Falling for the Earl (Regency Romance) (Regency Lords Book 5) (6 page)

“I cannot say enough about how ravishing I find you, Miss Alexander,” he said in a voice only she could hear. “I did not think the happiness I felt in the simple touch of your hand could easily be topped, and yet here I am quite overwhelmed by your beauty.”

Phoebe regarded him in mild astonishment. “My lord, you wax poetry this evening. It is an unaccustomed thing in you. Whatever has possessed you to make you change so completely from…?”

She stopped, not wanting to spoil the newfound camaraderie between them by mentioning his nickname. He would not leave it so, however, and asked her to finish her thought.

“Because,” he said, “I find I enjoy listening to your voice, and admire your independence.”

“You are aware of your reputation amongst
the ton
, are you not, my lord?”

“Ah...
the Lord of Ice
.” He smiled. “I am indeed, and a less flattering description of me I cannot imagine. Perhaps we can discuss it together soon? I must mingle with my other guests, and I see your mother approaching, which is likely a sign that I should not be monopolising your time.”

He slipped away on a chuckle as her mother arrived, looking her over and observing her flushed cheeks.

“Are you all right, my dear?” she asked. “Did the Earl upset you again?”

Phoebe appreciated her mother’s concern. She loved her parents—even though they often infuriated her—because she knew that beneath it all, they loved her and wanted what was best for her. And she knew that her mother would defend her fiercely, nor would she allow anyone to hurt her only child.

“No indeed, Mama,” she said. “Quite the contrary. He has been most solicitous and complimentary.”

“I expect there will be a proposal soon,” her mother whispered in her ear. “I’m glad that you have managed to find a common ground with his lordship. Marriage is always easier when two people are not at loggerheads.”

Despite the great number of people, dinner passed by pleasantly. Later, once the guests assembled in the drawing room, which had been extended by the removal of a screen that Phoebe had never noticed before, and the French doors out to the balcony were opened, Lady Iris thanked her guests for coming and invited them to get ready to be entertained. She introduced Phoebe as the daughter of close friends of the family and then sat down while Phoebe played old favourites and requests. It was a good half an hour before she was allowed a break, and the applause made her blush. She knew she played well, but to hear the way the guests spoke gave her an even greater sense of how well worth the effort all her practising had been.

A trio had been hired, and they were set up in the dining room, from which the table and chairs had been removed. Those wishing to dance were invited to step into the space, and Phoebe found herself in Lord Beckton’s arms for the waltz, a most decadent dance, recently introduced at Almack’s.

They stood the appropriate distance apart, but Phoebe could feel the heat radiating off him in waves, and her hand trembled in his as he twirled her round and round the impromptu ballroom. At the end of the dance, he kissed her hand and she escaped to the side where she took a drink from a passing footman and cooled her cheeks. She danced a set with her father, and one with Lord Wiltshire, and then Lord Beckton was back for the last dance.

As they moved apart and together, she thought back to that other last dance, which now seemed so long ago, and marvelled at the difference between the man then and the one now. He smiled at her, and squeezed her hand lightly when they had to touch. And each time they stepped close to each other in the dance, he spoke a sweet word in her ear.

“Your perfume is intoxicating,” he said the first time.

“Green is a lovely colour on you,” he said the second time.

When they circled each other, palms touching, he asked, “When may I have the pleasure of riding with you?”

She answered, “In company or alone, my lord?”

He smiled, and they moved apart, but when they swung back in he replied, “Alone would be preferable, but I am aware that there needs to be a proposal before that can happen.”

They swung apart again, changing partners as the dance required, and when they were back together she said, “There seems to be some speculation that something is planned in that regard, my lord.”

He tut-tutted, and they swung apart, and Phoebe’s heart rose into her throat. What if she were wrong, and he was not going to propose? Had she been too forward? Would she be humiliated once again by this man? He swung back around to her and asked, “What would be your response, should such a question be asked?”

