Phoebe was thrilled and fascinated with her new and fancifully different home, with the surrounding countryside, so lush and verdant, with the seas that sometimes thundered and at other times shushed so peacefully into the cove beneath her window.
Today the seas were peaceful, the sun beaming down as she and Deverell, arm in arm, wended their way through the huge crowd gathered to celebrate their wedding.
Everyone was there; she and Deverell had agreed to have their banns read and give everyone the three weeks to prepare and journey down to the hall. She’d convinced Emmeline and Birtles to close the agency for a few days and enjoy the castle’s hospitality. They’d managed to bring Scatcher with them; he was wandering the old bailey, now an expanse of lawn on which they were all gathered, gazing in amazement at the surrounding castle walls.
Phoebe glanced around, too, but at the crowd, noting the many large gentlemen—the Bastion Club members and various others—present. Many were powerful, forceful men, ruthless when necess
ary, dangerous when crossed, and not one of them would she not trust with her honor, with her life.
For years she’d imagined such gentlemen didn’t exist; now they surrounded her. Glancing at the one on whose arm she was strolling, she smiled to herself and leaned lightly, fleetingly, against him.
He looked at her but only smiled.
They stopped beside Jack, Lord Hendon, another of those large and powerful gentlemen. Kit, his beautiful wife, beside him, smiled delightedly and touched cheeks with Phoebe. Although older than Phoebe, she was of like mind in many ways and, as Phoebe now was, was included in that highly select group, the wives of the gentlemen of the Bastion Club, Jack being an unofficial club member.
Jack shook hands with Deverell.
When he turned to Phoebe, she stretched up and bussed his cheek. “Thank you for your help.”
Jack grinned. “My pleasure.” He glanced at Deverell. “Any time you want to stop a slaving ship, I’m your man.”
Two days after Lowther had shot himself, they’d trapped the white slavers on the docks and rescued all the abducted girls. The men on the ship had hoisted sail and tried to slip away, but had found their way blockaded, not just by the water police in their rowing boats but by two large ships of the Hendon line, fully manned with cannons deployed.
“Have you settled all the girls yet?” Kit asked. “I sent Emmeline two more names I think would be suitable for some of your clients.”
“Thank you.” Phoebe pressed Kit’s hand. “With all of you—and your friends, too—assisting, we’ve been able to place all the kidnapped girls, as well as a number who wanted to change households.”
Her “little crusade” had grown; Deverell had remarked it was well on the way to becoming a secret cause célèbre, at least among a certain section of the ton.
“Indeed.” Kit’s eyes twinkled as she reclaimed her husband’s arm. “And with the continued success of the gentlemen of the Bastion Club in finding suitable brides, there’ll be positions aplenty for nannies and children’s maids all too soon.”
Phoebe blushed. She was grateful when Deverell excused them and guided her on; she hadn’t told anyone their news yet—only him. “Do you think she guessed?”
In light of Kit’s knowing smile, Deverell thought it very likely. He shrugged. “Everyone will know soon enough.”
He looked down at Phoebe, at her bright eyes, at the garnet glints glowing in her rich, dark red hair. “Once you give me leave, I fully intend to shout it from the rooftops.” Everything he could have asked from life he now had, all he wanted from life he now possessed.
Phoebe chuckled and let him lead her on to where Audrey and Loftus sat with Edith in the shade of one of the old towers. They chatted for some minutes. While Phoebe spoke with Edith and Loftus, Audrey stood; moving to Deverell’s other side, she leaned on his arm.
He arched a brow at her.
“You’re now the head of the family, so I thought I should warn you—I’m about to cause a scandal.”
He raised both brows. “Oh?”
Audrey nodded, the peacock feather in her turban bobbing wildly. “I’m going to marry Loftus.” Head high, she met his eyes. “Are you going to disown me?”
“Of course not.” He’d guessed, and approved; Loftus provided the perfect foil for Audrey’s flamboyant eccentricity, and having helped him to his own thoroughly suitable bride, it seemed entirely right that she should, through that, find her own happiness.
She considered him, then smiled softly. “Your father would have, you know.”
Closing his hand over hers on his sleeve, he gently squeezed. “Thanks to you, I’m not my father.”
Just as well; if he had been, he’d never have had the sense to pursue, let alone marry, an unconventional female like Phoebe.
And what a shame that would have been.
Last night, she’d found him in the library reading a book on India. After having him describe various castes and practices, she’d declared she was a maharani and he her pleasure slave; she’d ordered him to her bedchamber, there to fulfill her every wish, her every desire.