Home > When the Earl Met His Match(7)

When the Earl Met His Match(7)
Author: Stacy Reid

   His voice echoed with misery and shame, and he diligently looked at those drapes and not in her direction. Phoebe’s heart became a roar in her ears, and she almost crumbled to the floor. And now she felt unbearably foolish. Her throat burned, though she did her best to not cry. Betrayal burned through her heart like a poison-tipped knife. They had been dear friends for so long. She could still recall the first time they met more than ten years ago, the many days they had run barefoot through the meadows and swam in the lake that abutted their estates.

   Phoebe had been so certain of their friendship…and budding love. On so many occasions, with the utmost adoration and flattery, he had confessed his love. Every stare as they sat and played the pianoforte together had always communicated longing and admiration. But apparently all of that had a price. Twenty thousand pounds.

   A feeling she had never endured before erupted inside her chest, and it was raw and powerful enough where a soft moan of denial against it rose in her throat. But she bit it back, fierce pride holding her tongue from demanding an explanation. It would not do for George and her parents to see her emotions so exposed, certainly her vulnerability would invite a scathing and critical remark.

   “Done!” her father said, walking around to his desk and withdrawing a sheaf of paper and an inkwell.

   Unable to witness her father writing the order for his solicitors to prepare the draft, Phoebe whirled away from the sight. George was staring at her with regret and some sort of determination.

   “They will never allow us to marry,” he said softly. “I…I am deeply sorry…”

   The carefree days of happiness and a simple life she had envisioned shattered. The realization that she was ruined in every way settled on her shoulders. “You are a coward, Mr. Hastings…one without honor…and I…I was a reckless fool who trusted in your empty words.”

   He jerked as if she had slapped him, and his face flushed a ruddy red.

   Phoebe was afraid of speaking more, afraid her voice would break. She pressed two fingers to her lips, shook her head wordlessly, and hurried from the library.

   I am irrevocably ruined… Oh, what am I to do?

   She raced up the stairs to her bedroom, calling for Wolf as she entered her chamber. He streaked in behind her, and when Phoebe collapsed onto the bed, he was there, butting against her chin and rumbling comfortingly low in his chest. The sound soothed her, and Phoebe gently rubbed her gloved fingers behind Wolf’s ear.

   “My lady,” Sarah said anxiously, lowering the dress she had been hanging in the armoire and making her way over to Phoebe. “You look very pale. Should I send for the doctor?”

   “No.” Then to Phoebe’s horror, a raw sob tore from her throat before she quickly contained the emotion. “I only have one wish in life. And that is to live my days happily. I do not think that is an unreasonable desire.” And how silly she had been to write of those hopes to a stranger who seemed like he had the right of it—sentiments were for fools.

   “Not unreasonable, milady,” Sarah said soothingly, her pale gray eyes glowing her worry.

   Phoebe’s late brother, Francis, had held a similar hope in his heart, and in his last days he’d sunk into deep despondency as he’d been forced to agree to marry the woman their mother had selected. However, the fiancée was not the one who deeply held his heart. Her brother had died without the woman he loved by his side. And the worst of it was that he had called for her in his delirium, but their mother had forbidden anyone from acting on the request.

   Phoebe still recalled the terror she felt sneaking out in the dead of the night, with only a scared Sarah by her side, as they had made their way to Mayfair Square to knock on Miss Minerva Tilby’s door. But it had all been in vain. Hating to recall how Miss Tilby had wept when she discovered Francis’s death, Phoebe forcefully shut the memories away. “Am I silly and capricious for desiring such happiness?” she asked the dog.

   Unexpectedly, Wolf nudged her chin, and an odd rumble came from his throat. “Really?” she asked. “Do you think I should defy Father and do everything to secure my own future?”

   Sarah gasped and looked worriedly behind her at the closed door before facing Phoebe. “I do not think this creature implied anything of the sort, milady!”

   “His name is Wolf.” Phoebe smiled tearily when the dog rumbled again. “I think he did, didn’t you, my boy?”

   Another deep, lazy rumble, then it licked her chin.

   “You are right,” Phoebe murmured with a shaky laugh. “I am Phoebe Maitland! Daughters of dukes do not allow fear to master their lives! We do not succumb to self-pity and despair or the coercion of others. We must be smart…and witty…and outwit those who wish to control our lives as if we have no thoughts of our own!”

   Sarah sounded as if she was choking, but Phoebe paid her no heed.

   “Why am I not able to choose?” Phoebe whispered into Wolf’s neck. “Am I not a person who bleeds and cries and has hopes?”

   “You are distraught. I will go call for a warm bath and some tea,” Sarah said, hurrying from the chamber.

   “I must keep fighting, mustn’t I, Wolf?”

   Wolf rumbled his agreement, though it could just be that he found pleasure in her rubbing behind his ear. Richard had often scolded her that her capacity for recklessness was truly unmatched. Of course, Phoebe did not agree with that assessment; she simply did not accept that Papa, Mama, and society’s opinions must direct her entire life.

   To most in society, it was inconceivable that there were young ladies who dared to step out from under the restrictions their families and society dictated. But to her mind, if every lady in society had allowed themselves to be controlled by the collective group of society, then surely famous ladies whom Phoebe admired such as Mary Wollstonecraft, Charlotte Lamb, and Lady Hester Stanhope wouldn’t have rebelled against expectations and inspired so many young ladies of society to aspire for individuality. Why, if Caroline Herschel had followed the persuasion of her mother, she would have been a well-trained servant, and not a woman of great intellect who discovered eight comets!

   How do I escape the future you’ve plotted for me, Papa?

   Could she go to her brother? Richard had his own worries and battles to fight, so how could she think to burden him with her problems? And if Phoebe were honest, she was afraid to create a deeper rift between Richard and her parents. She felt like she had no one to turn to with all the doubts, anxiety, and pain that were a constant pressure on her heart. Phoebe was hurting and confused. And she felt utterly alone, a state she had existed in since Francis died and Richard had cut all ties with the duke and duchess.

   Francis had died far too young, Richard had been labeled a scoundrel, and so the family had reinvested their hopes in her. And that hope rested on her making an eligible and proper match, one they could exploit for their politics and influence in the realm. Her parents were constantly involved in political chess with the powers that be and were quite determined to carve more influence for the Maitland family. Everything they did, even deciding which ball to attend, seemed to be carefully plotted and executed because it mattered who would be in attendance.

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