Chapter 7
Lucas gratefully entered the warmth of Stanton House. London on a dark November night didn't match the biting cold of the Pyrenees in the winter but it was dreary enough, with the damp fog penetrating even the wool of his greatcoat. Still, he'd gladly exchange the mansions of Mayfair for a soldier's camp in the high mountain passes of Spain. For one thing, he'd be spared the social inanities that awaited him in his aunt's drawing room. For another, he wouldn't have to see the bane of his existence, his cousin Silverton.
Tolliver made a dignified approach across the entrance hall. “Good evening, Lord Merritt. May I take your coat and hat?”
Lucas forced a smile. He was here tonight for Phoebe and no one else. He'd stay out of his cousin's way, and hope Silverton had the sense to do the same.
He glanced up the imposing central staircase. “They've all gone in, I suppose?”
He hoped so, since he could then slip into the party without a fuss and hope to slip out later, just as easily. God, he hated these evenings. They always provoked a vague, restless sensation, his muscles twitching with the need for action. Fourteen years of soldiering were to blame. Ever since he resigned his commission, everything else in life had bored him by comparison.
Except for his new estate. That wasn't boring. It was a nightmare, and another responsibility in a long list of responsibilities he'd never wanted.
“Yes, my lord,” said Tolliver. “The General and her ladyship will be happy to receive you in the yellow saloon.”
Ah. It was a formal affair. Poor Phoebe. His little cousin wouldn't know what hit her when confronted with all the trappings of the haute ton, but Aunt Georgie was obviously intent on sending a message.
She's a Stanton. She's one of us
.
Accept her, or else.
Smiling at her tactics, Lucas climbed the stairs two at a time. He gave his waistcoat a tug, then stepped into the saloon, taking a moment to study the lay of the land. Best to know the territory one's friends and enemies had staked out before entering the battlefield.
Aunt Georgie held court at the far end of the room, surrounded by four of the most influential dragons of the ton. Close by, the General chatted with some of his retired military friends and Silverton, which meant Lucas would be avoiding that corner of the room. The rest of the guests drifted about the elegant space, or gathered in small, chattering groups.
But where the hell was Phoebe?
There.
Tucked away in a window alcove, trying to attract as little notice as possible. She sat with Meredith, who was conversing with her half sister, Annabel. Robert, Annabel's husband and grandson to General and Lady Stanton, stood behind them, a look of boredom already apparent on his youthful face.
Lucas had to repress a laugh. Robert hated these evenings almost as much as he did. In fact, the lad had grown quite adept at getting out of them since he had married Annabel. The fact that the whole family had turned out in force underscored the importance of the event.
Since no one had noticed him yet, he took a moment to study Phoebe. He'd seen a good deal of her these last few weeks, going to Stanton House most days ostensibly to visit his uncle. His intent lay elsewhere, of course, which General Stanton had certainly deduced, although he'd had the good sense not to mention it to Phoebe.
Much to Lucas's unending surprise, the girl intrigued him. She had from the moment they met. Phoebe had a sweet, winsome beauty and a gentle manner, but underneath her calm exterior there lived an intelligent mind and a quick wit.
Not that anyone saw the wit very often. Phoebe approached life in a serious fashion. That partly stemmed from her dreary Quaker upbringing, but Lucas also suspected other forces at play. What caused her to engage with life in such cautious manner, he had yet to discern. But he would. Unless his instincts had failed him, she was developing an attachment to him. It manifested in the shy but eager smile that lit up her face whenever he walked into the room, and in the way she focused her attention on him. Not in a flattering, obsequious way, but with a quiet intensity that seemed to be entirely unconscious on her part.
Considering his plans for her, that pleased him a great deal.
As he watched her, her head came up and she turned his way. Their gazes locked. A pink blush tinged her cheeks and her lips parted in a luminous smile. He felt the impact of that smile reverberate through bone and muscle like a hammer blow.
Startled, he shook it off. Never again would a woman exercise control over him, even one as gentle and honest as Phoebe. That, however, didn't mean he couldn't enjoy her attentions, or revel in the fact that she appeared as fascinated with him as he was with her. He realized what was happening between them, even if she was too innocent to recognize the signs.
With a little luck, she wouldn't be innocent much longer.
Given the way she looked tonight, he could hardly wait. Aunt Georgie and Meredith had transformed Phoebe into a stunner, with her gown clinging to soft, enticing curves, and glossy dark locks artfully arranged in a riotous tumble around her neck and shoulders. She was a prize, and he hoped to claim her as soon as he could.
“Good evening, ladies,” he said as he came up to the small group. “Annabel, it's a pleasure to see you in town, but I can't say the same for your husband. How you tolerate him is a mystery no Stanton has been able to solve.”
Annabel giggled as he bent to kiss her cheek, but Robert snorted. “It's because I'm such a pleasant, well-mannered fellow. Unlike some people, who can't be bothered to show up for a family dinner even when his favorite cousin has just arrived in town.”
Lucas raised his eyebrows in mock enquiry. “Yes, I certainly did miss seeing Annabel, but the thought of dining with you was too much for my delicate stomach.”
Annabel tried to look severe, an impossible feat for one so elfin. “Lucas, you are a terrible tease. But we were beginning to wonder if you would bother to put in an appearance tonight.”
Meredith threw her sister a warning glance, but remained silent. Lucas couldn't help but appreciate her discretion. He would never abandon Phoebe during her first outing, but dinner had been out of the question. The last time he and Silverton had shared a table the meal had ended in a brawl, as Annabel well knew because it was her damn table.
“Forgive me,” he said politely. “I was engaged earlier in the evening, but I would never miss Phoebe's first party.”
