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Phoebe’s resolve faltered, because really, Sybil was so far from shrewd that she’d be a tiresome mate to any man with half a wit. But then, men did not generally marry to debate philosophy with their wives.
“Because when Ellenbrook comes in from his ride, you won’t be here, will you? You will be tending to social obligations, and leaving his lordship to rattle about without a companion for whist, without anybody to flatter him the livelong day or ask his opinion about the most interesting articles in the newspaper. He’s male, so sniffing at Lady Althea’s skirts is to be expected, but the domestic peace and ease he needs aren’t to be found with a strumpet. Change out of your slippers and we’ll be on our way.”
Sybil ought to have scampered up to her room, but she instead waited on the stairs, two steps up. “Why do you call Lady Althea a strumpet? That is a low insult, and she strikes me as very careful to tend to the proprieties.”
“The best strumpets always do. I have it on good authority that her ladyship wanders her acres unescorted, she takes tea with the farmers’ wives, and she is not well regarded in London. Of course she’s a strumpet. It only remains for us to expose her as such to Ellenbrook and any other man foolish enough to give her a second look. You, meanwhile, will be a pattern card of ladylike deportment and charitable sentiments.”
Sybil looked like she might say more, but the sound of hoofbeats on the drive intruded.
“Away with you,” Phoebe said, motioning with her hand. “Ellenbrook mustn’t find you panting for him on the front steps, my girl. Mustn’t find you panting for him anywhere.”
No good came from panting after a man. Given Sybil’s antecedents, she should have been made to grasp that truth from the cradle onward.
“About Lady Althea,” Sybil said.
“Never fear. We’ll see her ruined once and for all, and every hostess in London will thank us.” Phoebe donned her best gracious, carefree smile and prepared to invite Ellenbrook to join them on their call at the vicarage. He was already dressed to go out and had no polite means of refusing to accompany them.
But then, why should he? Given a choice between a woman of lowly antecedents who only looked like a lady and a decent female minding her social obligations conscientiously, Ellenbrook’s decision should be easy to make.
Chapter Twelve
Nathaniel had passed into the phase of exhaustion where waking, interrupted slumber, and reality all merged into a philosophical peace that observed life with benevolent detachment. Soldiers and the mothers of young children doubtless reached this state frequently, while Nathaniel, whose household thrived on order and predictability, was pleasantly disoriented by the muting of chronic anxieties.
Robbie was on the mend, according to Althea. Sometime after midnight, she’d thrown a wet flannel at Nathaniel for referring to her asyour ladyship. He’d barked at her that as long as she addressed him asYour Grace, he’d observe similar proprieties and she’d responded with a purely amused laugh.
Robbie had regarded them both with a wary smile, then gone back to complaining.
“He should not be allowed to sleep the day away,” Nathaniel said, passing Althea the toast rack. They were eating on trays in his sitting room, the doors between Robbie’s rooms across the corridor and Nathaniel’s apartment open in case the patient should summon them. “Robbie believes firmly that a schedule is integral to his good health.”
“He should be allowed to sleep some,” Althea retorted. “We’re barely keeping our eyes open and he got little more rest than we did.”
Her bun was a frizzy mess, her dress wrinkled. She had long since turned back her cuffs, and one sleeve bore evidence of spilled willow bark tea. She was slathering extra butter on toast that had been liberally buttered in the kitchen, and she ate with unapologetic appetite.
This is the woman I was meant for.That truth clobbered Nathaniel as Althea passed him the toast rack and set the butter on his tray. He had learned as a very young man to manage lust. In recent years, he’d learned to all but ignore it, but the longing he felt for Althea was more complicated than physical desire.
“I will eat every morsel you put in front of me,” she said, licking butter from her fingertips. “You must not stand on ceremony now that we’ve spent the night together.”
Her smile was devilish and tired. She’d inflicted endless good cheer on Robbie too, sparing his modesty by flaying him with teasing.Roll over, Sir Slugabed, or the wrath of Rothhaven will befall you.She’d found excuses to leave the sickroom periodically, which allowed Robbie to tend to more personal needs without a female audience.
She had readTom Jonesby the hour, playing all the voices with uncanny skill.
Althea was a good woman, simply good. Kind to others, patient in the face of human foibles,lovingin her brisk, practical way. Given her wealth and station, she could have destroyed Nathaniel, Robbie, and the whole tissue of lies holding the Rothhaven dukedom together.
Instead, she was yawning over her morning tea and covetously inspecting a plate of cinnamon buns.
“I’ll let you have first crack at the bed this morning,” Nathaniel said. “You’ve earned your rest.”
“We all have,” she said, stirring honey into her tea. “I would eat sweets all day, left to my own devices. We never had them as a child. Stephen once stole a currant bun. He dreamed about that currant bun, described it to me the way some boys would have described a sighting of Wellington on horseback. When a neighbor gave Stephen some jam and bread, he vowed to apprentice himself to a baker.”
This recollection had dimmed her smile.
“But what baker wants an apprentice who limps?” Nathaniel asked. What peerage wanted a duke who fell to the floor, twitching and shaking, then rose from his fit—assuming he survived it—as unsound of mind as the village sot?
Althea put the wooden spoon back into the honey pot. “You understand about brothers who are infirm in one regard and hale in others. Their lives are a difficult balance of ferocious independence and blatant need. Stephen was four when he was injured, old enough that he recalls what running and jumping and normal balance feel like.”
Nathaniel took her hand. “And nothing you can do, nothing you can ever do, will make your brother sound again.”
She leaned into him, the moment perfectly sweet and crushingly sad. “I will take you up on that offer of a nap, sir. Robbie will think himself in the pink by noon, but tonight he could well see a recurrence of the fevers, if not before.”
