Henry stopped Phoebe as she was about to leave the room. “Did you tell Lord Marcus you were driving him?”
She managed a wicked little smile. “No.”
Henry gave a short laugh as Phoebe left. “I must say, I admire Lord Marcus’s address. I was surprised to see him return to the ballroom without so much as a black eye.”
“Oh, my love,” Ester said, “Phoebe never looked happier than when she was waltzing with him. I had despaired of her ever finding a helpmate. Now look where it has led. Why can’t love be easy for her?”
Henry wrapped his arms around her. “I’ll be interested to see how long he’ll allow his wife to control this courtship and how long Phoebe thinks it should last.”
When Marcus reached his parlor in Dunwood House, he thought back to his meeting with Phoebe.
When she had discovered his identity, he’d been prepared to hear the worst and was surprised and chastened to see the shocked tears in her eyes. He’d known then, for the first time, how much he’d hurt her.
Phoebe’s decision to allow him to atone was all he’d hoped to achieve and more. She would be his. He’d do anything to make it happen. But not only would he have to prove himself to her, he’d be paying penance for injuring her. He wondered how long it would be before they could marry.
A knock sounded on his door, and his mother entered. “So tell me what has happened.”
Marcus glanced at his mother with a slight grimace. “I am to court Lady Phoebe.”
“If she is allowing that, why so grim?”
“Lady Phoebe has made me no promises. She’s still very angry and hurt. Mamma, I didn’t know how much I’d harmed her. She won’t make it easy. I am sure she’ll test me, and, at least, I now know her feelings for me are strong, else she would never have agreed. I am to be at St. Eth House at ten o’clock to-morrow morning. The courtship is under her direction.”
His mother smiled serenely. “Ah, my son, you will finally have a taste of having to run in someone else’s harness. The question is, will you run willingly, and, if so, for how long?”
Marcus arrived at St. Eth House promptly at ten o’clock the next morning. He’d dressed with more care than usual and wore a dark blue coat, light tan waistcoat, knitted pantaloons, highly polished Hessians, and his cravat tied in the popular Mathematical. The only jewelry he wore was an onyx tie-pin, in addition to his gold signet ring.
After he’d given his hat and gloves to the butler, Marcus was shown to a small parlor.
“I will inform Lady Phoebe you have arrived, my lord.” The butler sedately left the room.
Marcus received the distinct impression that no one in this household would hurry her to join him. As the minutes ticked by, his desperation grew. He’d heard she’d never allowed a man to court her before. What if she changed her mind and decided not to meet him?
Phoebe tripped into the parlor thirty minutes later, dressed in a very smart carriage gown of Pomona green, trimmed with dark brown ribbon, and a pretty chip hat.
She smiled brightly. “Good morning, Lord Marcus. So sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Marcus bowed, took the hand she’d offered, and raised it. Her fingers quavered lightly as he pressed his lips against them.
She reminded him strongly of a skittish horse ready to bolt at the first provocation. He kept his tone low, soothing, and smiled. Let the games begin. “Good morning, Lady Phoebe, you look charmingly. What a fetching hat.”
She took a breath and raised her chin, and said in a challenging tone, “Thank you. I thought we would take a drive around the park.”
Marcus stopped himself from narrowing his eyes. What the devil was she playing at? “I would be delighted to drive you around the park. If you will allow me half an hour I’ll bring my curricle around.”
Phoebe gazed at him innocently, her eyes wide. “Oh, no, my lord, we shall take mine. I hear it being brought up. Perhaps, later, you may drive me in your curricle.”
Her tone was too sweet. This was a test of some sort, but of what? Bemused, he followed Phoebe out of the room and out of the house.
His eyes widened at the sight of a high perched phaeton standing in the street. The dashing carriage was well built and stylishly painted a fashionable dark green with gold trim. It had very large hind wheels. The body was hung directly over the front wheels, a full five feet above the ground.
Marcus knew it took great skill to drive one without turning it over, particularly as Phoebe had her horses harnessed to the phaeton’s shaft random-tandem, rather than the more conventional side-by-side.
His jaw dropped but he quickly recovered himself as Phoebe stood ready to be assisted up the steps into the phaeton. The second he took her hand, her breathing changed, and, though she tried to hide it, that instantaneous connection between the two of them was there again, even through their leather gloves.
She briskly settled her skirts and he climbed up after her, trying to predict what other surprises she had for him. Marcus decided to behave with Phoebe in the same way he had when he’d faced the pirates. He’d show no fear.
Phoebe’s attention was on her horses, and her rosy lips curved up. “This is the first time they’ve been out since we arrived. As you can see they are a bit fresh.”
