“Mother. For some reason, she has been looking for you. I thought I could trust Mrs. McCarthy, but obviously not.”
“Where is your mother now?”
“Waiting for you in your room.”
“What did you tell her?” Phoebe asked as they climbed as slowly as possible up the servants’ stairs to the third floor, which housed the family chambers.
“I made up a lie about you liking to walk the streets at night when it’s peaceful.”
“And she believed you?” Phoebe gasped.
“I highly doubt it, but we shall see.”
“I’ll run away before I allow her to put me back up in the attic and poison my food again.” And she meant it. Phoebe would not stay where she was in danger.
“If I can’t stop her from doing just that, I will help you escape. Perhaps Mrs. Dove-Lyon would let you stay with her?”
“I would never impose upon her,” Phoebe said, her heart heavy.
“Well, no time like the present to face Mother.” Emma hugged her. “Good luck. I’ll be outside the door, listening. With my mother’s loud voice, it should be easy.”
Phoebe hugged her back. “Thank you for helping me.”
“What are cousins and friends for?”
She wiped a tear from her eye. “I don’t know. Until you, I’ve had neither.” Before she could wallow again in self-pity, she straightened her spine, plastered on her most determined look, and opened the door, coming face-to-face with her angry aunt.
“Where have you been?”
Nothing like getting straight to the point. Her brown eyes were wide and accusing. “I’m sorry if I worried you. I went for a walk. I was feeling restless and missing my mother. Being outside under the moon and stars makes me feel close to her.” Time for the charm. “Please forgive me. You and Lord Greenwich have been so kind, taking me into your beautiful home. Next time I feel the need to go for a walk, I’ll come to you and ask permission.”
Her aunt’s eyes softened just a bit. “Very well. See that you do.” With those final words, she swept out of Phoebe’s room, not bothering to shut the door.
With her heart nearly pounding out of her chest and her hands shaking, Phoebe went to her bed and fell back on it. Her hands were outstretched, and her legs dangled off the side as she took deep, even breaths, hoping to calm down. It had begun to work when she heard Emma say, “That went well.”
She sat up on the edge of the bed and watched Emma close the door, then lean against it. “I thought Mother was going to rant and rave. Instead, she remained calm. How did you do it?”
“I don’t know.”
Emma approached the bed and sat down beside her. “I’m dying to know—who is the gentleman you will marry?”
After everything that had happened that night, Phoebe couldn’t contain her laughter.
“What is so funny?” Emma asked.
“You will never guess who it is in a million years.”
Emma grabbed one of her hands, her eyes widening as she said, “Tell me. I can’t wait a second longer.”
“The Duke of Weston.”
Emma’s mouth opened, closed and opened again. “The Duke of Doom?” she muttered.
“Yes.” Phoebe sighed. Would he forever be called that?
“Oh my God, he is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. You are so lucky. I should go before Mother looks for me,” Emma said as she stood, walked to the door, and opened it. She took a moment to stick her head out and look up and down the hall. Phoebe assumed nobody was around, because Emma then turned and said, “Sweet dreams about your duke.”
“He’s not my...” Before she could finish, Emma was gone. “Duke.” Or was he? When her uncle received a note from the duke tomorrow, it would be either a good or a very bad turning point in her life. She wished for the first. Drat, she forgot to ask Emma to unlace the back of her dress. Althoughshe’d become good at slipping her arms out, spinning the dress around, and unlacing it herself. Which was what she did.
