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“It’s a risk,” Phoebe said, slowly. She sighed and looked up at him. “Perhaps too great a risk when I could just disappear and live the rest of my life in exile. But—” She bit her lip, unsure how to express herself. “Perhaps I’m brave enough to do it if it would benefit…the child I will bear within the next eight months.”
She watched the transformation of his features from concern at her response to the marriage proposal he’d not quite put into words, and her shock announcement. Then with a whoop, he swept her into his embrace.
“A marriage and a baby!” he cried. “Why, I must be the happiest man alive!”
Phoebe reached up to stroke his face. “I haven’t actually received the marriage proposal, yet, my darling,” she reminded him.
When she next looked, Hugh was down on the floor, on one knee, and miraculously, there in the palm of his hand was a glittering diamond ring, larger and more beautiful than anything she’d ever seen, much less owned.
But its material value was the least of her considerations.
She put her hands on his shoulders and stooped to kiss him on the mouth as her blankets fell away to reveal her nakedness. Then before she had time to feel the cold, he whisked her into his arms where she curled against him, fusing her mouth to his in a kiss of sweet, pure passion.
After some moments, he finally broke away and asked, breathlessly, “I take it that’s a yes?”
She exhaled on a soft sigh. “Indeed, it is.”
Epilogue
Eighteen months later
Phoebe cast a critical eye over the arrangement of the furniture in the blue saloon where the guests would gather prior to the christening dinner. With so many people coming from London and even further afield—many of whom she’d never met from the upper echelons of high society—it needed to be just perfect.
She rearranged a red rose that hung its head amidst an abundant floral arrangement on a side table, turning with a smile of pleasure as the door opened. She’d expected it to be her beloved husband of only two months but it was one of the servants.
“Put the tea over by the window, please, Mrs Withins,” she directed. “And ask Mr Withins to keep a watch from the tower for the first of the
guests. He’s less likely than the footman to be distracted.”
“As you wish, Your Grace. Your husband said as he’d be here in two minutes,” the servant added with a respectful curtsy.
Despite the circumstances, Phoebe had never detected a hint of disrespect in the attitude of her former nemesis. Naturally there had been shock on both sides when Mrs Withins had been hired by Phoebe’s housekeeper to supplement the dwindling staff of the household. Many of the servants—though not James, unfortunately—had deserted Wentworth after he’d taken up residence at Blinley Manor. Phoebe had made sure James was the first to leave under her tenure.
So while Mrs Withins had initially displayed confusion and horror when she’d first been introduced to the dowager duchess, the woman obviously considered that a position as parlour maid at Blinley Manor was a great leap up from working for the miller. Besides, the dowager duchess had been fully exonerated during a sensational appeal some months beforehand and now Mrs Withins was the first to sing the praises of her new mistress.
Mrs Withins knew what was good for her, Phoebe thought, approvingly.
As for Phoebe, her motto was to keep one’s enemies close. Or dead.
She thought of Wentworth with a shudder, then returned to examining the room.
The saloon was brighter and more light-filled since the days Ulrick had requested the curtains be drawn to ease his sensitive eyes and when Wentworth had filled it with the noxious smoke from the cheroots of which he was so fond.
“My darling Phoebe, you look radiant! I hope you’re not nervous.” Hugh swept into the room, putting his arm lightly round her waist and kissing her on the cheek before releasing her. “My sister and her husband are just driving up the avenue as we speak and, I’m afraid, Sir Roderick is right behind.”
Phoebe smiled. “With you by my side I can manage even Sir Roderick.”
“And what creative measures have you employed to manage him this time, dear heart?”
Phoebe put her head on one side and said happily, “The seating arrangement, darling. It was, in fact, Mrs Withins who suggested it. Sir Roderick will spend the evening between Lady Brindle and Miss Smiggle, both of whom—I have on good authority—are as deaf as posts. Which is why I’ve supplied him with a horn to use when I request that he entertain the ladies, in the drawing room, afterwards.”
“Very good.” Hugh nodded approvingly, his face lighting up at the sound of an infant’s wail. “Ah, and here comes little Lord Cavanaugh, the very reason for this illustrious occasion. Thank you, Mollie,” he added, taking his son from the arms of the nursemaid whom Phoebe dismissed so that—for now, at least—it could be just the three of them.
Standing in the window embrasure looking out, they watched as Ada and her husband were helped out of the carriage, before the spider-legged Sir Roderick emerged from his. But Phoebe no longer felt fear and repulsion. She had what she needed to forge ahead with hope and happiness: the wonderful man by her side and an unsullied reputation.
Phoebe turned to watch Hugh making faces at the infant whose wails had turned to gurgles of pleasure. “Are you sure you don’t mind, my darling?” she whispered, waving her arm vaguely about the room. It wasn’t often these days that doubt clutched at her heartstrings.
Hugh’s expression, as ever, was unclouded. He glanced up, smiling. “Darling, we’ve gone over this a thousand times. Why should I mind? Miraculously, I’ve fathered the future Duke of Blinley. And whereas, some months ago, I was prepared to sacrifice my future prospects to have you by my side when you were the despised murderess, is this not an altogether preferable situation? You have, in fact, elevated me. Not only am I now married to the most beautiful woman in all of England, I’m married to one who is famed for having retained her poise and dignity having been shockingly ill-used by the now-discredited male members of her family who tried to frame her for a foul murder.” His expression softened. “And now we have young John.”
