“Will you come?” Even in his cups, he looked excited at the prospect of his visit.
“Yes. I will be there. Goodnight to you.” He turned and hurried to the exit before someone else stopped him, with a lighter heart than when he’d arrived an hour ago.
CHAPTER THREE
During her first week at her uncle’s house, Phoebe ate her three meals alone each day. Afternoon tea with her mother was a time she cherished, and she missed it. No tea tray ever arrived at four. Even with Emma visiting most days, she was bored, sad, and listless. A small, friendly, puffy white dog often visited her and became her friend. According to Emma, the dog belonged to her mother, which didn’t sit well with Phoebe. After a week, she still hadn’t met the lady of the house. Phoebe didn’t think her aunt would accept Fluffy, her dog, visiting.
Today her stomach felt unsettled, and she’d stayed in bed most of the day, chilled to the bone. With no heat source, the attic room was colder than cold on this rainy, dreary day. She was dozing when she heard Emma’s voice. “Phoebe, may I come in?”
“Yes.” She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and patted her messy hair. What she wouldn’t do for a bath.
Emma danced in, all excited, followed by her maid. “Maggie will pack your things. Mother said you can move into the bedroom next to mine.”
Phoebe couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “But why?”
Emma’s maid began packing her two bags. “Apparently, my begging her was giving her a migraine, so she relented. Aren’t you excited? No more living in this cold room fit for no one. I can’t imagine why you were given this room to begin with. It’s no way to welcome family.”
No, it wasn’t. “Yes, I’m excited.” She pulled the covers off, got out of bed, and gathered her treasured books, putting them in one of her bags herself.
“Mother also said I could share some of my dresses with you because we are close in size. They may be a little loose, but Maggie can take them in.”
She paused in packing her books. No wonder she had been banished to the attic. Her uncle and aunt were embarrassed by her and her tattered, outdated clothes. But she also believed there was more to it than that. She owed her cousin, Emma, for this. “Thank you. I can hardly live downstairs with the clothes I have.”
“I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“No. No. You didn’t. It’s the truth. We didn’t have much money, so we made do. I am very appreciative of your kindness and generosity.”
“Besides, when gentlemen call, you must look your best to attract a suitable husband. My sister and I can’t wait for gentlemen callers. We are all of age.”
It hadn’t crossed her mind that her uncle would find her a husband, but it made sense. Then she would no longer be his burden. He would be free of her and the stigma of her father’s downfall from Society. No doubt an earl wouldn’t want to be reminded of his younger brother’s disreputable behavior.
“According to my father, the Duke of Barrington is coming to afternoon tea. I’m still trying to convince Mother to let you attend. I don’t know why Father invited the duke. Mother will not allow my sisters or me to marry him. According to Society, he is cursed. He buried three young wives. They call him the Duke of Doom. My mind envisions an old, hunchbacked figure with gnarly, crooked fingers and ashen skin. And his eyes,” she shivered, “as terrifying as a wolf’s in a feeding frenzy.”
“I think I would like a husband, but not this duke. What about you?” Phoebe said.
Emma smiled wistfully. “I do want to marry. There is one gentleman in particular I’ve had my eye on since I came out.”
“Who is he?” Phoebe asked, even though she wouldn’t know him from Adam.
“Colin Fitzhugh, the Marquess of Norton, although I don’t believe he knows I’m alive. He’s never shown any interest in me. It’s just wistful thinking on my part. Even though I have no prospective suitors, I will not allow my father to pawn me off on a cursed man. If one of my sisters or I marry the duke, we will die a tragic death.”
With all her belongings packed, Emma led the way to her room, the maid following. “Did all his wives die horrible deaths?” Phoebe asked, her heart pounding with sadness.
“Oh yes. From what the gossips say, his first wife died in childbirth, along with her baby. They say the baby had a horse’s head.”
Phoebe gasped. “Surely you don’t believe such nonsense?”
“Not really. But the fact remains that she and the infant died. His second wife ran off with her lover, and they perished when heavy rains swept their carriage off a bridge into a raging river.”
“Oh, how shocking and sad,” Phoebe said, wondering how one man could have such terrible misfortunes.
“Exactly. And the third wife died of a fever from an illness of mysterious origin.”
“You are not suggesting it was poison?”
“Not until I meet this duke and decide for myself.”
“Perhaps these unfortunate deaths and events have nothing to do with him, and he is a most kind and gentlemanly man.” For the sake of everyone, she hoped so.
