Chapter 8

8

M iss Windham ?”

A hand fell upon Phoebe’s shoulder, snapping her attention away from the blanket of gray clouds drifting outside the window and back into the schoolroom. She’d been woolgathering again. So much so that she hadn’t heard Emily come up behind her.

She pressed her mouth into a small smile, pivoting away from the window and leaving the outside world behind. There was little to look at, in any case, for the perfect, cloudless weather they’d enjoyed for their picnic had been followed by four days of gray skies and rain, keeping most of the household—themselves included—indoors.

Only Lord Rockliffe appeared outside the window from time to time, continuing with his morning ride and returning with his wet clothing stuck to his skin. Those sightings were rare, though, and brief. Just enough to remind her that his presence was fleeting, for to the best of her knowledge, he planned to leave tomorrow, and she still had no idea how to change his mind. Especially when their paths hadn’t crossed since the night they’d collided in his bedchamber.

“ Miss Windham , I asked if we might go to the village.” Emily’s head was tilted, her dark brows rising expectantly.

“ Oh .” Phoebe straightened her spine to steady herself, refusing to remain distracted any longer by the marquess problem. However , as she took in Emily’s request, a pit formed in her stomach.

The village . She should have known she couldn’t avoid it forever. Her time at Beaumont Manor felt almost like living in another world. However , it didn’t change the fact that just a few miles away stood the vicarage where she’d left a vague and succinct note about her departure, knowing her aunt and uncle wouldn’t trouble themselves much regarding her whereabouts if it meant she no longer darkened their doorstep. They’d be operating under the assumption, though, that she’d gone much farther than the Rockliffe estate. If one of her cousins should spot her—if anyone who recognized her should report what they’d seen— God only knew what her relations would say. Or what gossip could travel back to Lord Rockliffe’s ears.

“ Look , it’s no longer raining, just cloudy.” Emily ambled forward to take the place Phoebe had vacated, pressing her finger to the glass. “ Please ? I’d like a new ribbon for my bonnet.”

Phoebe folded her hands together, letting out a silent sigh. What grounds did she have for refusal beyond her own incessant worrying? “ Yes , I suppose we can,” she said, trying not to let her hesitancy show. If Emily felt up to and took interest in going, there was really no other answer to give.

The resulting smile Phoebe received helped work out some of the knots in her stomach. She’d done right by giving her assent, and the change of scene would do them both good, she told herself as she went downstairs to ensure they could make use of the carriage. Perhaps it would give her a fresh perspective on how to manage Lord Rockliffe that moping by a rain-streaked window could not.

Besides , encountering a relative or acquaintance on High Street wasn’t a certainty. Her uncle mostly kept to the church and vicarage, her aunt far preferred paying calls to shopping, and her cousins were apt to be either home at their lessons or rambling about the fields.

By the time they arrived at the haberdasher’s, she almost felt good about the excursion. The shopkeeper was delighted to serve Lady Emily and her new governess, and Emily went through the ribbons with care, eventually selecting one in yellow silk that provided a striking contrast with her ebony hair.

Had they ended the outing there, Phoebe would have considered it a success. However , when they exited the haberdasher, Emily ignored the waiting carriage and continued to the shop next door, moving with surprising speed. “ They always sold the best sugar plums here.” She pointed toward the large window, a half-smile upon her face. “ Could we get some?”

Of course, Phoebe didn’t think to say no. Emily , with her sunny yellow ribbon in hand, had a certain brightness in her eyes. Even a hint of color in her cheeks. As if, for the time being, she’d managed to shed the heavy cloak of grief and illness and become just a lighthearted girl enjoying a shopping trip.

Phoebe took her arm, leading her toward the entrance without delay. If sugar plums would make Emily happy, she’d gladly procure a whole barrel of them. Yet before she could take hold of the door handle, it swung open from the inside, making them both stumble backward.

“ Phoebe ?”

She blinked, holding tight to Emily as she regained her bearings, taking in a scene that didn’t seem quite real. “ Margaret ?”

Somewhere between Beaumont Manor and the haberdashery, she’d convinced herself she had nothing to worry about in coming to Bowden , that all her fretting about gossiping villagers was the result of an overactive imagination. But here stood her cousin Margaret , a girl of fourteen who squinted at the sight in front of her, sharing Phoebe’s disbelief.

