her finger. “Phoebe?”
“Yes,” was all she said. “Yes, I’d love to be yours.” She stared at the ring, the silver filigree as delicate as a snowflake, surrounding a small but perfect diamond, icy in its brilliance.
“Then kiss me,” Tony said, leaning over and reaching for his beloved. Phoebe met him eagerly, the heat of the kiss melting them both, and setting their hearts aflame.
* * * *
The heat and bustle of
the party had quickly become too much for Cordelia to tolerate. She had left her aunt with their mutual friend Lord Dunham, who was charming enough that her own momentary absence would not be missed. She decided to go outside for a while.
Pacing through the cool gardens, Cordelia sighed restlessly. She never really cared for the Season, but it usually held enough distractions that it wasn’t boring. This time was different, however. She couldn’t put off the feeling that she was being watched...and not by admirers.
She found a hidden grotto in the garden, a corner that trysting lovers might want to hide in. But it suited her purposes as well. She desired more than anything else to be alone. The usual crowd of men had clung to her tonight, all polite, but all attentive. Too attentive.
She sat on a stone bench, lost in thought. Perversely, as soon as she was truly alone, she felt a sense of melancholy wash over her. Something about the evening reminded her too much of a particular evening in the past. In a flash, she realized what memory had been teasing her all night. She had been nineteen. It had been on a spring night just like this that she had received a proposal that her heart had been aching for, from her childhood sweetheart Vincent Jay. That night was the beginning of an all too brief period of joy, which ended in tragedy when Vincent died at sea. Years later, the pain was still there. She couldn’t forget it. If only she could explain it to someone who would understand.
“Stop it, you goose,” she muttered to herself. She didn’t need anyone to comfort her. She had endured years of solitude, so she could certainly endure a single night. She continued to sit quietly as the sounds of people walking by rose and faded. A couple walked by, speaking in low tones. Though she could not discern any words, the intimacy of the conversation needled her, making her jealous of the pair. A gaggle of voices suddenly became louder, and a rustling of leaves brought her to her feet. It sounded as if someone had found her grotto. Then a huge shadow loomed over her.
“Oh!” Cordelia stepped away, nearly tripping on the bench behind her, only to find herself staring at a tall—and devastatingly attractive—gentleman. She blinked, as if to clear her vision.
“Pardon me.” The man bowed slightly, looking just as surprised to see her. “I didn’t know this hiding place was occupied.”
“Are you in need of a hiding place?” she asked, finding her footing.
He smiled faintly. “I fear I am being stalked by the...mothers.” As if to emphasize his predicament, he kept his voice quiet.
Cordelia hesitated for a second, then thought that for once, propriety could go to hell. She was old enough to sit with a man in a secluded spot if she chose. And she was curious about the newcomer. “Please join me, then. I can sympathize with the need to avoid matchmakers.” She sank slowly down to where she had been sitting before.
He sat on the bench next to her. “I’m sorry to have intruded on your privacy,” he said.
“It’s of no matter,” she said. She put out her hand, white in the dappled moonlight. He took it, bowing his head just a bit in a polite gesture. Then they caught the voices of the matrons every bachelor in London most dreaded, the sound much closer this time. Putting a finger to his lips, he held her to silence while they passed by.
When it was safe to speak again, Cordelia couldn’t suppress a soft laugh. It seemed that he really was just a fellow victim of the marriage mart. “You
are
being stalked, aren’t you?”
“It’s a curse.” He looked at her, and she felt the intensity of his gaze. “I think you understand the feeling of being pursued.”
Cordelia shivered, thinking not of the dozen marriage proposals she’d received recently, or even that long ago one, but rather of the odd dream she had earlier that day.
He had not released her hand yet, and when Cordelia shivered, he must have felt it. She withdrew her hand at that moment, not even aware that he’d exceeded the bounds of politeness by keeping hold of her so long.
“I wish they’d leave me alone,” she muttered, half to herself. He heard her comment though, and saw her rub her arms to rid herself of the goosebumps that had arisen.
“Are you cold?”
“No,” she said lightly. “Well, yes. A little. It’s nothing to concern yourself with.” But he had already shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her. Cordelia was suddenly cocooned in warmth, along with a masculine smell like leather, and perhaps sandalwood. She stopped shivering.
Casting for a safe topic, she said, “I haven’t met you at these events before.” She waved her hand to indicate the Season in general. “Do you live in London?” She tried not to notice the outlines of his body, suddenly revealed now that his coat was off. She hoped the darkness hid her involuntary glance. He was worthy of a second glance, which she was determined
not
to indulge in.
“I don’t, to be truthful.” He laughed to himself, perhaps at some private joke. “Circumstances force me to travel. I have, um, one house here in London.” He paused, perhaps considering how much to tell her. “My family estate is in Cheshire. I don’t get to spend as much time there as I’d like to, either. Too much time abroad.”
“I suppose I should return to the house,” Cordelia said after a moment.
“Don’t go,” the gentleman said suddenly, an odd tone in his voice.
She looked at him, eyes wide in the darkness. “Why not?”
“It’s too pleasant out here to go in that hot box again. I’m not one for crowds. And I barely know anyone in there, aside from Lord Gough...and all the mothers.”
“Then why did you come?”
Again, he smiled as if he had a secret. “I have to attend some functions. It’s expected of me.”
“You don’t seem the type to endorse the obscure dictates of polite society,” she noted, thinking that he only played at being a gentlemen. There was something rather rebellious about him.
“Perhaps not.” He looked at her again, and Cordelia suddenly felt the hiding place had somehow become a lair. His lair. He managed to corner her without moving at all. “But tell me something. Why are you here? You come to a party only to hide in the garden?”
“I was tired of being around people,” Cordelia said, leaning back into the stone wall behind them.
“Yet you invited me in,” he said in a voice that was nearly a purr.
“I should not have,” Cordelia breathed.
He reached toward her, slowly drawing her closer to him. “But you did anyway,” he said. “I may have to take advantage of that.”
Cordelia didn’t know how he got so close. Her brain was swirling in the scent of him, now stronger than before, strangely exciting. “What sort of advantage?”
“Just a kiss,” he returned, still gazing at her, noting every flutter of her eyes.
“I do not kiss,” she said primly. Or she tried to be prim about it. “By your own admission, you are not familiar with London society, sir, so let me tell you what they call me. Heartless. It’s a true description. And you’ll forgive me if I leave you now.”