She opened her mouth to answer and the set ended. He bowed to her, she curtsied to him, and they moved apart. But she could not get his question out of her mind. Her mother noticed her distraction and asked if she were feeling all right. She told her she was just winded from the dancing, and was glad when the festivities began to wind down. She needed some time alone to think. What would she say when he asked her to marry him? Before, she had been sure of her answer. It would have been a resounding no. Now, she rather suspected that it would be yes, and that realisation was at once thrilling and terrifying.

SEVEN

The morning mail brought dreadful news, and Lord Beckton summoned Bailey to his study as soon as breakfast was over.

“Ask Lady Iris to spare me a moment if you will, Bailey? And have Smith take a cab to the docks and book my passage to France as quickly as he can get it. Spare no expense. I must away immediately. My young cousin Edwin needs me. His estates have been seized, and the money I sent to help him settle his affairs and book his passage for Dover has been confiscated. He was last heard of in the environs of Marseilles, and is gone into hiding, to avoid capture and imprisonment. I must go and fetch him back home. He is still just a boy, and I cannot leave him and risk his life. His parents left him to my care before their own untimely deaths.”

While the butler hurried away to do his master’s bidding, Lord Beckton paced, making plans for this unexpected trip. He would need to apprise his solicitor of the situation, in the event that he himself was unable to escape with his life. The thought of dying tormented and angered him now, in a way it never had when he held his commission. Because now, there was Phoebe. She had just been about to tell him what she would say if he asked her to marry him when the dance had ended, and there had been no opportunity to finish the conversation. Now he had to leave, possibly without seeing her, knowing that he might never see her again.

He wished he could hold her, actually hold her in his arms, and feel the fullness and weight of her body against his own, before he had to go and face a deadly situation. He wished he had told her of his feelings were now. He wished he had been less of a blundering fool. But wishes could change nothing. He sighed, and straightened his shoulders as his aunt appeared, escorted by Bailey.

“The carriage will be here momentarily, my lord.”

Bailey left, closing the door behind him.

“I must go again, Aunt Iris,” Lord Beckton began. “Edwin is in trouble. They have seized his property and confiscated his money, and he is on the run. It is believed he is in the south of France, in Marseilles; of all places the most dangerous, and so close to the Spanish too, and you know as well as I the situation between our government and theirs. But I must go and find him and bring him home, he is but a boy.”

He saw his aunt’s face blanch. He saw the fear in her eyes, but he also saw steel, the determination to support him, to do what she could for her family.

“Do what you must, my boy, and take great good care. Go and find your cousin, and bring him home again. And God speed!”

She closed the distance between them and enclosed him in a tight embrace. Then she let him go, her hand trembling as she placed it on to his. “Remember, you have someone else to come home to as well, now. Her heart will be broken if you do not return.”

Lord Beckton smiled sadly. “I will make every effort to return, aunt. It will take more than a few revolutionaries to stop me.”

He knew the words were mere bravado, but he needed to put up a good front for his aunt, whom he cared for deeply, and who would be devastated if anything were to happen to him. He felt the weight of his responsibilities, and was glad that he had already made a will, and that Lord Wiltshire, as his executor, knew what must be done in the event of his demise. Still, he would not think of death, but rather of life. He would think of his Phoebe, and of the need he had to claim her and make her his own. His memories of her would be his talisman until he came home again.

The carriage took him to the docks, and he boarded a cargo vessel bound for France. It quickly became clear that he would get no closer to Marseilles than
Le Havre
. He would have to find a boat bound for San Sebastian or Bilbao, then double back across the Spanish border into France and hope against hope to arrive at last safely in Marseilles, and finally begin his search for his young cousin. Lord Beckton felt for a moment almost overwhelmed by the enormity of the undertaking.

At daybreak they got underway. The hours at sea on that first trip were torturous, and the crossing was rough. But Lord Beckton didn’t notice. He was used to rough channel crossings, and as his mind was wholly concentrated on finding a way to free his cousin, and worrying about getting back to the woman he loved, he had little time to fret about the weather.

