Page 58 of Make Mine a Marquess

“Are you certain you are not unwell?” Hillary Dawson pressed a hand to Phoebe’s forehead.

“It’s a headache, Mother, not a fever.” Phoebe lay in bed as her mother hovered at her bedside.

“You will miss the Madison twins’ afternoon performance.”

“Send my regrets.”

“If you rest, you should be able to join us for the evening meal. I’ll tell Anne to bring a cold compress.”

“I’m sure I’ll feel fine after resting.” She would. After she met with Sarah Smith.

Phoebe waited until everyone had gathered for the musical performance before tossing aside her coverlet. She was already dressed in a plain gown. She pulled on her boots and opened the door. Hurrying down the staircase, she slipped from the house and made her way on foot to the town square. She needed this, now more than ever. She was desperate for something of importance to which she could devote her thoughts and attention, other than the maddeningly attractive Marquess of Landon and his cousin, her betrothed, Lord Willard.

…

The milliner’s shop might have been at home on Bond Street in London. Hats, both plain and fancy, were displayed on stands and on counters. The only difference between a Bond Street shop in London and the country milliner’s was the variety of selection. In the country, bonnets and straw hats with large brims to shield a lady’s fine porcelain complexion from the sun were in demand over turbans with ostrich feathers or silk hats trimmed with beads, lace, or veils. Here, a small selection of hats was made of silk, velvet, beaver, and muslin.

Phoebe perused the straw bonnets trimmed with different colored ribbons. Other hats and bonnets were adorned with artificial fruit such as strawberries, grapes, and even apricots. She knew it was a pastime of some young ladies to make over their hats and bonnets with new trimming and adornments. Phoebe had never fancied that particular activity.

She picked up a bonnet with artificial forget-me-not flowers trimmed with pale blue ribbon. Her fingers ran down the satin ribbon and she imagined wearing it on a country walk at Landon Manor. She was powerless to prevent an image of the owner of this manor from intruding on her thoughts. He’d asked her to continue their tavlou games. Would she?

When had she begun to think of it as tavlou instead of backgammon? She’d grown to enjoy the game, but she knew she could never play it without thinking of him.

The marquess was fascinating. His Arab side was intriguing, and she longed to travel and bathe in the Mediterranean Sea at Lebanon, visit the Sphinx in Egypt, or make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. If she had the luxury of traveling without time constraints, she’d love to see all three.

The thoughts were dangerous and unrealistic. Upon their arrival home, precisely four weeks after the first banns were read, she’d be a married woman. Rather than be comforted by a secure future, a heavy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She set the pretty bonnet down.

“Are you Miss Dawson?”

Phoebe turned to see a tall woman, a decade older than herself, with brown hair and brown eyes. “You must be Sarah. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

“I read your letter. I must say I was surprised…and not much surprises me.” She was dressed in a neat blue dress without a bonnet or gloves. A working woman.

“Why?” Phoebe asked.

“A young lady of wealth wishing to help our country misses? I daresay, your letter is the first letter I’ve received.”

Phoebe met her eyes. “I meant what I wrote.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Sarah ran her fingers through the strings of her reticule, an ordinary brown one without embellishment.

“Why choose here to meet and not where the charity meets?”

Sarah’s chin rose a notch. “I had to judge your character.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think there is more to you than meets the eye, Phoebe Dawson. I’ve met women like you. Women who have a reason to want to desperately help. Women with unsavory pasts.” Sarah lowered her voice. “Women like me.”

Phoebe’s lips parted then shut. Her perceptiveness could work in her favor.

She met Sarah’s gaze. “What do you need?”

“I’ll send a list. Next time we meet it will be at the charity house.” She picked up the bonnet Phoebe had discarded and handed it to her. “The forget-me-nots bring out the blue in your eyes. Purchase it so no one is the wiser as to our meeting.”

Phoebe stared as Sarah turned and sailed out of the shop.

…