His Mistletoe Bride Page 16

  And he had not told her he loved her.

  Meredith’s hand rested on her shoulder, gently urging her to turn around. “Come and sit down, Phoebe. You can’t hide in the alcove forever. I know because I tried it once myself.”

  Phoebe cocked an eyebrow in silent enquiry, and Meredith responded with a generous smile. “Once I stood in this room much as you are now, waiting for the wrath of the Stanton family to fall on my head. It didn’t, of course, and nothing bad will happen to you, either.”

  “What did you do?” she asked, allowing Meredith to draw her over to the chaise.

  “She and Silverton were very bad indeed,” Annabel chipped in, springing up from the chaise to allow Phoebe to take her place. Phoebe sank down, suddenly aware of how very exhausted she felt. Would this dreadful night never come to an end?

  “I cannot imagine that Meredith was caught kissing in the anteroom,” she muttered. Her cheeks flushed with shame at the mental picture of Meredith and Aunt Georgie standing in the doorway of the little room, their mouths agape. After that, everything was rather a blur, including their ignominious exit. They had not managed to escape without observation, and Phoebe had all too clearly heard giggles and whispers from more than a few guests lingering in the hallway and on the stairs.

  “Oh, it was much worse than that,” Annabel insisted. “Meredith waltzed with Silverton without first receiving permission from the patronesses of Almack’s.”

  Phoebe stared at her. “You must be joking.”

  “Sadly, no,” Meredith replied.

  Phoebe shook her head. “London is the oddest place one could ever imagine.”

  “It is, but the point is that it all worked out for me, as it will for you.”

  “How?” Phoebe almost dreaded the answer.

  “Eventually I married Silverton.”

  Her stomach took a sickening drop. “Are you saying my only course of action is to marry Lucas? When he does not even love me?”

  “Are you sure about that?” Annabel asked. “His actions speak otherwise.”

  Phoebe shook her head. “He does not.”

  Meredith sat down next to her and took her hand. “Why do you think that?”

  “Because he said so,” she answered miserably.

  The sisters exchanged a startled glance. “What exactly did he say?” Meredith asked in a wary voice.

  “He said he was not a boy, and he no longer engaged in such foolishness.”

  Meredith groaned. “What an idiot. Let me guess. You asked him about Esme, didn’t you?”

  Phoebe nodded.

  “It’s a good thing that woman lives in Scotland, or I would have to murder her,” Meredith groused. “She has been the cause of a great deal of trouble in this family.” With a firm look in her eye, she took Phoebe by the shoulders, forcing her to meet her gaze. “Phoebe, listen to me. Lucas suffered a devastating hurt as a young man, and he’s only now letting it go. And he’s letting it go because of you. He may not yet be able to say he loves you and, frankly, most men choke on the word. But I’m convinced his affection for you is genuine and strong.”

  Phoebe knew what they wanted her to say, but she hesitated, still worried Lucas wished to marry her for all the wrong reasons.

  After several long moments, Meredith sighed and removed her hands. “I don’t think I’m convincing you, am I?”

  Phoebe gave a helpless shrug. “Never marry but for love, but see that thee lovest what is lovely.”

  “Another quote from Mr. Penn, I presume,” Meredith said, wrinkling her nose.

  “And a pretty one, too. But not very useful in our current situation,” Aunt Georgie interjected.

  They all looked around as the older woman entered through the door from her bedroom. Blushing, Phoebe jumped up from the chaise.

  Her aunt gave her a faint smile. “Sit, my child. Meredith, be so kind as to allow me to sit next to your cousin.”

  When Meredith rose from the chaise, Aunt Georgie took Phoebe’s hand and drew her down beside her.

  “Phoebe, the time for beating around the bush is past. We must speak frankly—woman to woman—about Lucas and your future.”

  Her aunt’s words set the nerves in Phoebe’s stomach dancing with anxiety. “How . . . how is Lucas? I hope my uncle was not too harsh with him.”

