At times, Phoebe wished she had been able to escape as Richard had. He had stormed from their clutches by forging his destiny, damning all consequences. But of course, it was different for Phoebe. She had been reared with the benefits of an excellent education, which had alarmingly paid close attention to propriety, duty, and obedience. Aristocratic ladies did not dare to chart their destinies or fall head long in love with a gentleman of their own choice.
Heaven forbid we should have dreams and desires of our own.
Chapter Two
Byne Hill, Scotland
Glencairn Castle
“Have you decided?”
Hugh Winthrop, the future Earl of Albury, stared at the crashing waves below, the tranquility of the moment ruffled by those three simple words. An unnamed sensation clutched at his throat, yet anyone looking on would not be able to detect that he was a bit out of sorts. Most importantly, his father would not know. Hugh had learned over the years to suppress his emotions behind a composed façade. Despite the deep love and respect Hugh possessed for his father, he did not want the old earl to know that at times he felt confused, unmoored like a ship about to be tossed against jagged rocks. A decision from Hugh now meant that his father could give up, for the old earl would lose the reason that kept him so ruthlessly tethered to living.
Hugh stared down at the seaside, imagining that he was down there, walking barefoot in the sand, the pebbles digging into the soles of his feet as the wind battered at his body. He inhaled the cold crispness of the morning air into his lungs. Hugh very much enjoyed these long walks with the old man and would sacrifice anything for several more years with his father. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he held and moved to stand in front of his father.
Lifting his hands, he replied, “Not as yet.”
“I do not have much time left.”
He heard the chilling manipulation and the hope in that simple statement. His father was dying. According to the best doctors from Edinburgh, the old earl would soon go onto his eternal rest and should spend his last days abed. An advice his father staunchly disregarded and, with admirable willpower, spent most of his days hobbling about his lands or in his gardens. His father was very prosaic about death, nor did he fear the hollowness of a grave.
What his father feared was leaving his son alone in a world he believed was cold, vicious, and unforgiving to anyone who did not fit their carefully preserved mold of privilege and perfection. So much so that he had asked his son to fulfill one request before he died—marry a suitable woman and take his place in English society as Earl of Albury.
“Thirteen women were desperate enough to respond to the Advert you had Caroline place.”
Fourteen. But, of course, his Curious Lady did not count, for she was in the realms of something different, something…perplexing and compelling to his senses that had been inspired to come to life. He could tell that should he meet A Curious Lady, he would like her immensely.
His father pinned him with his direct and calculating glare. “And you will consider one of them?” the old man asked, looking out at the crashing waves, as if he could not bear another rejection from Hugh. His once robust father, who had seemed invincible to his mind, was now little more than a flesh-covered skeleton. What remained true for the old earl was the world-weary cynicism carved into his features.
He touched his father’s shoulder lightly, and when he had his attention, Hugh signed, “Yes.”
This commitment encouraged his father to face him fully, his brow arched in surprise. “Serious consideration?”
“Of course.”
His father’s remote countenance melted, and his features relaxed. A glint appeared in his dark green eyes, and his sigh was one of deep satisfaction. “I’d sent my man of affairs to verify their claims of which family they belong to, their situation and reputations. Each lady spoke the truth, and all are willing to stand beside you and be your countess.”
His hands and fingers spoke for him as he asked, “Have you told them my secret?”
His father contemplated the frothy waves below for a few moments before saying, “There is none to tell. Whoever you choose will be a countess, a part of the Winthrop family, a place where many in the ton hungered to be once. They will be wealthy beyond their imagination.”
His father had taken Hugh and his two younger siblings from England when he was only a boy of ten years, claiming he’d found the air too foul to raise his beloved children. Society had been cruel in their speculations, and even as a child Hugh had understood the sly murmurs of “not the earl’s son” or “bastard children foisted on the earl.” He did not resemble anyone in the Winthrop extended family or anyone in the paintings which hung in the gallery. Even then, he had heard the whispers from the servants of his beautiful mother and her lovers. Was his father the Italian count? Or the Egyptian Emissary who had been in England around the time she got with child? Who amongst her many lovers had hair as black as midnight and eyes as dark blue and unfathomable as the terrifying depths of the ocean?
He glanced back at the man who still retained traces of his ash blond hair and his vibrant green eyes, traits common to the Winthrops. A dark curiosity shifted through Hugh. “Father…do you truly believe me to be your son?” His hands and fingers signed the words before he had fully processed them.
Shock flared in his father’s eyes before his expression shuttered into a civil mask. Hugh’s heart throbbed, and he stared at the old earl, careful to only display the mildest of curiosity. His father had always shown him love and acceptance. Hugh returned the sentiments, and it affected him somewhere deep down that this man truly was not his sire. Worse…he had hurt the old earl with his query. Hugh wanted to apologize for opening old wounds, but he remained guarded.
“In all the years we’ve been together, you have never asked me this,” his father said gruffly.
“You thought me ignorant of the rumors.”
“Yes,” he replied with an evident touch of reluctance. “You were young when we left that vile place.”
A spurt of amusement darted through Hugh. “Did you also believe me to be ignorant of my features?”
His father gripped the head of his silver walking cane with gnarled fingers and with labored steps walked to the edge of the cliff. Hugh ensured he remained close but gave him enough space to breathe, to still know that he retained the power to stand on his own.
“Marianne.”
Hugh flinched at that low, aching whisper, grateful the wind had snatched it away and flung it down to the sea before it lingered in the air. A side glance at his father showed his weathered face creased with remembered pain and longing.
He touched his shoulder, and when his father glanced at him, he signed. “I did not mean to stir painful memories, Father.”