Phoebe managed to dip her chin in greeting, forcing herself to take a quick breath as her pulse quickened. It was too soon to let her fears spiral out of control. After all, Margaret was an agreeable girl; if Phoebe simply asked her to keep their encounter to herself, she may very well oblige.

A hope that lasted a single second longer, until another figure, thin and severe, stepped through the doorway behind Margaret . “ Phoebe ?” Unlike Margaret , who’d called her name in surprise, Aunt Harriet spoke it like an accusation, her hand flying to her fichu in affront. “ What on e?—”

The question dissipated before Harriet finished it, and her narrowed eyes widened as she absorbed the identity of the girl clinging to Phoebe’s arm. “ Why … why, Lady Emily . How nice to see you again.” Harriet managed an appropriate curtsey, nudging Margaret to follow suit, although she couldn’t mask the bewilderment in her voice. Due to the passage of time and the effects of illness, Emily had no doubt changed a great deal since she’d last appeared in Bowden , her frame becoming simultaneously taller and gaunter.

“ Mrs . Buxton .” Emily’s greeting was little more than a whisper, and the eagerness had disappeared from her face.

Phoebe shifted uncomfortably, wishing beyond anything that she could reverse the last few minutes, just long enough so she and Emily remained safely in the haberdashery until after Aunt Harriet and Margaret walked away from the sweet shop. She’d wanted so much to give Emily the carefree morning she deserved, filled with ribbons and all the sugar plums she could eat. Instead , tension hung heavy in the air, mixed with a moment of awkward silence as they all did nothing but stare.

Phoebe’s fault . Because her wrongs couldn’t be shed that easily. The past would keep following her and interfering, taking anything she tried to rebuild and threatening to topple it.

“ Phoebe , I need to speak with you.” Harriet’s clipped tone was the first to cut into the quiet, and she stepped forward, placing a commanding hand on Phoebe’s free arm. “ Privately . Urgently .”

Phoebe spared a longing glance for the Rockliffe carriage, waiting on the road like a sanctuary. After a few uttered excuses and words of farewell, she and Emily could escape within its confines and be on their way, putting the scene on High Street far behind them.

But if she left Harriet without answers, what would her aunt do, then? Harriet would seek the truth one way or another. Inquiries around the village. Letters . Lord , what if she went so far as to call at Beaumont Manor ?

Phoebe’s stomach roiled, but she plastered on a smile, fishing the leftover coins from the haberdashery out of her reticule and dropping them into Emily’s palm. “ Margaret , Lady Emily was hoping to buy some sugar plums. Could you please go into the shop with her and ensure she finds what she wants?” She dug deeper into her reticule, retrieving the meager bit of pin money she possessed and handing it to her cousin. “ Get some for yourself, too. I’ll stay right here by the window where you can see me while I have a word with Aunt Harriet , and I’ll come inside in a moment if you’re still not finished.”

Neither girl looked entirely convinced, but with their coins in hand and the promise of sweetmeats awaiting, they did as she suggested and disappeared through the door of the shop. Phoebe rushed over to the window, giving a little wave as they appeared behind the glass on their way to the counter. Then , with the smile still glued to her face—for it wouldn’t do to disconcert Emily more than she already had—she turned to her aunt, inclining her head politely despite how her neck felt rigid enough to snap. “ I don’t have long. May I know why you wished to speak with me?”

“ Don’t play coy.” Harriet hovered in front of her—although just to the side of the glass and out of Emily’s view, fortunately—and pointed an accusing finger. “ I want to know what you’re still doing here when you left a note saying you were moving on. I took that to mean you’d thought better of your stubbornness and decided to accept Sir Ambrose .”

Phoebe clenched her fingers, suppressing the urge to shudder. Thank God that hadn’t been her path. As for the truth, she may as well get it out and be done with it. “ I procured a governess position.”

“ A governess position …” Harriet’s eyes drifted to the shop’s doorway. To the ornate carriage, adorned with the Rockliffe crest, that waited down the street. And then, back to Phoebe , where they once again grew large as understanding hit. “ And how on earth did you do such a thing?” she hissed. “ Does the marquess not have standards regarding whom he brings into his household?”

Phoebe could feel her brow tightening as her false cheer slipped away. She crossed her arms, waiting. Surely , her aunt didn’t expect her to dignify the insult with an answer.

Harriet shook her head with a sigh, like she couldn’t believe the appalling state to which the world had come. “ Ah , well. Perhaps he cannot afford to, given the great scandal cast upon his own head.”

