Supervising Sally (4 page)

‘I do now, but we used to live in Buxton. My mother has been unwell, she and I have just come to make our home with my sister and her husband.'

He clearly did not know he was destined to escort her to Brussels. No doubt Beatrice would tell him. If he knew she was a mere employee, would he be willing to ride out with her? Just in case he was not, she would not mention it herself. The opportunity to ride out for the first time in over four years, since they had been forced to sell her horse, was too precious to jeopardize.

Peters reappeared, saying her ladyship's maid would meet the young lady in her bedroom. Phoebe swallowed the last of her coffee, jumped up, and almost ran from the room. Within a quarter of an hour she was walking into the stable yard, the skirt of a very elegant dark-green habit looped over her arm, and a matching military-style hat perched on her head.

Two horses were waiting, a tall, rangy chestnut gelding and a smaller, dainty black mare. The earl was talking to a groom, but he turned when he heard Phoebe's footsteps and smiled at her.

‘Good, you don't waste time. Let's go.'

Phoebe did not see Dorothy or Hermione until it was time for dinner before the ball. She and the earl had ridden up on to the moors, and when he saw she was a confident rider he led the way along an ancient track which was an old drove road, letting the horses stretch their legs in an exhilarating gallop.

He had brought food, and they had picnicked under an ancient oak tree, talking about the scenery. The earl told her about his own home in Shropshire, beside the River Severn, much gentler country, and Phoebe spoke of her life in
Buxton. She did not like to mention Brussels. He might think she was being too forward. It was the middle of the afternoon before they returned to the house.

‘You will ache,' he said, as he lifted her down from the saddle. ‘Soak in a bath or you will be unable to dance tonight. I warn you, I shall ask you for a waltz, and I cannot tolerate partners who plead soreness or exhaustion.'

Phoebe had taken his advice, and the maid looking after her lit the fire in her bedroom, brought a hip bath and a procession of footmen carrying cans of hot water, and stayed to help Phoebe wash her hair. As Phoebe sank into the scented water she sighed with pleasure. This was so different from their genteel poverty in Buxton, and the grudging provision of just three extra cans of hot water once a week, which was all Jane permitted in the way of a bath.

Kneeling in front of the fire rubbing her hair dry, Phoebe recalled every moment of the day. In the earl's company she had not thought of the moors as bleak and inhospitable. He had talked about the birds they saw, pointed out a couple of deer hiding behind some straggling bushes, and said he loved coming here when the heather was in flower. She would enjoy travelling to Brussels in his company, she decided. If she had had any qualms about this first journey so far away from home, she no longer felt them.

There were fewer people sitting down for dinner tonight, just the house party. Phoebe had contrived to avoid Reginald's sisters during the rest of the afternoon, and in the drawing-room before dinner she had talked to Priscilla and the earl, giving them no opportunity to reproach her for perceived faults, though both of them had glowered at her in a manner which promised they would have plenty to say later. Hermione joined the small group and, simpering up at his lordship, began to relate all they had done during the day. It seemed mainly to consist of viewing the pictures of
Lord Drayton's ancestors in the picture gallery, helping Lady Drayton arrange flowers, and resting in their room in preparation for the evening's exertions.

‘So where were you all day?' she asked Phoebe, her tone hardening.

‘I took Miss Kingston riding,' the earl replied for her.

Hermione gasped. ‘I hope you took a groom! It's not at all the thing for an unmarried girl to ride out with a man she's not related to.'

The earl looked down at her, his glance haughty. ‘Are you implying that Miss Kingston would not be safe in my company?' he asked, his voice silky.

Hermione, flustered, lost herself in a maze of denials, apologies and excuses.

Priscilla eyed her with interest. ‘You need not be concerned for Phoebe's virtue,' she said. ‘Uncle Zach is determined not to marry, so he's not going to compromise any girl and fall into parson's mousetrap.'

Hermione, flushing unbecomingly, retreated to where Dorothy was sitting with one of the older ladies. The earl, trying to look stern, chastised his niece for her language and her forward behaviour, and then had to leave them to take his dinner partner into the dining-room. Priscilla merely chuckled.

‘She probably wished he'd taken her out. It would have done her no good. He only flirts with married ladies,' she whispered to Phoebe, ‘but he'll have to marry in the end if he doesn't want our great-uncle Jonas and his horrible brat to inherit,' she added with a grimace.

There was no time for more, and Phoebe was left wondering what was the matter with Jonas and his son that made Priscilla dislike them.

The guests for the ball began to arrive as soon as dinner was over. Phoebe had not seen the ballroom before, which
was attached to one side of the house, but when she went in she gasped in delight. It looked like a magic winter fairyland. Greenery, fir trees and swags of holly and ivy were all around the room, arranged to create small alcoves which could be used for those who were not dancing. Lit by several chandeliers, the candles reflected a hundred times in the crystal drops and glittered on something which had been used to make it appear the trees and leaves were covered with frost.