  Aunt Georgie gave a snort. “The General gave him a rare trimming. That I expected, just as I expected Lucas wouldn’t take it very well. For a moment, I thought they would come to blows.”

  The wry smile on her aunt’s face told Phoebe how unlikely that was, but the idea that Lucas and Uncle Arthur had violently argued sickened her. This terrible drama and discord was her fault.

  Well, to be fair, Lucas must also share the blame. Both for that scene in the ballroom and afterward, when he dragged her into the anteroom and kissed her. But she should have been strong enough to resist the temptation he posed. Now, because of her weakness, another breach had opened in the Stanton family.

  “What happened next?” she asked, fearing the answer.

  “Something surprising. Silverton stepped up and defended Lucas.”

  That stunned them all into silence for several moments.

  “Truly?” Phoebe finally managed.

  Aunt Georgie nodded.

  Meredith uttered a disbelieving laugh. “Will wonders never cease?”

  Aunt Georgie grinned. “Silverton made a strong case on his behalf, stating that Lucas had no choice but to defend you against the insults of Lord Castle.”

  Phoebe ground her teeth at that, but let the matter drop. In the scheme of things, the issue of the viscount’s insults no longer seemed very important. “What are they doing now?”

  Aunt Georgie turned serious again. “I left them to discuss the details of what must happen next, as should we. We must come to a decision, Phoebe, and there is only one course of action, at least the only one to keep you safe from damaging gossip.”

  Foreboding seeped through Phoebe. “And that course is?”

  “You must marry Lucas, of course. As soon as possible.”

  Phoebe closed her eyes, wishing she could shut everything out of her mind as easily. She hated that she possessed so little control over events, and hated even more that her foolish heart clamored to accept the solution so readily offered.

  How could she marry him if he did not love her? Her heart told her he might, despite his words to the contrary, though her head told her otherwise. But it was in the heart where love resided, not the head. Love was founded on trust, not logic, and yet logic warned her with absolute clarity that she must answer this question before she could move ahead.

  “Phoebe, open your eyes,” Aunt Georgie said.

  Reluctantly, she obeyed, and met the combined gazes of three very concerned women. They regarded her with so much affection and worry she almost burst into tears.

  “Are you in love with Lucas?” Aunt Georgie asked.

  Phoebe bit her lip, hating to reveal all her insecurities, even to her closest female relatives. “How can I answer that?”

  “Honestly, I would think. You’re the most forthright person I’ve ever met, and it’s a quality that has served you well and will continue to do so in this situation.”

  She grimaced. Aunt Georgie was right. Honesty was always the correct course of action, even when courage flagged. “Yes, I love him. But Lucas has been very circumspect in expressing his feelings. How can I give myself into his keeping when he withholds so much?”

  Aunt Georgie studied her with a thoughtful air. “From what I understand, Quaker men approach matters of affection more simply and openly than the average aristocratic male. It’s no wonder you find men like Lucas so confusing.”

  Meredith snorted. “Don’t expect that to change any time soon.”

  Phoebe sighed wearily. “You make them sound like some kind of exotic species of animal.”

  Her aunt unleashed a quick, charming grin. “In some respects, they are. But my point is that men like your uncle,
or Lucas or Silverton, have not been raised to express their emotions as directly as the men of your community. I do believe it was one of the things that attracted your mother to your father—that he had such an affectionate and kind nature.”

  That was certainly true. Her parents’ deep and abiding love for each other had shone through in their words and actions. Even her brother, George, as solemn and stiff as he often was, made no secret of the fact that he adored his wife and children.

  “Why should I expect anything less from my husband?” Phoebe asked with a show of defiance.

  “You shouldn’t. I believe Lucas does love you, but that particular emotion has not served him well. He doesn’t trust easily, and he sometimes lacks faith in the goodness of others. You must teach him differently.”

  “How?” she asked, feeling desperate.

  Aunt Georgie took her by the shoulders. “By loving him and by being yourself. That’s why Lucas wants you in the first place—because of who you are.”