In
Le Havre
, he disembarked but was not able to secure an onward passage for more than a day. Arriving in San Sebastian almost a week after leaving London, he was already exhausted, having had little rest for fear of treachery. The port was as raw and noisy as ever, the smells making him nauseated. He fought against the queasiness and went in search of a carriage that he could hire to take him at least part of the way.

By paying double the normal fare, he managed to secure a seat that would get him as far as Lourdes, and there he had some luck and met with a Bishop returning to Montpelier, and he was grateful for the chance to ride in relative comfort.

From Montpelier, he made two perilous night-time journeys to the house where his cousin’s last letter had said he was hiding.

The dilapidated dwelling looked as if it had been abandoned since the time of the cholera epidemic and never lived in since. If it weren’t for the thin line of mud-stained washing flying like ragged flags atop the roof, he would have said it wasn’t a house at all. He called out in French to anyone inside, but got no response.

Pushing open the door that sagged in the doorway, he stepped into an odorous gloom, and once his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he saw two adults and some children huddled around a meagre fire, wrapped in the thinnest of clothes. Their grimy faces and tired eyes told their own story. The revolution had brought no betterment to their situation. His heart wrenched in his chest at the abject poverty that surrounded him, but he had no time to linger. There was a ship sailing for Southampton in two days, and he aimed to be on it with Edwin...if he could find him.

***

Phoebe sat quietly in the sitting room of her father’s house. A month after Lord Beckton’s departure, with no word from him but that first note to say he had found a ship and was on his way to Dover, her parents had thought it best to leave London, rather than burden his aunt with their entertainment. For once, she was in complete agreement with them. Lady Iris had assured them that she had family who would visit her and keep her company, and she had promised to send them word the moment she heard any news. Phoebe recalled how the lady had drawn her aside and held her hands in her own shaking ones. She remembered looking at them, and seeing their fragility.

“We must have faith, Phoebe,” she said, abandoning all formality. “Beckton would not want us to despair. He has been in dangerous situations before, with his regiment, and he has come out unscathed. We must pray for his safe return.”

“Yes, my lady,” Phoebe had said, fighting the tears that had been threatening.

“I know that you were unhappy with the arrangement when you first arrived here,” Lady Iris continued, “but you have changed your mind now, haven’t you?”

“Yes, my lady,” she said again, wiping away the tear that had managed to escape.

“If your feelings for my nephew are as deep as his have been for you these past four years, you must let them be your comfort until he returns.”

“Four...four years?” Phoebe stared at his aunt, her face drenched in tears. “He has loved me for four years?”

“He has, my child,” his aunt said. “But he is sometimes tongue-tied and shy, and where you are concerned, he was painfully so.” She smiled. “That is how he got that horrible reputation as
the Lord of Ice
...no women had ever been able to get close to him because of it, and they construed it as arrogant disregard for their feelings.” She patted Phoebe’s hands, and said, “I’m glad that you have discovered the man my nephew truly is. You will make him a fine wife, and he will be a devoted husband to you.”

Now, as she sat in the brightness of mid-morning in the silent house, she wondered if she would ever have the opportunity to be his wife. Her mother came in with a letter which she handed to her daughter.

“It’s from Lady Iris,” she said, and watched as Phoebe tore it open and read. “Well, what does it say?”

“They can’t find him,” she whispered. “His cousin has been delivered home to them safe and sound, but Lord Beckton is missing. Something happened in Calais, and he did not return. All his cousin knows is that they were ambushed on the way to the docks. He managed to escape, and thought that the Earl was right behind him. The men who had come to help Lord Beckton bring him home led him back to the ship, and hid him away in the hold. He didn’t know his cousin wasn’t with him until he reached Southampton.”

“How dreadful!” her mother’s tone was hushed. “How old is this young man?”

“He’s seventeen, Mama. He’s just a boy.”