Page 24 of Lord Gabriel’s Undoing

Phoebe glanced at her cousin who was in animated conversation with a pink-cheeked Tobias and stabbed her needle into her fingertip. Blood dripped onto her sewing to join the numerous faded spots Aunt Fanny had commanded Atkins to try to remove. “Drat,” Phoebe said, before she could stop herself. More blood dripped onto her pretty, pale-pink gown. That was going to get her into trouble.

Fortunately for her, Aunt Fanny was regarding Mattie with an air of pride, and hadn’t noticed.

Mr. Wade whipped a handkerchief from his breast pocket. “Please. Allow me. He pressed his handkerchief, which was of silk, to her bleeding fingertip, and smiled at her again. “I like to think I might come to the aid of a fair lady in distress, much as knights of old did.”

Phoebe smiled, but she was thinking of someone else whom she’d prefer to come to her aid. Although in reality it had been she who’d come to his aid. A little sigh escaped her.

Mr. Wade might have misconstrued the sigh, for his smile widened and his cheeks flushed a little.

The bleeding stopped and Phoebe pushed the handkerchief back into his hands in a hurry. She didn’t want him getting the wrong idea. “Thank you for your chivalric courtesy, Mr. Wade.” On second thought, she could have chosen some other words as this might only fuel his yearning to be considered a knight in shining armor. Although a needle-pricked finger was not really a great misfortune. She was well-used to needle-pricked fingers.

For a moment he seemed lost for words, as though he’d run through the whole gamut of his vocabulary. This was a point at which Aunt Fanny had drummed into Phoebe that she should take the lead and direct a gentleman to talk of the weather, or some other harmless subject, but Phoebe could think of nothing else to say. They sat there for a moment or two as the moment grew more awkward.

He must also have had etiquette drummed into him by someone. His mother, probably. “I believe they are saying we might see some sunshine tomorrow,” he ventured.

Phoebe, however, had been distracted by thoughts of his fearsome-looking mother. If she had been considering Mr. Wade as a potential suitor, the very nature of his mama would have quelled her desire. But she was not, so she smiled as equably as possible and agreed with him. “I will be glad when spring comes. I don’t mind the cold, myself, but day upon day of rain is most off-putting, and the fog is so depressing.” Which reminded her of her middle-of-the-night journey across a rather ghostly London.

He seemed to consider this encouragement, for he brightened considerably. “I myself like to stroll in the park on fine days.”

How boring he was. Which wasn’t really fair as he’d not seemed boring when he’d been talking to Mattie. Maybe it was her fault. Did she bring out the boring in people? Was she boring? Did Gabriel think she was boring?

And then of course, Phoebe’s mind strayed back again to her night’s adventure, even more of a shadowy dream now she was faced with the reality of entertaining unwanted gentleman callers. What did this spoiled example of the nobility know of the scary backstreets where she had found herself while in Gabriel’s company? What did he know about the poor orphans of the rookeries? Not that she knew much about them herself, but she couldn’t deny she was keen to learn more. Only if Gabriel were to teach her, though.

A faint hope. She sighed again.

“…and I have a fine pair of bays I like to drive along the Row,” Mr. Wade finished.

Phoebe came back to reality with a jolt, wondering what he’d been saying but sure it hadn’t been important. “How nice.” Always a good staple when responding to a gentleman, Aunt Fanny had told her. She’d added that as they rarely listened to what a woman had to say it was often best just to insert this useful phrase every so often and they’d be quite happy.

Mr. Wade seemed to be a good example of that sort of gentleman. Maybe that was how Mattie did it. She just listened and let them prattle on and entertain themselves. No, there had to be more to it than that.

“Of course,” he went on, oblivious to her lack of attention, “when I’m home in Warwickshire I like to hunt. Every gentleman should participate if he can, I always think.”

“How nice.”

Now he’d found a subject he liked he kept on talking, but her mind wandered again. Would Gabriel be lying in bed in Denmark Street being cared for by Eliza Thorogood? The idea of this kindled something she couldn’t quite understand in her heart. The possibility that she would have liked to have had the care of him herself proved a little disturbing, and at the same time warmed her insides as nothing ever had before. Could she have fallen in love with him? Was it possible on so short an acquaintance?

“…enchanted to have made your acquaintance, Lady Phoebe.” Mr. Wade was taking his leave of her.

“How nice.” On second thought that wasn’t quite appropriate, but he didn’t appear to have noticed, which just proved Aunt Fanny’s point about gentlemen not listening to what ladies said. Instead, he was bowing over her hand, and by the window Cousin Tobias was taking his leave of Mattie. She hurriedly amended her words. “Thank you for the pleasure of your company, Mr. Wade.”

She caught Aunt Fanny watching her and bestowed a faint smile on Mr. Wade, who colored up to his forehead as though she’d had the temerity to kiss him. That was funny.

Aunt Fanny had plenty to say when they’d gone.

“Good heavens, three callers and it’s not even four of the clock, girls. You are quite popular, as I’d hoped. Although strictly speaking all the callers were for you, Matilda.” Her brow furrowed as she regarded Phoebe. “I understand you must feel overshadowed, Phoebe dear, but do try not to monopolize your cousin’s callers. It’s not polite.” Her gaze strayed to the spots of blood on Phoebe’s gown and embroidery. “Whatever have you done now, you clumsy child?”

Phoebe opened her mouth to reply, but she was interrupted by their fourth caller of the afternoon.

Austin Mowbray, Viscount Evesham strode into the drawing room as if he owned it, his presence commanding all three of them to look at him. Which they did. One could hardly not as he was dressed in the height of fashion in a dark, cutaway tailcoat that fitted his wide shoulders like the proverbial glove. Beneath this he sported a striped waistcoat in blue and gold and a shirt whose high pointed collar, which surely must prevent him turning his head to left and right, supported the most elaborate of cravats. On his long, well-muscled legs he wore cream pantaloons tucked into hessian boots, and in his hand he carried an ebony cane tipped with silver.

A veritable vision. Phoebe had the uncomfortable suspicion he might be here to call on her, rather than Mattie. She had to hope he’d forgotten his inebriated declaration last night that he intended to marry her. Under cover of her embroidery, she crossed her fingers.

After a pause that went on a fraction too long in order for them to fully appreciate his loveliness, he swept them a flamboyant bow. “Lady Brockwood, Lady Phoebe, Miss Nicholson, what a delightful picture you all make. Such industry, such sweet femininity. I declare myself astonished by such perfection.”

Fiddle-faddle. Phoebe’d never heard such rubbish.

Aunt Fanny fluttered in delight, as though she thought he might even be here to see her, reminding Phoebe of a hen with chicks. She’d been very fond of the hens at Coakham. “Why, Lord Evesham, what a surprise to see you here. How kind of you to call on me and my young ladies. Do take a seat and Phoebe will ring for Bowles. It seems a good moment to me to partake of some tea. Phoebe?”