He watched the horses stamp and fling their heads.
Fresh,
she said. Humph. More like half-trained. They were damned fine beasts, though.
Meeting her gaze, Marcus gave her his most charming smile. “Lady Phoebe, what a grand rig. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better matched trio. They are complete to a shade.”
“Thank you.” Phoebe glanced lovingly at her horses. “I am very proud of them. They are actually part of a team.”
He tried not to show his foreboding. Marcus wondered who the damn fool was who had chosen them for her. He didn’t know many men who could handle that pair and he had real doubts about Phoebe’s being able to hold them. “I’d love to see them all together sometime. Do you drive tandem often?”
Her dulcet tone belied the challenge in her eyes. “Yes, quite often. Does it bother you?”
“No, no, not at all,” he lied. “You must be a very skilled whip.”
“I am held to be. You must judge for yourself.” Addressing the groom holding the pair, she said, “Sam, let go of their heads.”
Sam jumped aside, and the carriage lurched forward as Phoebe gave her horses their office.
She didn’t speak as she held them to a smart trot through the morning traffic.
Marcus noticed her light hands on the ribbons and how she held the whip at precisely the correct angle. Turning out of Grosvenor Square, she feathered the corner to an inch. Even though the traffic was heavy, he finally relaxed, admiring the way she maneuvered through it.
He saw two conveyances stopped in the road, effectively blocking any carriages from passing.
The drivers appeared to be engaged in an argument and were paying no attention to Phoebe’s approach.
Marcus expected her to check her horses and allow one of the drivers to clear the way. When she did not, he tensed and itched to grab the reins from her. Was she trying to kill them?
His mouth dropped open in amazement as Phoebe, her blacks still traveling at a quick trot, skillfully drove the phaeton between the wagons. He glanced down. She’d cleared the other conveyance’s wheel with not an inch to spare.
Marcus didn’t know whether to be irritated, relieved, or proud. He glanced at Phoebe, whose attention was still fixed on the street.
“Lady Phoebe, that was famous driving,” he said, after his heart left his throat. “You are every bit as good a whip as any man I’ve seen and better than most.”
Phoebe gave him a sidelong glance. “Does that mean you’re not concerned about my driving anymore?”
“I never was,” he lied, again, though this time he didn’t think he’d get away with it. “I have to admit I’ve never been driven by a lady, or in a high-perched phaeton behind such a high-couraged pair. I think I have got used to the experience very quickly.”
“Really?” Phoebe went off into a peal of laughter. “I wouldn’t have guessed by the look in your face.”
“I don’t know how
you
could have seen my face when your attention was on your horses,” he exclaimed indignantly.
“Oh, I had time to glance.”
“Vixen.”
Her eyes danced mischievously. “Are you still sure you wish to marry me, my lord?”
There was no sweetness in her voice now. It was pure challenge. “Yes, even more so now than before. By God you’re a formidable woman. I’ll take you to the West Indies with me, and let
you
deal with the pirates. You’ll scare them to death, and we’ll never have to bother with them again.”
She laughed. “Never underestimate me, my lord.”
They finally attained the Park and, with the exception of nursemaids and their charges, very few others were present. Marcus now had a good idea why they were driving at that hour of the day. Phoebe had no intention of allowing the
ton
to see his interest in her. The realization stung, but he said nothing beyond, “I thought the Park would be more crowded.”
“No, not at this hour. During the fashionable hour it is, of course, very crowded—but not nearly as fun to drive.”
Was that truly the reason? He shifted on the seat, resting his gaze on her countenance. “You are the most skilled whip I have ever seen.”
Phoebe blushed and smiled. “Thank you.”
Marcus longed to reach out and wrap one of the wispy curls escaping from under her hat around his finger. Instead his hand hovered near her neck. “How long have you been driving?”
She glanced at him wide-eyed and turned back to her cattle. “Since I was about ten years old. Papa thought that it was one of the accomplishments we needed to have to enter Polite Society. My sisters are quite notable whips as well. If I ever have daughters, I shall follow my parents’ example.”
His mother told him the Stanhopes were almost Radicals in their political and social views. Fortunately, Phoebe’s ideas seemed to mesh with his. Once he’d got over the phaeton, that is.
Why had no one, over the years, told him how well she drove? Or had they—and he—only been interested in the fact she was still unmarried? “I agree with you. Ladies should be taught many more skills than Society currently deems necessary or desirable.”
