Chapter 9

"Phoebe?" Leah gasped, spotting her friend in the music room of Mr. and Mrs. Dibney's lavish apartments on the edge of Portman Square. "I did not think you were coming!"

Phoebe still looked rather ghoulish after her ordeal the previous week, but her eyes were bright, and her smile was like a hot cup of tea after an afternoon walking in the biting cold. "I did not think I was, either, but the physician essentially instructed us to retreat to London where we would be warmer and closer to help if it was required."

"Are you residing with your aunt again?"

Phoebe pulled a face. "I know I should be grateful, but she is so unbearably stern. The girls are terrified to move in case they put a foot wrong." She sighed. "But it will only be for a short while, until the girls are improved. And they cannot cause too much trouble from their beds."

"Are you improved?" Leah took hold of her friend's hand; it was icy to the touch.

"Despite my ghastly appearance, I am." Phoebe laughed. "The girls are mostly recovered, too, but I do not want them falling ill again while they are weakened. So, we must endure my aunt for a few weeks at least. Indeed, the warmest thing about the awful woman is her home—it is like an oven in those apartments, so I shall not complain about a few chidings."

Leah squeezed her friend's hand, not wanting to ruin their greeting with news that her friend would not like. Still, it had to be explained, sooner rather than later. "There is… something I must tell you."

"Should I brace myself?" Phoebe raised a worried eyebrow.

Glancing toward the music room door, terrified that Nathaniel would walk in at any moment, Leah knew she did not have the luxury of time. "For the duration of the season, I will be courting a gentleman by the name of Nathaniel. He is the Duke of Bergfield, and though it might seem like a real courtship, it is not." She hurriedly explained the rest of the story and how the pair had happened to meet. "We are helping one another, that is all, but you must pretend as if it is real."

"Do the others know?" Phoebe frowned, clearly measuring her thoughts before she gave her honest opinion. And Leah knew she would; Phoebe was nothing if not bluntly honest.

Leah shook her head. "I had hoped to attend this dinner party first, to see if the charade is manageable as I knew they would not be here. If it was not endurable, I was going to put an end to it. Otherwise, I would have told everyone immediately."

"Tell me this is not because of that cretin, Jonathan?" Phoebe asked, using what the Spinsters' Club called her "Mother" voice. "I know he is back from whatever hole he has been hiding in, and I know how stubborn you can be, but vengeance is a double-edged sword, Leah."

Gripped with a need to defend herself, Leah was about to answer, when a different voice came out of her open mouth.

"I thought I might find you where the music is sweetest," the deep, rumbling voice said. "Ah, but I see that you have already begun the night's entertainment without me. Pray tell, what are we discussing? The safety of honeybees? The ideal color of gloves when writing unexpected letters?"

Leah did not need to turn. All she had to do was observe Phoebe's face as it ran through a carousel of feeling: alarm, curiosity, disapproval, intrigue, among others though her expression settled swiftly into a cold, blank mask.

"You must be the kindly white knight, is that correct?" Phoebe asked curtly.

Nathaniel stepped into view. "I do not profess to be a knight as the armor would be much too cumbersome, but I am helping your friend, yes." He wore his usual smile, unperturbed by Phoebe's attack. "You must be one of the famous club members that I have been hearing so much about. All good things, I assure you."

"Phoebe Wilson," she replied, offering no alternative title.

Nathaniel bowed his head, replying in kind, "Nathaniel Forbes."

"I shall tell you directly that I do not trust you," Phoebe said, folding her arms across her chest. "I do not trust anyone of your station who would put on such a pretense for no reason."

Nathaniel put his arms behind his back. "It is not for no reason, Miss."

"Apologies, but I do not trust your reasoning either," Phoebe replied, her motherly tone making Leah feel as if she was being scolded by her governess. Nathaniel also seemed somewhat uncomfortable, his posture stiff. "I know of you—more than you might think."

Nathaniel's brow creased. "And what is it you know that you dislike so viscerally?"

"I know that you are the most eligible bachelor of the season. I know that if you are a duke, you are in want of a wife," Phoebe explained drily. "As such, I do not know what it is you want from my friend. Nor do I know why a respectable Duke would attend a dinner party with a bruise like that upon his temple."

Leah balked, peering up at Nathaniel to try and see the bruise. It took her longer than she cared to admit, for it was carefully hidden in the shadow cast by the forelock of his curly black hair. "Are you injured?" she asked, instinctively touching his arm. "What happened?"

It had been almost a week since they had confirmed and signed their agreement, the contract rolled up and tucked away in her bedchamber, and though she racked her brain desperately, she could not remember if the bruise had been there when they were last together.

"I knocked into a post while putting my horse in his stall," Nathaniel replied evenly. "Are bruises really so appalling to you, Miss Phoebe? Is a duke not permitted to suffer any injury at all, for I would imagine that sort of life would be intolerable? I would never leave my residence. I would not move at all, I suspect, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets."

