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Such strength she had. Such decency and determination. “Farewell, Althea,” he said to her retreating form. “Farewell, my love.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lady Phoebe awoke as the coach rattled over the rise that led down to the village. Yesterday had been long, dealing with the endless preparations necessary before making the trek into York with Sybil.
The effort had been worth the bother. Ellenbrook had paid Sybil just the right amount of attention, enough that the other guests at the ball had noticed, not enough to cause talk. Sybil had been resplendent in a gown fashioned for her in London last year, one that still passed forà la modehere in the north.
Best of all, Lady Althea had not been among the attendees.
The dancing had gone on until three in the morning, the final buffet had been lavish, and Phoebe could count the excursion a victory. Ellenbrook was making the journey on horseback, which meant Phoebe and Sybil had the coach to themselves.
“You’re awake,” Sybil said, from the opposite bench. “How you can sleep in a moving coach is beyond me.”
“You took a nap yesterday afternoon, while I did not. Did you enjoy the ball, Sybil?”
The required answer was yes.Yes, Aunt. I had a wonderful time, thanks to you.Sybil was at a dangerous age, when youthful confidence had yet to be tempered by bitter experience. She did not see the near disaster of her mother’s indiscretion for the liability it was because the man Sybil called Father loved her and doted on her.
Less doting and larger settlements would have served the girl better.
“I enjoyed standing up with Ellenbrook,” she said. “He’s a fine dancer. Mr. Petersham is droll and has a merry smile. Why do you suppose Lord Stephen and Lady Althea were not among the guests? Lady Stebbins considers herself quite the hostess, and she’s sure to have sent them an invitation.”
“Mr. Petersham hasn’t a feather to fly with. As for Lady Althea and her brother, nobody knew her brother was due to pay a visit, and Lady Althea is simplynot good ton.”
Sybil left off admiring the countryside. “She is the sister of a duke. How can Lady Stebbins be goodtonif she’s snubbing a ducal family with its seat right here in Yorkshire?”
“Don’t be impertinent. Just because I have been willing to overlook Lady Althea’s reputation doesn’t mean she can expect that kindness from everybody else.”
The morning sun had broken the horizon, revealing the same dreary cows, sheep, and rolling green fields it had been revealing for every day of Phoebe’s life. She was abruptly impatient with Sybil, and with the conversation.
“Recall what I told the vicar, Sybil. A young woman dwelling without the protection of her family must have a particular care for her standing. Raising ill-behaved swine, marching about unescorted, wearing bright colors, and thwarting the rules of decorum are not the done thing. I hope Vicar can have a quiet word with her ladyship, or with Lord Stephen, and see her returned to her family’s loving care.”
Far, far away from Yorkshire.
“Aunt, you tried your hardest to spill tea on Lady Althea so she’d have to leave your dinner party early, and you’re criticizingherfor bad behavior? She never leaves her property unescorted that I know of, she has a companion in residence, she’s biding at a family estate, and she looks good in bright colors. What do you have against her?”
Phoebe itched to slap Sybil’s face, but that would only inspire more of this lamentable contrariness.
“I have nothing against her. I wish her well, in fact, but she must learn to keep to her place. That place is not flirting with young men who ought to be currying your favor or seeking the attentions ofproperlyreared young women.”
To emphasize the point, Phoebe reached over and pulled down the shade on Sybil’s side of the coach. The sun was no friend to an Englishwoman’s complexion, nor did it treat coach upholstery kindly.
As Phoebe sat back, a pair of figures across the pasture caught her eye. She hooked the shade closed on Sybil’s side of the coach while leaving her own shade up.
A man and a woman stood at a stile perhaps seventy yards from the road, the lady on the steps, the man standing quite close and holding her hand. While Phoebe watched, an embrace ensued, shocking not for its carnal nature—kissing on the cheek was merely kissing on the cheek—but for the intimacy conveyed. These two were lovers, or all but, and they were parting at dawn.
The woman strode away, across Lady Althea Wentworth’s fields. Phoebe knew that proud posture, knew that bold stride. The gentleman was something of a mystery. Tall, broad-shouldered, bare-headed, attired in black despite the early hour. He remained for a moment watching the woman’s retreat, and then he turned his steps in the direction of Rothhaven Hall.
“That cannot be,” Phoebe murmured.
“I beg your pardon, Aunt?”
“Nothing. Try to rest, dear. A lady must always look her finest, and the late-night entertainments can take a toll.”
Was His Grace of Rothhaven trifling with a young woman from a family of means? Lady Althea was not exactly from agoodfamily, but she wasn’t of the lower orders, either.
Not now.
Like father, like son? Lady Phoebe sat back, mind awhirl with possibilities. Driving Althea Wentworth from the shire—from ever showing her face in polite society again—had just become child’s play. At the very least, a note to the Duchess of Rothhaven was in order. A mother ought to be kept informed regarding her son’s poor judgment, and perhaps the Duchess of Walden would appreciate a discreet note regarding Lady Althea’s rash behavior as well.
