The Duchess and the Highwayman (Hearts in Hiding 1)

Rising with the knowledge she had to make the best of things, Phoebe put on her new dress. Her spirits rose when she ran her hands down its skirts for it fitted her better than she’d expected. And when she’d added the gloves and shawl, she looked more like a poor country cousin than a servant with aspirations to grandeur, which was some consolation. As there was no looking glass in her attic room, she decided to make her way to the parlor but stopped belowstairs to find herself a glass of milk.

Here she learned from the tweeny that Mr Redding and his sister were out on a walk. Phoebe had met little Sally rubbing raw her hands scouring pots on a number of occasions, but the girl was clearly under orders not to associate with her. However, as Mrs Withins was having an afternoon rest, Sally was emboldened to ask her own questions.

“Are ye a servant or friend of Mr Redding’s? Mrs Withins says you’s more one than the other but she won’t say which.”

Phoebe drained her glass and put it on the table. “Mr Redding was good enough to take me in when my family became ill. Don’t believe the lies Mrs Withins tells you.”

Sally, still on her knees, eyed Phoebe with interest. “So it’s cos ye’re poor ye’re not respectable?” She ran the scrubbing brush back and forth on the flagstones, staring at the wet wash thoughtfully. “I’m poor too, so I don’t know why Mrs Withins warned me agin you.” She glanced up, putting out a hand to touch Phoebe’s skirts. “An’ ye ain’t dressed like them fancy-pieces wot hides in alleyways to lure the menfolk?”

Phoebe’s eyes widened.

“Mrs Withins said that’s where ye’d end up, an’ if I didn’t want ter end up there too, then I weren’t ter talk ter yer.”

Phoebe cleared her throat. “I won’t end up there because I’m going to London in a few days,” she said, leaving the room and feeling mightily relieved that this was indeed the truth.

For in London she could disappear.

In the parlor, she stood near the center of the room so she could get a better idea of the effect in the reflection of the mirror above the mantelpiece. She’d found a bonnet, quite nicely trimmed, and the shawl was good quality paisley. So even if the dress were coarser cotton than she’d have liked, and the fullness of the skirt not in accordance with this year’s fashions, she was pleased enough with the effect. No one would remark upon her, and that was the main thing.

A small gasp, followed by, “Who are you?” made Phoebe swing around.

Standing in the doorway stood a pale but pretty young woman in a jonquil pelisse, a few strands of damp blonde hair curling below her bonnet, and a clearly damp pair of walking boots. Her surprise and curiosity were a welcome contrast to the sly or condemnatory looks with which Phoebe was used to being greeted by the visitors who came to the house to see Mrs Withins.

“I’m your brother’s friend, and you must be Miss Redding.” Phoebe did not intend to feel ashamed or cowed by any young lady who definitely was no better than she was.

“Hugh’s…friend?” The girl was clearly caught by surprise. “I didn’t know my brother was the kind….” She turned away, blushing furiously, her gaze going to the window, perhaps for fear of her seeing her brother coming up the path.

The girl’s em

barrassment fueled Phoebe’s own. In a rush she said, moving closer to her, “Actually, your brother saved me from a rather terrible situation several weeks ago when he found me on the road after I’d escaped from Blinley Manor.”

“Blinley Manor?” Miss Redding gasped the name as she swung around. Round-eyed as she untied her bonnet which she tossed onto the sofa, she said, “Wasn’t there a murder there?”

Phoebe thought quickly and decided that being truthful, while a risk, was ultimately the safer course. Miss Redding would not mix with those in the area who were looking for the supposedly departed Lady Cavanaugh. Also, the girl had a fresh-faced and rather innocent look about her, despite her brother’s despair at her apparent ruin.

Oh my goodness! Phoebe shuddered. This girl and she had more in common than Miss Redding might suppose. To gauge the effect of using his name, Phoebe said cautiously, “His lordship, Mr Wentworth, murdered his cousin in order to inherit and pretended…my mistress did it. I saw what happened, and I ran away before Mr Wentworth murdered me as he tried to do. Your brother picked me up on the road and has been looking after me as I’ve nowhere else to go. At least, not until I clear my mistress’s name by ensuring Mr Wentworth gets justice.”

Miss Redding had gone very pale, and was holding the back of the sofa to keep steady it appeared. Her lower lip trembled. “My brother told you about Mr Wentworth and…?” She closed her eyes, finishing on a whisper, “He must have, else why would he have taken this house so close, and why would you tell me such terrible things when you’ve only just met me?” She began to cry, crumpling onto the sofa just as the door opened and Mr Redding entered.

His confused, concerned look took in his sister before sliding across to Phoebe, whereupon his eyes darkened. “What have you said to Ada?” He sucked in a breath. “I explicitly said you were not to be in her company.” He hurried forward, taking Phoebe’s wrist, drawing her away from the weeping girl as he said in a low tone, “See how vulnerable she is? Please leave, Phoebe. Ada, are you all right?” His tone gentled and he sank down onto the sofa, taking his sister’s hand and murmuring softly to her.

From the doorway, Phoebe stared at the scene while tears pricked her eyelids. Mr Redding loved and respected his sister, but Phoebe was nothing but a low-born creature in his eyes. She half turned, torn between defending herself and quietly slipping away. She thought Mr Redding was falling in love with her, but now she realized that again, his feelings were fueled by lust and nothing more sincere than that. Why had she deluded herself it was anything else? No man had ever been concerned over her feelings. No man had ever held her hand or crooned words of comfort to her. She’d been alone since the day she’d been born.

Her throat felt swollen, and she rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. She knew she was jealous. Mr Redding had excited her, sent her pulses racing, made her body feel like it was a temple.

But that’s all she was to him: a body, young, and to his liking. Convenient. He didn’t care about her.

Wishing she had a handkerchief, she left the room. What future did she have if it depended solely on bringing pleasure to the men prepared to pay for it? That had been the truth when she was offered to Ulrick in marriage. At least, then, she’d been protected in part by birth and respectability.

Now she had not even these.

11

Walking in the back garden by the cherry tree later that afternoon, Phoebe was surprised to hear her name called. She’d avoided remaining indoors to escape the dreadful prospect of bumping into Miss Redding and inciting the brother’s ire. In fact, Phoebe’s ire toward Mr Redding was so great she wasn’t sure she’d know how to address him when the time came.

Turning, she saw Miss Redding standing on the garden path that led into the orchard where Phoebe had been whiling away her time. “Hugh says I’m not to speak to you, but it wasn’t you who upset me.” Miss Redding came immediately to the point as she joined Phoebe. “Shall we walk?” Unsmiling, she indicated the line of trees.

Phoebe shrugged. “If you wish.”