Phoebe narrowed her eyes. "Indeed, that was a ridiculous thing to say. Forget the bruise," she conceded. "What is it you want with my friend?"

"As I am sure Leah has told you, for you are her dearest companions, we are doing this to help one another, and our reasons are not so different," Nathaniel explained patiently. "I had hoped that someone like you, belonging to a club such as yours, would understand. I am like you, just… male."

Phoebe sniffed. "We shall see." She leaned closer to him. "If you hurt her or embarrass her or undermine your promise or bring her reputation into disrepute, I will ensure you suffer more than a bruise to the temple. Am I understood?"

"You are rather frightening, and I respect that, for I believe your warning comes from a place of sincere affection for this remarkable young lady beside you. So, yes, you are understood. I would bring my own reputation into disrepute before I allowed a single word of insult to mar hers," he answered, his words sweeter than any music that drifted from the nearby pianoforte.

Leah could see that Phoebe wanted to relent, the ghost of a smile turning up one corner of her lips. "I have to be frightening," she said. "No one else will do it."

"Then, I commend you all the more on your fearsome demeanor. It must have taken great lengths to cultivate, and it is a roaring success. My skin is still prickling." Nathaniel chuckled. It was a genuine laugh, his eyes sparkling with mirth. And as Leah gazed into them, she realized their color at last: they were the most unusual, beautiful shade of blue, like the deepest part of the ocean where the sunlight could only just pierce the water.

At that moment, a footman entered the music room, ringing a small silver bell. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, looking awkward in his starched livery, "dinner is served."

"My darling," Nathaniel said with a wink, offering Leah his arm, "shall we face the enemy together?"

Leah took his proffered arm and lowered her voice, whispering, "I dare not curse us, but… I do not think they are here. I have not seen them, and I have been here for quite a while." She gestured discreetly toward one of the women standing off to the side of the room, gossiping with two others. "My chaperone has not seen him either, and I instructed her to tell me if she did."

"Excellent. Let us hope for an enjoyable, uneventful evening, then." Straightening up, his posture recovering from Phoebe's ambush, he led Leah out of the music room and down the hallway to the dining room, joining the flow of guests that trickled inside.

But as the newly forged couple made their way around the table, searching for their place-cards, Leah's heart sank. She might not have seen Jonathan and Dorothy, but their names were etched on small rectangles of thick card, their chairs right beside Leah's. Meanwhile, Nathaniel appeared to be on the opposite end of the table entirely.

"Allow me a moment," Nathaniel whispered, leaving her with Phoebe as he plucked up the place-card beside Leah's and made a swifter circuit of the table, subtly swiping up his own place-card too.

Upon his return, he shuffled some cards around, so that he would sit beside Leah, and Phoebe would provide a buffer between Leah and Dorothy. Jonathan, meanwhile, would be seated on the other side of his wife. The rearrangement would undoubtedly send Mrs. Dibney, in particular, into apoplexy, but Leah had to smile at the directness of her pretend suitor. He had not even hesitated.

"I still do not trust him," Phoebe murmured, struggling to hide a smile of her own, "but that was rather chivalrous of him. Irritating for the hosts, but they shall just have to endure it. As for Jonathan and his wife—they had better hope there is no watercress soup served."

Leah took her seat, praying that Jonathan and Dorothy would not make an appearance, forgoing the event entirely. "I think it would be best if we ignored them, should they attend."

"We shall see," Phoebe replied. "If they behave themselves, so shall I. If they do not, bad behavior cannot go unpunished."

Leah took a few deep breaths as she sat and waited, watching the rest of the guests take their seats around the table. Jonathan and Dorothy were not among them, and before long, two footmen closed the doors to the dining room as Mr. and Mrs. Dibney stood up to make their welcome speech. The latter narrowed her eyes at the mischievous trio and the empty chairs beside them, pursing her lips in disapproval, but as her husband began to speak, she returned her attention to more pressing matters.

They are not coming! Leah exhaled a slow, victorious sigh of relief.

"It is my great honor to welcome you all to our humble gathering to celebrate the beginning of the London season and the promise of a warm, hearty and entertaining winter," Mr. Dibney said, his cheeks already rather rosy as if he had supped a brandy or two before the evening began. "This dinner party has become something of a tradition, and it is the night I cherish the most, for you are all dear friends, and I—"

The dining room door swung open, revealing a windswept pair. A dramatic entrance for a wretched man who thrived upon inconveniencing others, and though Mr. Dibney hurried to welcome the latecomers with a "Come in, come in, we have not yet begun," Mrs. Dibney did nothing to hide her condemnation, scowling in full view of the table.

I know precisely how you feel, Leah lamented. She supposed she should have known that last week's ball would not be the last time she ever saw her former betrothed. He was always going to make sure their paths crossed again, for how else would he be able to torment her, three years after ruining her life?