The Seduction of Lady Phoebe (6 page)

He paused, then continued with self-deprecatory humor. “There I was, twenty years old, a man, or so I thought, being bested by a tiny chit of a girl. Imagine, if you would, my consternation. First that she’d knocked me down, and yet, rather than fleeing, she stood there, in a high dudgeon, completely unafraid, telling me explicitly everything that was wrong with me. When she’d finished, she ordered me to leave the house that day, and never to darken her path again. I was still lying on the floor, amazed, when she walked away, her back straight. She was magnificent. If I hadn’t already loved her to distraction before, my fate would have been sealed then.”

Marcus picked up the empty cup and fiddled with it before putting it back down. “I made my excuses to my hostess and left the house as soon as I could, tail between my legs, sporting a rapidly swelling nose and eye. I never saw Phoebe again, but I’ve never forgotten her.”

His brother-in-law would probably insist Marcus leave, but for the first time in eight years, he’d confessed. He hid his sigh of relief.

The gravity in Cranbourne’s expression hadn’t lifted. “If my sister told you she did not wish to see you again, then what are you doing here now?”

Marcus sat up straighter. “When Amabel invited me, I thought Lady Phoebe knew about the invitation. That she’d forgotten the incident, or it had faded, at least enough for her to consider meeting me again.”

Marcus stopped and looked up at the carved wood lintels in the ceiling before continuing sadly. “It appears I was mistaken.”

His brother-in-law rose, stepped to the sideboard, and poured two glasses of brandy. Cranbourne took one and offered the other to Marcus before taking a chair. His brother-in-law regarded Marcus for a long time before Cranbourne’s countenance lightened.

“It doesn’t surprise me Phoebe gave you a bit of home brew and good bear garden jaw. My parents trained all m’sisters to protect themselves. Got devilish sharp tongues as well.”

The earl took a sip of the brandy. “You may have been the first man to make a cake of himself over Phoebe, but you certainly were not the last. She’s not only a well-looking girl, but an heiress as well. Several gentlemen have tried what you did with Phoebe. I can’t remember her ever holding a grudge against any of ’em. I find that interesting.”

Marcus stiffened. “Others tried to kiss her as well?”

Cranbourne grinned. “Of course, they don’t do it again. For the most part, they’ve found sporting a black eye or a bloody nose at the hands of a female is more than enough humiliation to put an end to that nonsense.”

That bit Marcus hadn’t heard. Phoebe having to defend herself was his fault. If he’d treated her differently, she would have been his and no man would have been allowed to forget it. He placed his untouched glass of brandy on a table.

There was something his brother-in-law hadn’t told him. “You said she wouldn’t meet me, but there was more, wasn’t there?”

Cranbourne smiled with unholy amusement. “Ah, yes, there
was
something about you being an arrogant troll. But even I can see that no matter how poorly you looked before, you have much improved.”

The tension in the room eased, and Marcus gave a bark of laughter. “She was in the right of it. I have no doubt I was indeed an arrogant troll.” He took a sip of the brandy. “Just how well trained are your sisters in the defensive arts?”

Cranbourne’s eyes lit wickedly. “As well as if they’d been boys. Boxing, wrestling, short sword, and pistols. My father always told them they had an advantage and a disadvantage. No man would think a mere female capable of defending herself, which gave them an advantage. The disadvantage was they would always be smaller and physically weaker than any male. Father taught them to do what they needed to protect themselves. I carried on with Phoebe’s training after his death.”

How different that was from Dunwood’s views and the way Amabel had been raised. “But, how did it come about—your parents’ interest in educating their daughters beyond what is considered usual?”

Cranbourne sat back in his chair. “You may well ask. M’mother was a great admirer of Mary Wollstonecraft, Jeremy Bentham, and the Marquis de Condorcet. All of whom espoused the rights of women. My father said he was just being practical. Can’t have three beautiful heiresses not be able to protect themselves. He was right.”

