Page 56 of Lord Gabriel’s Undoing

Mattie burst out laughing, and Phoebe had to cover her mouth with her hand to avoid joining in. Did Aunt Fanny realize what she’d just said? “I most certainly won’t tell him I’ve sprained my ankle. Whatever would he think?” And to illustrate exactly what the Marquis would think, she gestured with both hands to indicate a swollen stomach that reached nearly to her bent knees.

Her mother clapped her hands to her cheeks with a shriek of horror. “My smelling salts! Quickly!” She finally succeeded in scrabbling them out of her reticule and proceeded to waft them under her nose in a most distracted fashion. “Oh good heavens above. I did not mean to say that. Of course you mustn’t say it. My mistake. I misspoke. Oh dear, oh dear.”

Her hand still covering her mouth, Phoebe hid another smile. Mattie’s outspoken behavior, while not out of character, was most distracting. And she wouldn’t put it past her naughty cousin to do everything she’d been told not to in order to see what the consequences might be. Which would not be a good thing at all. Or perhaps it might be, if it stopped Aunt Fanny taking them out into society. Maybe she should encourage Mattie…

Aunt Fanny took another deep inhalation of her smelling salts, which only brought about a violent coughing fit. “Enough of that sort of talk,” she managed, tears streaming from her eyes. “If I hear it again from you, daughter or not, I’ll ask Mrs. Graves to prepare a dose of brimstone and treacle for you to cleanse your blood. You clearly need it.” She shot an equally fierce look at Phoebe. “And if you try telling me you are too ill to attend the ball, you will receive the same dose to rectify your sickness. Mark my words. I will not tolerate insubordinate girls.”

*

The only thing of note that occurred before the evening of Lady Radnor’s ball, three days later was the advent of Señor Felipé Rodriguez. This gentleman of Spanish origin turned out to be the new dancing instructor Aunt Fanny had engaged in the faint hope of preventing Phoebe from damaging gentlemen’s toes. Perhaps she hadn’t spoken to him face to face and had only engaged him by letter, as he turned out to be both young and dashingly handsome, with the most attractive of Spanish accents. And while Phoebe, her head still full of Gabriel, was immune to his charms, Mattie most certainly was not.

The dancing lesson thus went well for both girls, as Mattie, unsupervised by her mother, monopolized Señor Rodriguez’s attention and Phoebe was able to sit in a window seat and daydream about Gabriel and what might have been had she not been so headstrong. An activity not conducive to improving her dancing, but undoubtedly of benefit to Señor Rodriguez’s feet.

On the evening of the ball, and after an early light dinner, both young ladies retired to their rooms to prepare themselves. Or rather, for their maids to do the majority of the work while they sat calmly gazing at themselves in the mirror.

However, Phoebe was anything but calm and not in the least enthusiastic about this, and Atkins, who knew her mistress well, valiantly attempted to inspire some excitement about the night to come. “There’ll be lots of handsome young gentlemen there, who’ll no doubt be asking you to dance, milady. You’ve got to look your best.”

Steady rain trickled down the sash windows, only adding to Phoebe’s gloom. It felt as though the whole world were as sad as she was.

“I really don’t care what I look like,” she replied with a sigh. Her newest gown was laying on her bed, a mass of silvery embroidery on lemon satin and netting. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at it. The only person she wanted to see her thus apparelled was not going to want to be anywhere near her, and it was her own fault. He was probably thinking she was typical of the badly brought up offspring of a cit.

“It’s such a pretty gown,” Atkins continued, her voice holding more than a hint of false cheer. “And if you wear your pearl necklace and earrings, we could put that little pearl tiara in your hair. That’d look so lovely, milady. You’ll be pretty as a picture.”

“It won’t matter.” Phoebe heaved a sigh. “He won’t see me.”

As she’d confided in Atkins the night before that she’d made a foolish mistake with Gabriel, although not the details of what she’d actually done, her maid was well aware of why she wasn’t keen to attend the ball.

“I reckon he’s bound to be there,” Atkins said, evidently working at being encouraging. “All the ton go to these balls. I know, because Miss Parkins told me. She’s been dressing your aunt for years, so she knows all about balls and such.” Atkins had been very much a country girl until she’d come to London with Phoebe.

Phoebe sighed again. “I’m sure you’re right, and he’ll be there, but I don’t think he’ll want anything to do with me. Not after what I said to him.”

Atkins finished fastening Phoebe’s stays. “He’ll come begging a dance with you all right, milady. He won’t be able to resist you by the time I’m done with you and you’re in that lovely new gown. Just you wait.”

Her muslin petticoat went on next, followed by the gown.

“Just stand in front of your cheval mirror and see how lovely you look,” Atkins wheedled. “And then I’ll put the finishing touches to your hair and face for you.”

Phoebe stood in front of the mirror, but she didn’t look. The last thing she wanted to do at this ball was attract the attentions of any of the other hopeful young gentlemen who would be there. The gentlemen who would see only the fact that she was an heiress, and not want to dance with her because they liked her. She’d enjoy trampling on their toes. In fact, she might go out of her way to do so.

Atkins took the opportunity to sigh as well, no doubt in exasperation. She must have been thinking her mistress very distracted. “Better sit yourself down at your dressing table then,” she said. “And I’ll just tweak your hair.”

Phoebe, still miserable, dutifully obliged. But she still didn’t look at her reflection as Atkins made sure a few curls adorned her temples. The worry that she might look too tempting for fortune hunters refused to go away.

Atkins, a perfectionist, was still putting the finishing touches to her resigned mistress’s hair when Mattie came bursting in, a vision in pale blue that suited her fair coloring to perfection.

“You may go, Atkins,” she said, waving an imperious hand, and sat down on the end of Phoebe’s bed.

Phoebe swiveled around on the stool she’d been occupying and eyed her cousin with curiosity. She could always tell when Mattie had something important to tell her.

Mattie needed no further encouragement. “Isn’t he just divine?” she blurted out, clasping both hands under her chin. “And that accent. The way he says ‘Mees Mateelda.’ Oh, I could swoon, I swear I could.”

Phoebe wasn’t quite sure what to say to this, so she remained silent. She’d been too busy thinking about Gabriel to pay much attention to Mattie during the dance lessons.

Which was fine, as Mattie clearly didn’t require a reply. “Did you not think him the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?”

Well, no. Gabriel fitted that soubriquet nicely, thank you. But she was not about to share that with Mattie, not now she’d decided her perfect man wasn’t interested in her. Atkins had sworn to keep her secret, but Mattie was far less trustworthy. So, she gave a tentative nod in answer to her cousin’s question, pushing aside the disloyalty this generated. And after all, Señor Rodriguez was very handsome.

Mattie nodded with much enthusiasm, as though she too needed to answer the question, or rather to reinforce Phoebe’s somewhat unenthusiastic nod. “And he dances divinely too. He told me he’s also a swordsman. Imagine that. He fences.” She said this as though it was the height of achievement. It wasn’t. Saving orphans was.