When it came to confidantes, Phoebe usually started and ended with Ariadne Nightingale. The best part of having a best friend was knowing you always had someone to turn to after all.
But she had other confidantes, Phoebe discovered as she hesitated before telling her driver—how strange to have a driver; it was utterly bizarre to suddenly find oneself a duchess after planning for a lifetime of spinsterhood—to go to the Duke and Duchess of Wilds’ residence.
It was perhaps not thebestform to go talk to her friend about her new husband when that new husband happened to be Ariadne’s cousin.
And when the subject matter at hand was rather… sensitive.
“Please take me to my father’s house,” she told the driver instead. “That is—Viscount Turner.”
The driver pressed his lips together in a barely suppressed smile.
“Aye, I know who he is, Your Grace,” he said in broad northern tones.
Phoebe felt herself blushing. This whole business of being important could take some getting used to.
Hannah was perhaps also a somewhat unideal choice when it came to discussing matters regarding the Duke of Redcliff—Hannah had been slated to marry the man herself, after all, which made it all a little more snarled than Phoebe would have preferred.
But Hannah’s current, ahem, condition meant that she knew more about matters between men and women than a young, unmarried lady ought, and besides, she owed Phoebe.
So, Phoebe went to her sister, preparing to—for once—be the one seeking help, advice, and comfort.
Except, when Phoebe arrived to find her sister in the upstairs sitting room where the two sisters had often passed their afternoons, Hannah threw herself directly into Phoebe’s arms.
“Oh, Phoebe,” she cried, clearly already near tears. “Thank goodness you came!”
This arrangement—in which Hannah summoned her sister to help her through some minor crisis—was so familiar that, for a moment, Phoebe almost wondered if she hadn’t actuallybeensummoned. But no—Phoebe was the one with the problem, no matter how Hannah was acting.
Phoebe was about to say so, too, but when Hannah pulled back, she saw her sister’s eyes were brimming with unshed tears.
So, Phoebe pushed aside her own troubles for now. They would keep, she supposed.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked, leading her sister over to the settee like she had so many times before—when Hannah had been beside herself over her debut, when a fellow debutante had insulted Hannah’s gown in front of a gentleman her sister had briefly fancied, and on any of the many, many occasions when their father had said something carelessly unkind that had wounded Hannah to her core.
Hannah dabbed a handkerchief under her eyes, though she had thus far managed to keep any tears from actually spilling over. She was looking rather lovely, Phoebe noticed—one of those women who glowed with good health while they were expecting.
“It’s Loyd,” she said, keeping her voice low in case any of the staff was lingering nearby. “He—he says he cannot marry me.”
“What?”Phoebe nearly levitated out of her seat with the force of her indignation. “Hannah, I know I am a woman, but I do not care. I will challenge him to pistols at dawn if he tries to set you aside after?—”
“No, no, no,” Hannah interrupted, shaking her head furiously. “It’s not his fault.”
Phoebe narrowed her eyes. This sounded to her like a shovelful of utter shite—the kind of thing a man might say to cover up the fact that he was acting like an utter cad. But for the sake of her sister, not to mention her sister’s current, delicate state, she held her tongue.
“How?” she asked, acidity barely even touching her tone.
Hannah blinked sadly, and one tear managed to escape down her cheek. She looked practically like a portrait of a lady in distress—that’s how lovely she was in the moment.
“It’s his mother,” Hannah confided. “She’s very… strict about whom she thinks is a good candidate for him to marry.”
Phoebe tried not to look completely unimpressed by this explanation, but she doubted that she had much success.
“I’d say that we’re rather beyond that point, Hannah,” she said patiently. “Given that…”
In the spirit of discretion, she just gave her sister’s middle a pointed look rather than speak the words aloud. For now, there was nothing evident beneath Hannah’s gowns, but that wouldn’t last very much longer. Phoebe would have bet all of her pin money—which was now a much larger sum since she had become a duchess—that Hannah’s maid, at least, already suspected.
“I know,” Hannah said miserably. “But he doesn’t want to disappoint her.”
It took Phoebe a moment to glean her sister’s meaning in all this.
