CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Phoebe felt disoriented when she woke up in the strange room. However, it didn’t take long for her to remember the night before—when she was taken from her room at Greenwich House and driven here in a coach during the dark of night. Her hands alternated rubbing the opposite wrist where the rope had cut into her flesh. She had washed off the blood after rinsing the dishes, but angry cuts remained.
She swung her legs off the bed and stood up. Finding a worn chemise and wrinkled, faded-blue day dress draped across the foot of the bed that Hennie must have put there, she slipped them on. She then entered the main room of the cabin barefoot. After a quick stop behind the privacy screen, she was surprised to find that Hennie had set the table for her. A bowl of porridge, a biscuit, and a cup of tea were waiting.
“Well. Don’t just stare at the food while it gets cold. Sit and eat,” Hennie said as she entered the cabin from outside, carrying fresh wildflowers in her arms. “I’ve been up for hours waiting for you to arise.”
Phoebe sat down, picked up a spoon, and tasted the porridge, which was sweetened with honey, making her wonder how Hennie managed to get supplies in the middle of the woods. “Thank you for the clothes. I’m sorry I slept so late.”
“You had a trying night. So I understand. When you are finished with your morning meal, there is a pile of wood outside that needs to come inside and be stacked beside the hearth. I put a pair of boots by the door. I hope they fit. I can’t have you going around barefoot.”
So she was to be put to work? Phoebe didn’t mind as she needed a distraction to keep her mind off the duke and what was to become of her. Not to mention something to do to pass thetime. It wasn’t as if she had never done chores before. She had not had a privileged upbringing.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Hennie will do.”
“Yes, Hennie.”
After she carried and stacked the firewood beside the hearth, she peeled and sliced carrots, potatoes, and onions for a stew Hennie would cook for luncheon and dinner. Even with limited supplies, Hennie managed to make surprisingly tasty food.
Phoebe had waited for the right moment to bring up her parents, and when they sat down to luncheon, she believed it had come. From what she already guessed, Hennie didn’t seem mean or vindictive. Nothing like Lady Greenwich. Still, Hennie was apparently Lady Greenwich’s aunt, so she would proceed cautiously. So, over a tasty bowl of stew, she asked, “Can you tell me about the time my mother spent with you?”
Hennie looked up, her gray-and-brown hair coming loose from its pins, and her brown eyes looked tired and sad. “Mary was a wonderful girl. Spent several weeks with me here when she was eighteen. When she first arrived, she was frightened and pining for William.” She paused to eat her stew, the chunks of potatoes, carrots, and onions overflowing the spoon. “I’m surprised Mary never told you the story of how she and William came to be.”
The pain from losing her mother and her father running off made her heart ache. “I am surprised as well. Did you know my mother recently passed away?”
Sadness overtook Hennie. “Yes. And I’m sorry for your loss, child. For your mother’s passing and for your father for leaving. The William I knew would not have done such a thing.” She brushed away several wayward strands of hair. “To tell you about the time she spent with me, you must understand howit began. Mary’s father and the previous Lord Greenwich were friends. A marriage contract had been signed many years before Mary turned eighteen. She was to wed your uncle, the current Lord Greenwich.”
Her stomach twisted. As awful as her father could be, she would have despised Lord Greenwich, and she couldn’t imagine having him as her father.
“However, the unthinkable happened. Mary fell in love with the younger brother, William. Both of your grandfathers were still adamant that Mary marry Edward. Edward was also in love with Mary and wanted the wedding to proceed as planned. But Mary’s best friend, Martha, the current Lady Greenwich, didn’t want the wedding between Mary and Edward to take place.” She paused and leaned back against the chair. “Martha was in love with Edward. When Martha was with Mary, she was always kind to her, yet inside her was hidden a conniving harridan.”
“I have witnessed the worst of Lady Greenwich and can’t imagine her being friends with my mother.”
“Well, they were. Until Martha hired men to kidnap Mary and bring her to me.”
Phoebe leaned forward. “What I don’t understand is if you are Martha’s aunt, why do you live out here?”
“That is a sad story in itself. Let’s just say I was ruined, and my father punished me by sending me to his old hunting cabin.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It is old news. Mary was brought to me in the middle of the night, much like you were. Martha is nothing if not cunning. She needed Mary out of the way so she could sink her nails into Edward. And it worked. She seduced Edward, then demanded he marry her, which he did by special license.”
“What happened to my mother and father after that? I know they wed, but why were they cast out by their families?”
“First, I must tell you that your mother was the loveliest person I’ve ever known. You take after her. It became known shortly after she arrived that she was with child.” She reached across the table and squeezed her hand. The touch warmed her heart. “As soon as we could, we sent word to William, explaining what happened and where Mary was. I receive letters and supplies on a mail coach once every fortnight. I have a set day and time to meet the coachman. If I miss him, he leaves my things beneath some shrubbery. The day came for my delivery. I would not allow Mary to come with me in her condition, so I set out early that morning and walked for two hours to the road, hoping to catch him. And I did. And not three days later, William arrived.”
Tears started slipping from Phoebe’s eyes, and she wiped them away. “How romantic.”
“Yes. Your father was her knight in shining armor, come to claim his maiden and take her back to his castle. Only their families disowned them, leaving them out on the streets with only William’s yearly allowance to survive on. At least they didn’t strip him of that.”
“I don’t understand how my grandfathers could do that. Either of them.”
“Neither do I, but they did. The day William came here was the last day I saw Mary. For many years, she wrote and sent me care packages. Sadly, they stopped perhaps around thirteen years ago.”
“Lord Greenwich cut off his monthly allowance. My father gambled away his sense of self—he became someone you wouldn’t have cared for.”