  Phoebe eyed her aunt doubtfully. She did love Lucas, she could admit that now. But what the family wanted from her seemed somehow dishonest. And she hated that she had to make the most important decision of her life as a result of stupid gossip and a trumped up scandal.

  “Could we not wait?” she said. “Perhaps the gossip will die down.”

  Aunt Georgie gave an impatient jerk of the head. “I assure you, it won’t. Whether you realize it or not, Lord Castle called your honor into question. You then disappeared with your supposed fiancé for a considerable length of time. When you reappeared, looking considerably flushed and agitated, you made your exit from Framingham House under the eye of several notorious gossips. Believe me, the scandal will only grow, damaging your reputation and casting Lucas in a very bad light, if you were not to marry. And it will not reflect very well on the rest of us, either.”

  Stricken by the catalogue of her offenses, Phoebe lapsed into silence. Put like that, the situation sounded very bad.

  Still, it felt so wrong to marry a man who might not love her—a man who now more than ever would see her as an obligation and a burden. “I should return to America,” she said, feeling wretched. “That way, no one will have anything to gossip about, and Lucas will not be forced to marry me.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Phoebe,” Meredith exclaimed. “No one is forcing Lucas to marry you. As if anyone ever could! He wants to marry you. We can all see that perfectly well, even if you can’t.”

  Phoebe bristled. “Regardless, I do believe my opinion is the one that matters. Besides, I am not sure we would even suit. After all, he is a soldier, and I was raised to reject everything that life represents. Our philosophies and beliefs are a world apart.”

  “Lucas is no longer a soldier, my dear,” Aunt Georgie responded in a cool voice. “Besides, he has no need to apologize for defending his country and his honor, nor should you ask that of him. As for your differing philosophies, I do not believe for a moment they represent an insurmountable impediment to a happy marriage. After all, look at your own parents.”

  Unable to sit a moment longer, Phoebe jumped to her feet. Turning her back on her relatives, she paced to the alcove window and leaned her burning forehead against the cool glass. She took several deep breaths, trying to find a way through the morass of anxiety and self-doubt.

  Her aunt moved to stand behind her. “Has Lucas ever treated you with anything but gentleness and consideration?”

  Phoebe winced. “Of course not.”

  “And you don’t really wish to return to America, do you?”

  Honesty compelled Phoebe to admit the truth. Returning to her brother’s home would be a soul-shattering retreat. “No. I wish to remain in England.”

  Her aunt breathed a sigh of relief. With a touch, Aunt Georgie turned her around, resting her palms on Phoebe’s shoulders. “My child, I understand your doubts. I do not share them. Lucas may not yet comprehend his own heart, but I see it clearly. He needs you in his life, and we need you in our lives. You will help him heal and, in doing so, help heal our family. I only ask you to draw on that faith I know you possess in abundance. If you do, all will be well. I promise.”

  Blinking back tears, Phoebe felt her resistance start to slip. Her own faith at the moment quivered on shifting sands, but she did believe in Aunt Georgie’s wisdom and in the affection of her new family. How could she say no to such a plea from the people she now loved so much, especially when her heart yearned for the same thing? To walk away from Lucas would be like cutting out that same heart and flinging it into the ocean.

  “Very well,” she said in a quiet voice. “If he wishes it, I will marry Lucas.”

  Her aunt rewarded her with a blinding smile. “You will make us all very happy, my love, especially Lucas. And I think you will make yourself happy, too.”

  As Aunt Georgie led her back downstairs, Phoebe tried to convince herself she had made the right decision, both in terms of heart and head. She loved Lucas, and she wanted to be with him. More than anything in her life, she wanted this man and she wanted this family. It was everything she had ever dreamed of in those lonely years back in America.

  Why, then, now that her dream was finally within her grasp, did it feel so wrong?