“I understand your family is part of the more conservative wing of the party,” she said. “I know Amabel was raised much differently than my sisters and I.” Phoebe glanced at him again. “When I marry, I expect to wed a man whose opinions are akin to my own.”
Exactly his thoughts. Marcus tried to keep from smiling. “Indeed you should. You’d be very unhappy if you married a man who didn’t agree with your outlook.”
He kept his tone light. “Are there any other accomplishments you think our daughters should possess?”
She took a glimpse at him and swallowed.
“Our?”
Marcus waited, pretending he hadn’t said anything to shock her.
It didn’t take her long to recover. Phoebe’s lips tilted up. “Yes. As it happens, I also think girls should be skilled in boxing types of self-defense, the short sword, and pistols.” She gave a short nod. “Papa always thought it was important for a woman to be able to defend herself if the need arose.”
Marcus thought it was a shame that “Papa” was not still here. Marcus took the bit between his teeth. “I agree. However, some skill with a dagger would be helpful as well.”
Though knives, of all sorts, were now thought to be weapons of the lower orders, and gentlemen were not, in the usual way, trained in their use. When he’d arrived in the West Indies, he’d quickly become proficient.
Dropping the ribbons for a brief moment, Phoebe almost lost her attention to her horses. “
Really?
Daggers?” She sounded excited. “How did you come to have such an idea?”
Marcus smiled slowly, pleased he’d intrigued her. “Living outside of England has given me a rather different perspective than most gentlemen. I’ve seen many times a blade was a handier weapon than others, particularly for women.”
Settling his arm firmly on the back of the seat, he said, “It is not always easy to be a woman in this world. Many ladies of our class are so protected they’ve no knowledge of the evil that can befall females not so fortunately situated. Many gentlemen are afraid of losing control over the female race.”
Phoebe nodded emphatically. “Very true, though, unfortunately, many ladies
are
aware of the evil and make no push to help those less fortunate than themselves.” Phoebe tightened her lips. “You’d be surprised at how much women generally know. It is much more than most let on.”
This was the Phoebe he’d first met. Passionate about the problems of others. “So I’ve always thought. I suppose society would fall apart if you ladies did betray such knowledge.”
Phoebe gave a gurgle of laughter. “Yes, indeed, how shocking it would be. What is even more ridiculous is that no matter how
young
a
married
lady may be,
she
is allowed to have knowledge an
unmarried
lady, no matter her age, is not privileged to possess.”
He allowed a teasing smile to play on his lips. “So tell me, Lady Phoebe, does that mean when you do marry you will finally learn this information, or that you will merely be able to acknowledge you know it?”
A haughty expression appeared on her lovely face. “When I do marry, which is not at all certain, I shall let you know.”
“I’ll hold you to it.” Marcus watched her from the corner of his eye. Her breath hitched and he smiled to himself. “I am most interested to learn what you do and do not know.”
Finally, she blushed. “This is a very improper conversation, and I have the feeling that you are aware of it.”
“Do you really wish to engage in a proper conversation? I should think that’d be very dull,” he drawled. “I would much rather hear what you think than what you feel you must say. I wish to learn more about
you
.”
She glanced at him curiously. Unfortunately, as they were on a busy street a short ways from St. Eth House, he was not to discover her answer to-day.
Marcus wondered how much headway he’d made and how much longer it would be before she would trust him, for that was the first step toward love, and love him she would; otherwise, he was fated to go through life stuck in a loveless marriage, with a woman for whom he could feel no passion.
Chapter Nine
P
hoebe had shocked herself at how bold she was with Lord Marcus. When he used that warm tone, it was as if he caressed her, and she became breathless. Why him? It was not as if other men hadn’t tried the same thing. Why did she respond only to Lord Marcus? She wanted to glance at him, but had to mind her horses.
She’d driven her phaeton because it would limit conversation between them, but now he intrigued her. She’d no idea he could hold such radical opinions that were so close to her own. And, although he tensed when she drove between the wagons, he’d not tried to grab the ribbons, as many men would have. Nor had he become angry—another frequent male emotion.
Yet, mentioning
their
daughters in that wicked way. Phoebe tried to fight the blush threatening. Lord Marcus should not be so sure of himself.
Or was he trying to needle her? He’d been more familiar than most gentlemen would be, though he’d held the line of what was proper and not descended into the lewdness he had years ago.
Oh, bother. Why had she agreed to this ludicrous courtship?
When Phoebe brought the carriage to a halt, Lord Marcus jumped down and went around to help her alight, telling the footman who’d come out to go to the horses. He held her a bit longer than strictly necessary, his hands searing a ring around her waist, before walking her to the door Ferguson already held open.