Phoebe narrowed her eyes at him. She obviously knew the reason for his late arrival, and it seemed to bother her, too.
Mentally, he shrugged. On this particular matter she would soon learn to respect his wishes, as had every other Stanton. She might not like it, but his careful avoidance of Silverton when at all possible made life easier for everyone.
To distract her from the topic he loathed more than any other, Lucas took her slender hand and carried it to his mouth, causing her to blush. “Phoebe, I hardly recognized you. Surely my aunt has arranged for you to be kidnapped, and another woman substituted in your place. Where is my shy little Quaker? Who is this fashionable, self-assured woman sitting in her place?”
As anticipated, Phoebe starched right up. She worked hard to subdue her temper, but he sometimes enjoyed prodding it to the surface. He liked the passion in her, and liked even more the prospect of unleashing that passion when her body lay naked under his.
Meredith leapt to defend her charge, much like a tabby might defend her only kitten. “Phoebe looks very pretty and just as she should, and you well know it.”
He laughed. “I do. In fact, pretty doesn't do her justice. Stunning is the more appropriate term. Phoebe, I always knew you were hiding your light under a basket. I'm happy to see you letting it shine for all to see.”
She gave an adorable little grimace, looking torn between pleasure and embarrassment. “I am pleased to pass your inspection,
Lord Merritt,
” she replied, giving his name a sarcastic emphasis. “But I cannot help feeling rather odd. As kind as Aunt Georgie's guests have all been, I rather think they anticipate something unexpected from me. Like falling into a religious fit, or speaking in tongues.”
She was trying to make a joke of it, but he could sense her discomfort. Phoebe hated standing out. Her upbringing should have armored her against the censure of the broader worldâsince her people normally didn't give a damn about the opinions of non-Quakersâbut he'd learned that she had felt no more at home in that rigid little world than she did among London's elite. She was neither fish nor fowl, and her usual tactic was to fade into the wallpaper and hope no one noticed her.
Lucas hooked an arm around a chair and pulled it next to her. “Once they get to know you, your religious beliefs won't make a whit of difference.”
She looked so sweet and vulnerable, trying to act as if none of it really mattered, that he could barely resist the temptation to pull her into his arms and comfort her. Now
that
would give the gossips something to chatter about.
“Lord,” said Robert, waving a negligent hand. “I don't know what all the fuss is about. You don't even speak like a Quaker, Phoebe. Why, you're nothing like those sour-looking crows in black, always preaching at some poor fellow. Cursed rum touches, I say.”
Annabel's mouth dropped open and Meredith shook her head. Lucas, however, choked back a laugh. No Stanton gathering would be complete without Robert making at least one baffle-headed remark.
Phoebe's decisive chin jerked up a notch. Lucas quite liked that chin, with its small, defiant cleft. While not usually an attractive characteristic on a woman, it lent her an air of exoticism that steadfastly contradicted her attempts to play down her beauty.
“And how does thee imagine a Quaker speaks?” she asked politely.
Robert's eyes rounded with dismay. “Rather like that, actually.”
Annabel glared at her husband but Meredith now looked ready to laugh, probably at the haughty lift to Phoebe's slender eyebrows. Taking in Phoebe's expression, Lucas could understand how such a meek little thing could survive a crossing of the storm-tossed Atlantic, then venture into a strange land to start a new life.
Robert stared at Phoebe with alarm. “Good Lord, Cuz, never meant to offend you. It's just that . . .” He broke off when a smile played around the corners of Phoebe's mouth.
“Whew,” he exhaled. “Thought you were having me on. It's just that you don't really talk like any Quaker I've ever met. Not that I've met all that many, and I'm sure they'd be just as nice as you. Except for those outfits, of course. They're beastly and no getting around it.”
“Their clothing makes it easier to get dressed in the morning,” Phoebe said, “but I do take your point. I do not normally speak like that. My brother and his family certainly do, but my father did not, nor did my mother. She was determined that I speak what she called
proper King's English
.”
She glanced at Lucas, offering him a shy smile. “Some people seem to expect me to deliver an evangelical lecture over dinner, and I cannot disabuse them of the notion. I suppose I must simply look and act too
plain
.”
“Nonsense, Phoebe,” said Annabel, obviously misunderstanding the Quaker meaning of the term. “You're the prettiest girl in the room and you have the loveliest manners, too.”
Robert looked thoughtful, which usually boded ill. “Well, Phoebe is a dashed pretty girl, Belle, but to be fair, there ain't that many girls in the room to begin with. You and Meredith don't qualify anymoreâ”
Meredith reached over the back of the sofa and pinched him, but Robert simply grinned and carried on.
“As for the rest, given how old most of the guests are, it'll be a miracle if one of them doesn't keel over dead into the punch bowl by the end of the night.”
Annabel rounded horrified eyes at her husband. “Do not let Grandpapa hear you say that. He's certainly as old as most of the guests tonight. And you know how sensitive he is about his age.”
Robert cast an alarmed eye in his grandfather's direction. If there was one thing calculated to reduce him to silence, it was the fear of the old man's wrath.
“Yes,” said Meredith. “Let us not upset the General. Although,” she added, trying to repress a laugh, “Lady Bellingham does look to be nodding off as we speak. I do hope she doesn't begin snoring like she did at the Wellbourne's musicale last week. She was so loud she drowned everything out, including Cissy Patterson's performance on the harp. And you know Cissy. Any little thing pitches her into hysterics.”
Phoebe blinked, clearly not knowing how to respond to that piece of information.
“Poor Phoebe,” Lucas said. “We are all so gay to dissipation.”
She laughed. “I do not mind in the least. While it is true that several of the guests are rather deaf, which does make conversation a challenge, one cannot fault their kindness or courtesy.”