That was fascinating. Marcus had heard of ladies being raised like that. He hadn’t known Phoebe was one of them. He needed to know more, to hear more about her. “Other than stopping wayward kisses, have your sisters had to defend themselves?”

Cranbourne replied proudly, “Oh, yes. Fairport, my brother-in-law, told me they were waylaid by Gentlemen of the Road last year. He and the other men were kept outside of the coach. The highwaymen left Hermione inside, thinking to use her as a hostage. Naturally, the leader thought, as a female, there was little Hermione could do.”

Cranbourne chuckled. “Unfortunately for him, Hermione still had her own pistol, and the second set of coach pistols she’d hidden beneath her cloak. She shot the leader as he leaned into the window, then held his two accomplices at bay until Fairport and the others could tie them up.”

Cranbourne picked up his glass and took a sip. “None of my sisters have any fear. Phoebe is the worst of ’em. Set up her own stable when I married, and she will never have outriders. A year or so ago, a gentleman, or a man dressed like one, decided to have a try at her. A couple of thugs were with him and they stopped Phoebe’s coach. She put a ball in one of the thugs and another in the gentleman. Unfortunately, they were able to get away. It was a shame she couldn’t bring herself to kill them. Her groom shot the third man dead.”

Cranbourne frowned darkly. “I wish I knew who the main blackguard was. He had a kerchief over his face, but Phoebe’s abigail saw his eyes. She said she’d recognize him again.” He paused for a few moments. “Not that it’ll do us much good, unless he is walking near the house or in Bond Street one day.”

Marcus had heard what he’d thought was a complete account of Phoebe over the years, but no one had given him the information his brother-in-law had, and Marcus wanted desperately to know all about her.

“Inasmuch as the
ton
loves scandal and gossip, one would have thought that there would be some talk of such events. My mother and friends keep me up to date on all the
crim cons
, but I’ve heard nothing.”

“You won’t,” Cranbourne said. “M’sisters are very high-handed about all of it,
and
they carry it off. Refuse to discuss anything that happens. I’ve seen them, if asked, raise a brow and state that they do not feel it necessary to provide food to the vulgar. So any talk goes off quickly.”

Marcus frowned. He’d dearly love to know who the men were who had tried to kiss Phoebe, but knowing what she wanted now was more important. “Lady Phoebe obviously has not been interested in any of the gentlemen who have shown an interest in her, which I understand to be most of the
ton
’s bachelors. Do you know the kind of man she’s looking for?”

Cranbourne heaved a sigh. “No, none of us can figure it out, and there is no changing her mind to settle for less than what she wants. There is also the family tradition to consider.”

Marcus shook his head.
Tradition?

“In our family, we marry only for love. Phoebe needn’t wed unless she wishes to do so and none of us will push her into it.”

After Cranbourne had his brother-in-law shown to a bedchamber, he joined Amabel in her dressing room. His news would not be easy for her to hear, but she’d be anxious for word.

After he’d related what her brother had told him, she sat silently for several seconds, as if unable to comprehend what Geoffrey had said.

“Good God! I’ve never been more shocked!” Amabel dropped her face in her hands for a moment. “No wonder Phoebe left. What a horrible thing to have done to a young girl. I can scarcely believe it of Marcus. But why did she not tell us?”

“My love, you could hardly expect her to tell
you
the whole about your brother.” Cranbourne rubbed Amabel’s shoulders. “Phoebe would not for the world cause you pain. Which, I have no doubt, would have happened.”

“Oh, yes, I would have been mortified.” Amabel grimaced. “But I never knew any of this. Why did no one tell me? Surely she would have confided in someone.”

Geoffrey felt his lips curve up. “You know as well as I, no one would have spoken of it to you when you were younger, and by the time you came out, Marcus had been gone for a while.” Geoffrey hugged Amabel. “Of course, it was very wrong of him, but I think Marcus had the worst of it. He is fully sensible that his behavior was untenable, and thinks just as he ought concerning the matter. He didn’t try to excuse his conduct, at all. I am convinced it was an aberration of youth, and I am in agreement, my dear, with your opinion that he is a good man. Whether Phoebe will ever agree, remains to be seen. I’ll not push her, and I hope you will not either.”

