“Lady Greenwich has requested you take all your meals up here unless she tells me otherwise. A maid will bring them to you. If you feel the need to leave your room, you will use the servants’ stairs and stay to the kitchens.”
The footman gave her a sympathetic glance and left with the stern housekeeper with a broom up her arse.
Phoebe busied herself, trying not to think of her mother and her present situation as an unwanted guest, and unpacked her meager belongings. When she stepped behind the screen, she was pleasantly surprised to find a pitcher of clean water, a basin, soap, tooth powder, and several old linen cloths. It was more than she expected in her prison. And it was a prison. She may be staying with family, but it was clear they resented having to perform such a duty.
There was a soft knock on the door, pulling Phoebe from her thoughts. “Come in.”
A pretty young lady, about her age, swept into the room in a lovely blue day dress. She had nearly the same auburn hair and green eyes as her, a trait she had inherited from her father, making her think this was her cousin. “You are finally here,” she said, taking both her hands in hers. “I couldn’t believe it whenFather said we had a cousin. He’s never spoken of your father. How shocking to find out my father has two brothers, not one.” She released her hands. “Oh, please forgive me for prattling on so without introducing myself. I’m Emma, your cousin.”
“Emma,” Phoebe mumbled. “Your father didn’t tell me he had a daughter.”
“Actually, he has three daughters. You will meet Sara and Catherine at dinner.”
Doubtful, since she was supposed to eat in her room. She smiled at Emma and was surprised it wasn’t forced. Emma was such a breath of fresh air. How could she not be happy to meet her? “I look forward to meeting your sisters. I’ve never had cousins before.”
“We have cousins on my mother’s side. They are terrible, spoiled brats. Our other uncle, William, your father’s other brother, is married but has no children.”
“Oh, I see.” She did, but she didn’t. William was another family stranger. Her father had kept much from her. Her mother had as well, until she became ill. While in her sickbed, she told of their family history. At least some of it. Phoebe had a feeling she had left much out.
“I’ll have to speak to Mother about your accommodations. It would suit both of us if you were moved to the empty chamber beside mine. Anyway,” she giggled. “Tea is being served in the drawing room. Will you come down with me?”
The expectant, excited look on Emma’s face made Phoebe’s stomach ache. She so wanted to be part of Emma’s family, or at least be friends with Emma. “I still have unpacking to do. Perhaps another time.”
“Fine, but you must promise to be my friend.”
“Yes. I promise.” With that, Emma left as enthusiastically as she had entered, taking the joy from the dreary room that was to be her bedroom and prison.
Because of the single small window, it wasn’t long before she had to light a candle to ward off the waning daylight. She found a box of candles and several glass holders in the night table drawer. She was very thankful for this. Lighting two candles, she took a book from her bag, a very old volume of poems that had belonged to her mother. She sat on her bed, the two pillows fluffed up against the brass headboard, and she passed the time until her dinner tray would come, reading and ignoring the protest from her empty stomach.
CHAPTER TWO
Oliver Barnes, the Duke of Weston, West to his best friend, against his better judgment, climbed the outside stairs to the Earl and Countess of Barrington’s townhome for the first ball of the Season. Damn his friend, Robert Harris, the Earl of Hudson, for insisting he meet him here. It was time for him to attend social events again. It had been almost a year since he’d buried his third wife. Yes, his third, and he was only thirty-five. Life had been cruel to the women he’d married. Enough that he wondered which lady would want to become his fourth wife.
After greeting his hosts, the Master of Ceremonies announced him, “The Duke of Barrington,” in a deep, booming voice that drew every eye in the large ballroom to him. His skin crawled. Really, he’d swear there were bugs slithering up and down his skin.
Then he heard the whispers: “It’s the Duke of Doom.”
Hudson had warned him he would be referred to as the Duke of Doom, but he hadn’t wanted to believe him. Since when were the members of thetonrude to a duke? What was society coming to? Dukes were used to commanding loyalty, friendship, and obedience. Their word was never questioned by anyone of lesser rank. Now his peers were making fun of the fact that he had buried three wives. How rude and heartless. He may not have had a great love for any of them, but he respected, admired, and cared for each of them in his own way. He mourned them deeply. Even his second wife, who ran away with her lover and perished that very night, along with said lover, in a tragic carriage accident.
It didn’t matter that he wasn’t responsible for any of their deaths; he was still to be called the Duke of Doom. Well, he would make light of it. It was the only way he could survive this foray back into Society as he sought his fourth duchess.
“What an entrance, West,” Hudson said, sneaking up behind him. “I tried to warn you.”
“Indeed, you did. I just couldn’t imagine members of thetonstooping so low as to insult a duke. And not just any duke—me.”
“It’s all in jest.”
“That’s a bloody lie, and you know it,” Oliver scoffed.
“Please try to find it in your heart to forgive the bloody arses of the members of the aristocracy.”
“Would you?” he asked, one eyebrow raised. It was a look he’d perfected at the tender age of sixteen. People used to shake in their boots when he gave it. How the mighty had fallen. His shoulders sagged, and he sighed. “Don’t answer. I don’t blame them. It’s true. Every young lady I marry is doomed to die. I’m afraid to marry again. Yet I need an heir, or the line ends with me. I can hear my father cursing like a naval sailor from the grave.”
Hudson put his hand to his ear. “I think I can hear him.”
Oliver elbowed him in the side. “Stop that.”
Hudson’s hand that was once at his ear was now rubbing his side. “Your elbows are bony.”