Phoebe’s heart gave a strange lurch. “ I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“ Truly ?” Her aunt’s remark was snide. Yet after a moment, the derision melted away, her face lighting up in a way it only did when one of the village women called at the vicarage bearing a fresh piece of gossip. “ You really don’t, do you?”

Phoebe froze, sensing herself on a dangerous precipice. It wasn’t too late to retrieve Emily from the shop and bolt to the carriage without hearing another word. She detested rumors, knew how crushing they could be. But at the same time, she couldn’t help the spark of curiosity that flared within her.

Harriet took Phoebe’s hesitance as an opportunity to lean close to her ear, lowering her voice to a furtive whisper. “ You must at least know of the marquess’s lengthy absence from England ?”

Phoebe managed a brusque nod, her throat feeling tight.

“ It was no holiday for pleasure,” her aunt continued, her murmured words growing animated. “ He was chasing after Lady Rockliffe , who’d absconded with their daughter. Apparently , the marchioness had taken a lover—a man from the East India Company , so they say—and thought she could run to the other side of the world with him.”

Mr . Mowbray . The name Emily had mentioned while discussing her travels came rushing back to Phoebe , and she gasped, so many unknown pieces of the story beginning to fall into place.

“ There are even rumors,” Harriet said, taking care to shield her mouth with her palm, “that the marchioness was expecting her lover’s child. However , there’s no way to verify them now. Lord Rockliffe caught up to his wife in Saint Helena , where she’d been removed from the ship due to some sort of fever. Whatever the illness, it claimed her quickly, I hear, along with her lover. Lady Emily was the only one spared. But I suppose one could say that both mercy and punishment were given where due.”

Phoebe couldn’t speak, for what did one say in response to something so shocking? Something so horrible and tragic. How details of a matter so intimate that happened half a world away had made their way back to Bowden , she couldn’t say. She only knew that it felt terribly wrong to stand discussing them in the middle of High Street .

“ Well .” With a hum of annoyance, Harriet stiffened, drawing away from Phoebe’s ear. “ I tell you this not for the purposes of gossiping idly, of course, but to make you aware of the situation in which you’ve entangled yourself.”

“ Lady Emily is a child ,” Phoebe bit out, a surge of protectiveness rushing through her as she glanced through the window to where the girls stood waiting at the counter, Emily’s dark braid trailing down her too-thin back. “ After everything she’s gone through, she doesn’t deserve to become the subject of rumors. Likewise , the marchioness’s actions are not Lord Rockliffe’s fault.”

“ Perhaps .” Harriet pursed her lips. “ But where else is the scandal to fall?”

Phoebe stepped around her aunt, unable to listen to another word. “ I have to go,” she muttered, reaching for the door handle. The sooner she fetched Emily and got them both away from here, the better.

“ Wait .” Harriet’s hand shot out, her nails sinking into Phoebe’s sleeve to still her. “ The dowager marchioness has not yet returned from London , and Lord Rockliffe’s sister is newly married. Does that mean you and the marquess are living alone ?”

Had Phoebe’s chest not been knotted with tension, she nearly could have laughed at her aunt’s sanctimonious expression of horror. “ Hardly . He has a whole household of servants. I’m merely another of them.”

“ It’s not the same thing, and you know it.” Harriet’s eyes became cold slits. “ Have a care for your reputation, my girl. Talk travels quickly, and you could easily find yourself on the wrong side of a scandal. And if that happens, who knows what other information about you might come to light? I’m not sure if you appreciate how fortunate you’ve been to conceal your misdeeds thus far, but eventually, if you’re not careful, that luck will run out. If I were you, I would wash my hands of the whole situation before it’s too late. Especially when you’ve been offered a perfectly respectable alternative.”

Phoebe wrenched her arm away, her stomach about to heave. Ambrose was not an alternative, however much Harriet tried to insist otherwise.

Her aunt had delivered a warning, the message clear. Yet , as Harriet herself frequently liked to say, Phoebe was a disobedient creature.

The warning only served to make her more determined to continue at Beaumont Manor .

It couldn’t last forever; she knew that. The past would catch up to her, just as Harriet said.

In the meantime, though, Emily needed a supportive companion—a fact that had just become clearer than ever—and Phoebe was going to do everything in her power to fill that role.

As for the marquess—the brooding, stubborn, jaded, infuriating marquess who wouldn’t get out of her head—well … perhaps he needed a little compassion, too.