The Duchess and the Highwayman (Hearts in Hiding 1)

Hugh wished he could have responded with greater alacrity. He certainly wished he’d not hesitated so long that his sister eyed him with skeptical satisfaction.

The truth was, he’d not yet won Phoebe’s heart. It shouldn’t matter. But it did.

14

So now she had a walking gown, full dress for evening entertainments, and a promenade gown. She had a shawl, a pelisse, a pair of boots, dancing slippers, and an assortment of feathers and pins to dress her hair. It wasn’t nearly enough, but with imagination, she could probably equip herself for most events a lady or a servant might attend.

Phoebe stared through the window of her attic room at the patchwork of fields disappearing into the distance, and tried to feel hopeful for the future.

Instead, a pall of gloom had settled on her shoulders.

Hugh had been away for several days. He’d taken Ada to see some people. It was all rather mysterious, and she wondered if it had something to do with the child Ada had so reluctantly been parted from, though surely Hugh would not sanction his sister visiting her illegitimate child.

The truth was, Phoebe was starting to feel vulnerable. She had come to enjoy feeling safe with a man who made her come alive, even if the surroundings were not ideal, but now she feared the awful wrench that would inevitably occur when Hugh decided to part with her, or Phoebe had no choice but to leave.

Sighing, her mind filled again with the image of Hugh; of his smile, his humor, his adherence to a strict moral code.

He’d been assiduous in not having relations with Phoebe under the same roof while Ada was here. Clearly, he regarded Ada as a paragon of virtue, despite his sister’s fall from grace which was interesting, Phoebe thought, with a touch of irony.

He’d been assiduous in following through with his promise to equip Phoebe with a decent wardrobe in the week since Ada had arrived and this, she knew, was in preparation to set her up in a townhouse in St John’s Wood, or some vicinity in easy proximity to his townhouse when he returned to London.

A few months ago, the idea would have been laughable, shocking, untenable.

But that was before she was branded a murderess with no means of a fair trial.

No, in London Phoebe would start a new life as a fully-fledged fallen woman, but the strange fact was that she didn’t mind the idea of sharing her life with a man she felt strongly about and who’d pledged to look after her. Who’d have thought her damaged heart was capable of such feeling…still?

The unfortunate fact was, though, that Phoebe would much prefer to be his wife. Yes, she’d once been Lady Cavanaugh and mistress of several estates, but she’d be far happier as the wife of a man of more moderate means who simply loved her.

Always, though, was that lurking doubt. Would he still love her if he knew the truth about her? That she was, in fact, the murderous, adulterous, Lady Cavanaugh?

Listlessly, Phoebe trailed to the window and wondered when Hugh would return. He’d been vague, saying there were matters concerning Ada to attend to, and he really couldn’t say. He’d kissed her affectionately, holding her tightly against him in a parting farewell that spoke volumes about the state of his feeling for her. And hers for him. His eyes had been filled with genuine regard and genuine regret at having to be parted from her.

Now, as she saw a carriage crest the hill coming in their direction, she felt a surge of hope and quickly dashed to the chest at the foot of her bed to change her dress.

Hugh was back, and she wanted to look as charming and desirable for him as was possible. Quickly she combed her hair, pinning it into an ensemble her own maid had perfected with her quick and nimble hands. She wondered where Barbara was now, and whether her maid believed her mistress Lady Cavanaugh guilty of murdering Ulrick. Barbara had been a dour retainer, and there’d never been much intimacy between them during the eight months the woman had been in her employ though Barbara had always seemed loyal. Phoebe suspected her husband had ordered their housekeeper, Mrs Fenton, to inform the servants that no conversation beyond the necessary was to be entered into with their mistress. It was one of his many ways of keeping Phoebe restrained beneath his roof.

It didn’t take Phoebe long before she was satisfied by her appearance. The lack of fear, and the increasing joy with which she received Hugh had erased the fine lines of worry around her eyes of which she’d become so conscious.

Pushing the ivory comb into her hair to properly secure it, she went to the window, her heart beating with excitement as she threw wide the casement, eagerly anticipating greeting Hugh as he stepped from the carriage.

Instead, it was Sir Roderick’s carriage below, and there was Sir Roderick stepping out, leaning heavily on his silver-topped cane but glancing up at the house and catching sight of Phoebe.

She ducked her head back in and ran to her iron cot against the wall, alarm making her weak-legged. She’d been in full view for less than a second. She had to believe he’d not recognized her.

The casement was still open as she heard him rapping on the door before Mrs Withins opened it.

Phoebe dare not be caught out, but she had to hear what had brought him to the house and be ready to flee, if she had to. With quiet stealth, she returned to the window where she stood just out of sight while the sounds of the visitor conversing with the housekeeper filtered up to her.

It was as dire as she had feared. A warrant was out for Lady Cavanaugh’s arrest, and a recent sighting confirmed the belief she was still in the area. Thereafter followed a description of the “dangerous murderess” as she was referred to. A description that was frighteningly similar to that of Phoebe when she was dressed according to her station.

But would Mrs Withins draw any parallels? She wasn’t particularly intelligent or observant as far as Phoebe could see. No, she’d never think of low-born, immoral, lazy Phoebe in the same way as highborn Lady Cavanaugh. Would she?

She heard Mrs Withins tutting and then her wheezing voice. “Ah, but it ain’t surprisin’, Sir Roderick, fer we’ve long ‘eard the stories of Lady Cavanaugh. She’s a wicked, wanton creature an’ all us servants are shocked with the tales of ‘er doins’. No, I ain’t seen ‘er, but I’d be the first ter tell yer so’s I could see ‘er face justice. What’s the world comin’ to if a ‘usband can’t be safe in ‘is own bed?”

Phoebe could hardly bear to hear any more, though she waited until she heard the sound of the carriage departing. With a sigh of relief she collapsed on her bed, but in less than half an hour the crunch of wheels on gravel had her again dashing in terror to the window, prepared to flee with just the clothes on her back. Had someone come to apprehend her?

However, it was Hugh and her heart surged with joy to see him. Not caring what Mrs Withins might think, she ran down the stairs and out into the garden where she threw herself into his arms the moment he issued from his carriage.