Emma snorted, most unladylike. “I highly doubt it, but we will see this afternoon.”
They stood at the door to her new room. Phoebe stepped inside the pink-and-cream room, and tears welled in her eyes. It was the most beautiful room she’d ever seen.
“Are you not happy with your room?” Emma asked, concerned.
She swiped away her tears and smiled. “It is perfect. These are happy tears.”
“Thank goodness. I thought Mother had insulted you again.” Her maid hung several dresses and gowns in the wardrobe and filled the chest of drawers with undergarments and nightclothes. “When you’re ready, send for Maggie, and she can fit the clothes to you.”
Without thinking, Phoebe hugged Emma tightly. “Thank you. You are most kind.”
Emma hugged her back just as tightly. “Nonsense. We are cousins, and I’m so happy you are here and that we can become the very best of friends.”
Emma left, taking her maid with her, and Phoebe wiped more emotional tears from her eyes. After the week she’d had in the attic, freezing, hungry, and unwanted, she finally felt as though she belonged.
Even if it was short-lived.
A short, rotund woman swept into her room without so much as a knock, and Phoebe knew by the chills running up and down her spine that this was her aunt.
“Well,” she clucked, “I see my eldest daughter has gone against my wishes and moved you beside her.” She walked around the room, her head held high, inspecting the surroundings. When her eyes fell on her old, worn portmanteaus, she sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “Empty these bags at once and put them out in the hall to be burned. They stink of the slums.”
Shocked by her behavior and words, Phoebe could do nothing but nod. No words could form through her tears.
“Nothing has changed. You will remain in your room and take your meals here until I decide whether and when you will interact with the family. Just because my dear Emma has taken a liking to you doesn’t mean anything. She has been known to befriend bees in the garden, despite their reputation for stinging. And try not to contaminate this room with your sullied presence.”
With that, she swept out of the room. Phoebe could swear she’d floated across the room like the devil. How could such a vile creature produce such a lovely person as Emma? Her stomach dropped. Did Sarah and Catherine resemble Emma or their mother? Please let it be Emma. But if they were like their sister, wouldn’t they have come to see her in the attic, as Emma had? Wouldn’t they have been curious about her? Well, there was nothing she could do about it until she met them.
She busied herself unpacking her few possessions and, with great regret, put her bags out in the hall to be burned. Really, to be burned? How dramatic and insulting. Finally, she was able to look around, explore the room, and admire it. The large bed looked inviting, and she fell back onto the coverlet, sighing at how soft it felt. It was quite a change from the little bed in the attic. The fireplace was opposite the foot of the bed, where a bench rested against the footboard. Besides the bed, she had a table on each side and a small dressing table with a mirror on the same wall. On the dressing table sat a new hairbrush, lotions, perfume, and soaps, making Phoebe’s eyes water again at Emma’s thoughtfulness.Because she knew, without a doubt, this was all her doing.
There was a chest of drawers with a basin and pitcher on top, and fresh white linens. Not the brown, aged ones like the attic. She’d already put her things inside the drawers andcouldn’t help but notice several soft night rails, a robe, stockings, and ribbons inside, along with a pair of white lace gloves. A wardrobe was tucked diagonally against the far corner, and in the opposite corner a screen, which no doubt hid the chamber pot.
She didn’t know how to thank Emma for her kindness, but she would find a way. With nothing else to do, she pulled the tassel for a servant, something she never thought she’d do again. How she missed the happy years before her father gambled away his fortune, and the earl cut him off from his yearly income. If only the earl had seen fit to give her mother the funds, they could’ve remained in their nice townhome with proper clothing and food. She’d been eight years old when the world as she’d known it was torn out from under her. Too young to appreciate what was soon to be gone.
Moments later, there was a knock, and the door opened. “Yes, miss? How may I help you?” A maid about her age stood waiting for an answer.
“Could you please send for Maggie?”
“Right away, miss.”
Maggie entered a few minutes later, a sewing box in her hands, having anticipated what this was about. They stood just inside the door, facing each other, with Phoebe unsure how to proceed. “What shall I do?”
“Undress. If you are shy, you may go behind the screen,” Maggie said.
Standing near the wardrobe, Phoebe undressed while watching Maggie take out a chemise and a light-blue day dress, finer than anything she’d seen in ages. Maggie slipped the chemise over her head and laced it up in front.
“This fits nicely,” Maggie remarked. Next came the dress, which seemed a little loose in the bodice and at the waist until it was laced up the back. “This is perfect as well. You are a tadthinner than Lady Emma. I tightened the laces as much as I could.” She stepped back. “The length is good as well. I’m not needed after all. Oh, wait. You need shoes? I’ll have Lady Emma, Lady Sarah, and Lady Catherine go through their shoes, boots, and slippers and see what they can spare and hope something fits you. Good day, miss.”
“Wait. Can you help me undress?”
“Why? You need something to wear today.”
Phoebe stared at the maid’s back as she slipped out the door. Perhaps her aunt had changed her mind, and she was attending luncheon and tea with the family. Was the lady all bark and no bite? She could hope.
When luncheon arrived an hour later, she had her answer. She ate alone, but at least she was not in the cold, dreary attic. She could spend her days in this room and be perfectly content. Or could she?
At precisely a quarter after four, Phoebe snuck out of her room. Her curiosity about the Duke of Doom wouldn’t relent, and she had to see him for herself. She encountered several footmen and maids who didn’t blink at seeing her, so she continued on her way to where she surmised the drawing room would be. When she heard voices from partially open double doors near the second-floor landing, she tiptoed toward the sound. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she trembled at the thought of getting caught. Yet, her curiosity wouldn’t let up, and she continued onward. Standing off to the side of the open doors, she held her breath and leaned to the side, peeking around the door and quickly covering a gasp.
It wasn’t her uncle presenting the duke to his daughters that startled her; it was the duke himself. The man intrigued her, sending butterflies fluttering in her belly. His hair was black as night, curling at the collar of his gray riding jacket. He was about the same height as her uncle. “Turn around, turn around,” shewhispered, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face. And turn he did, though he couldn’t have heard her. His face was... perfect. His nose was straight and aristocratic, with a strong jawline and a dimple in the middle of his chin. He had full lips and high, prominent cheekbones. From this far away, his eyes looked as dark as his hair. One wayward curl hung over one eye. He wasn’t the decrepit old ogre Emma had described.