The earl was dancing with his sister's younger guests, but Phoebe had no shortage of partners. Occasionally one of the older men invited Dorothy or Hermione to dance, but most of the younger men avoided them. They really did look most peculiar, in white satin gowns trimmed with pale-pink rosebuds and embroidered with dark-green branches and leaves across the bodices and round the hems. Dorothy carried a pale-pink shawl, Hermione a pale-green one. The dresses were far too young for them, almost as though they were in fancy dress, and their discontented expressions were not encouraging.

It was after supper, when Phoebe was wondering a little disconsolately if the earl had forgotten he had said he'd dance with her, when he appeared at her side. She saw Dorothy glaring as he led her on to the floor. No doubt the report that went back to Bradshaw Towers would be critical and accuse her of being fast. She determined she must write to her mother and give her own account before those cats prejudiced Mrs Kingston and gave her a false impression of her behaviour. She did not think Mama would believe bad rumours about her, or change her mind and not permit her to go to Brussels, but she suspected that if the sisters could spoil her chances they would do so.

‘Not too stiff?' the earl asked as he put his arm about Phoebe's waist and swirled her into the crowd of dancers. It
was a waltz, a dance she and some girl friends had learned just before Papa died, when it was considered so daring very few hostesses allowed it at their dances. She had never danced it in public, but to her relief the steps and the rhythm had not been forgotten.

‘No,' she managed, but was too breathless, both at his closeness and the speed of the twirling, to say more.

‘My sister tells me the Bradshaw sisters are your cousins.'

‘No they are not!' Phoebe replied, horror-struck. ‘They are not related to me at all. My older sister is married to their brother, that is all. It was very kind of Lady Drayton to invite them here,' she added, aware that she had sounded ungrateful.

He looked at her quizzically. ‘They don't appear to be enjoying the experience. Do they go out into society much at home?'

‘I don't think so. Reginald is a mill owner, and though he would like to think of himself as a gentleman, I believe his social contacts are only with other businessmen. Oh dear, that sounds odiously top-lofty!'

He laughed. ‘Refreshingly candid. Enough of them. You used to live in Buxton, you told me this morning. Was society there lively?'

‘Until my father died four years ago, yes. I went to balls and the assemblies, and we had a host of friends. But since then we have led very quiet lives.' Of necessity, given our low income, she thought, and for the first time allowed herself to regret the lost opportunities, as well as the loss of her much-loved father.

He began to talk of other things, and all too soon the waltz ended. Phoebe had become used to the feel of his arm about her waist, and stepped away from him reluctantly as the music ceased.

‘I'll say farewell now, I leave early in the morning for
London,' he told her, as he escorted her to where she had been sitting with his nieces.

Phoebe felt a sudden sense of loss, then admonished herself. She would soon see him again, but she must take care not to read too much into polite conversation. He was attractive, but he treated all women in the same fashion. It meant nothing. He had not singled her out, or showed undue liking for her. He had taken her riding simply because she had been with him in the breakfast-room, and maybe he had taken pity on her.

Dorothy and Hermione departed, tight-lipped, the following day. Reginald had sent his own carriage for them, and Phoebe entrusted her letter to her mother to the footman accompanying it. Many of the other guests were departing also, and the air was full of farewells, thanks for the hospitality, and plans to meet again soon.

Beatrice sank into an armchair with a sigh of relief when the last of them had gone.

‘Phoebe, let's have a cup of tea. I'm exhausted. I do enjoy entertaining, and as Lord Drayton rarely leaves home, apart from trips to Buxton to see his doctor or tailor, it is almost the only opportunity he gets to see his friends.'

When the tea tray had been brought and they were sipping the fragrant brew, she looked at Phoebe, a question in her eyes.

‘Did your brother-in-law's sisters enjoy themselves? I'm afraid they did not appear to be having an enjoyable time.'

Phoebe looked straight at her. ‘I don't think they would enjoy anything if they were not the centre of attention,' she said. ‘Please, you did everything you could to make their stay pleasant, except provide them with wealthy, handsome, titled husbands!'

Beatrice laughed. ‘That would be beyond my powers, I fear.'

‘But they are always dissatisfied. They cannot be very happy at home. Reginald is autocratic, and so much older than they are. And Jane, I'm afraid, likes to be in charge of everything.'

‘I see. Phoebe, as soon as I return from escorting you to London I will ask your mother here for a long visit.'

Phoebe forced back a tear. How perceptive and kind she was. ‘I think she would enjoy that. She loves Jane, of course, but she will be missing her friends in Buxton.'

‘And you. How did you like Zachary?'

Phoebe blinked at the change of subject. ‘I found him very pleasant. He was kind and took pity on me, I think, because I knew no one else here.'

‘Zachary is well-mannered, polite, but I would not consider him a man who normally makes special efforts to entertain lonely girls. He enjoys feminine company but he is, I fear, an incorrigible flirt. My dear, don't allow yourself to feel a
tendre
for him.'

Phoebe flushed. ‘Of course not! It would be quite inappropriate. I'm your employee.'

Beatrice smiled but said no more about her brother. ‘We'll spend a couple of days quietly, to recover, then we'll set off for London.'