  Chapter 16

  Phoebe jerked awake when the carriage slowed to a walking pace. She peered out the window into the advancing dusk as shadows and gloom crept over the windswept fields and orchards. Denuded trees thrust their spindly limbs up to the gray November sky, and even the stubbled hay fields, normally glowing with golden color in the setting sun, looked drab and lifeless. They passed through the heart of England’s garden, yet everything looked dreary, a perfect match to her own mood. She had spent the last few days in a tumult of anticipation, worry, and outright dread, all leading up to one thing.

  Her wedding day.

  It did not seem possible that only four days had elapsed since Lady Framingham’s ball. Events since then had moved as quickly as the rushing tide, sweeping her along before it. Haste was of the essence, everyone had said, and the sooner Phoebe and Lucas were married and on their way to Mistletoe Manor, the better. She had a sneaking suspicion Aunt Georgie and the rest of the family worried she would change her mind if they left her too long to think about it.

  And so a special license had been procured, her new clothes had been packed up in a frenzy, and Phoebe had found herself this morning standing beside Lucas in St. George’s Church, in Hanover Square. She could barely recall the details of the ceremony, feeling more an observer than a participant in her own wedding. Only when they recited their vows and Lucas placed a simple gold ring on her finger had she come to full awareness. Then, trembling, she had forced herself to meet his gaze. His careful and kind courtesy of the last few days had vanished, replaced with something akin to triumph.

  Confused, she had stared back, trying to understand the light in his eyes. What triumph was there to be found in such a rushed affair, one that had its roots in scandal and disgrace?

  Then, her new husband had retreated once more into formality. They had returned to Stanton House for a small wedding breakfast, attended only by their immediate relatives and a few friends, such as Nigel Dash. Lucas had held her hand under the table during the toasts, and that had helped. But when it was time to say their good-byes, sadness at leaving her new family rose to choke her, and tears had scalded her eyelids.

  Aunt Georgie and Meredith had hugged her, with many assurances that they would see her in only a week. Lucas, impatient to be on his way, had cast a look up at the threatening sky before gently extracting Phoebe from her aunt’s embrace. The door to the carriage had slammed shut and the coachman started the horses to trot. Quiet at last, with only her maid to keep her company, a sense of doom as heavy as a sodden blanket had settled over her. Perhaps if Lucas had joined her in the coach the feeling would have passed, but her new husband had decided to ride his huge bay stallion. Since one of his grooms could have ridden the horse instead, the only lo
gical conclusion was that Lucas preferred the company of his horse—in freezing November weather, too—to hers.

  Exhausted and lonely, she had finally wedged herself into a corner and fallen asleep, coming awake only a few minutes ago.

  Sighing, she rummaged in her reticule for a handkerchief. Her freezing nose was beginning to drip, which meant she had to find the silly thing or be reduced to wiping her nose on her sleeve. That image almost made her snicker. The new Countess of Merritt wiping her nose on the sleeve of her expensive new pelisse, like a street urchin. It would almost be worth doing it in public some day, just to horrify the snobs of the ton.

  Her maid, who had also been dozing, blinked fully awake and reached for a large bag at her feet. “Here, my lady,” Maggie said, extracting a linen handkerchief. “I was so busy seeing to your trunks that I right forgot to make sure you was properly supplied for the journey.”

  With a grateful murmur, Phoebe took it from the cheerful young woman, who had previously been an upstairs maid at Stanton House. It felt extremely odd to have her own lady’s maid, but she supposed she would get used to it. No doubt a great deal faster than she would to being a countess. It was unfortunate no one had ever written a book of instructions for that particular job.

  After dabbing her nose, Phoebe folded the linen into a square and stowed it in her reticule. She peered out the window again as the carriage came to a full stop. “We have not reached Mistletoe Manor, have we?”

  “Don’t think so, my lady. I could lower the glass and ask, if you’d like.”

  A sharp rap on the coach window startled them both. After pressing a hand to her thumping heart, Phoebe scooted across the seat and let down the glass.

  Lucas had reined up by the side of the carriage and leaned down to look in at her. At the sight of his tough, handsome features, her heart thumped even harder.