Amabel glanced quickly up at him. “Oh, no, Geoffrey, I could not do so now that I know what happened. I only hope this has not caused a rift between Phoebe and me.”

Geoffrey drew her to him. “I don’t think it could, my love. Phoebe is very attached to you. She knew you had no idea what had happened. I do, however, think this must end your attempts at matchmaking.”

His wife’s pretty lips turned down. “Yes, I suppose it must. What a mull I’ve made of it.”

Amabel and Cranbourne greeted Marcus when he joined them shortly afterward in the drawing room.

Marcus saw the chagrin in Amabel’s face. “I am sorry, my dear, to have been such a scamp. Can you forgive me?”

She smiled wanly. “It was all so long ago, but really, there is nothing for
me
to forgive. You were always so charming to me as your little sister. The situation with Phoebe, however, is a different matter.”

“I shall try to rectify that.”

“Thank you.” Amabel straightened and smiled more brightly. “We will not have much time together now. I know Papa will want you back in Town.”

Marcus grinned. “Yes,
you
are not the only one trying to match-make. Papa has arranged introductions to every unmarried young lady he knows of.”

Cranbourne’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You will have to watch you do not raise false hopes in the innocent breasts of all the young ladies setting their caps at you, and ware of traps. I have to say, one of the best parts of being betrothed was that the ladies stopped pursuing me.”

“Geoffrey,”
Amabel said, shocked.

“No, no, my dear, don’t eat me. You never chased me, but allowed me to hunt you. It was most invigorating.”

She blushed hotly. “Geoffrey, you should not speak in that vulgar way.”

Marcus grinned at his sister and brother-in-law who clearly loved each other and wondered if his hunt would be as successful.

The next day, after admiring his nephew, Miles, and joining his sister and brother-in-law for an early luncheon, Marcus took his leave. Once he cleared the Place’s gates, he sprung his horses.

Covey, his groom, said, “And what may I ask, my lord, is we doing going down this road like we got Davy Jones a-chasin’ us?”

Marcus listened in good humor to the rest of his groom’s harangue. Covey had begun as a stable boy, and by the time Marcus was old enough to sit his first pony, Covey had been assigned as the second son’s groom.

Covey had traveled to Jamaica with Marcus, even though it meant leaving his large family behind in England. Once onboard the ship, his groom’s duties expanded to more of a general factotum, taking care of Marcus, his clothing, his horses, and his back, when necessary.

“You know I must return to Town. My father doesn’t want me gone that long.”

His groom glanced over, disbelief written plainly on his face. “What are you up to, my lord? Iffen’ you wants to get back to Town, you’d better slow them horses or we may not make it at all.”

Stifling a chuckle, Marcus retorted, “After all we’ve been through, don’t tell me you’re turning into an old woman on me?”

“No, my lord, but give over, do. If you tip this here curricle, we’ll be a lot later gettin’ back than if you’d kept a decent pace.”

Marcus kept his horses well up to their bits but smiled to himself.

As he didn’t acknowledge Covey’s last remark, his hard-put-upon henchman lapsed into disapproving silence.

They arrived at Dunwood House, on Grosvenor Square, late that evening. The lights were still lit, which meant his father had not returned home. Marcus had stopped only to change horses and eat a bite during the pauses.

Wilson, his father’s butler, opened the door and summoned footmen to take the curricle to the stables. “Good evening, my lord. His lordship is at his club, if you wish to see him immediately.”

Handing the butler his hat and greatcoat, Marcus replied, “No, thank you, Wilson. We drove straight through. I need to wash off the dust. Please order a bath and inform Cook that I’ll dine in my chamber.”

Later, as Marcus soaked in his bath, his mind turned to Phoebe. He must find some way to make her look at him without disgust in her lovely eyes. He’d not felt so helpless in years. There must be some way to show her he’d changed, but how did one win the hand of a woman who refused to even meet him?

Chapter Five