A Sisterly Regard (28 page)

"Have they not?" Lady Gifford replied, as she too picked up a
sheet to turn. She related Phaedra's hope for time to consider Mr.
Farwell's proposal. "I have been thinking. If--No, when Phaedra marries, I
shall be in need of female companionship. Would you consider coming to
the Court with us? I cannot promise peace and contentment, for the boys
keep us hopping, but I would very much like to have you there."

"I could come and visit you for a while, and we shall see. I admit
I have been lonely myself, this past while. But before we make our plans,
should we not see that Phaedra does indeed marry."

Lady Gifford laid down the sheet and smoothed it across her
knees. "Do you think she will have him, Louisa?"

"I cannot guess. Phaedra keeps her own council. I confess myself
surprised that she will ask him to wait. Perhaps she is not so averse to his
suit as she says."

"We can but hope. I like that young man, Louisa, despite his
outrageous costumes and his sleepiness. I am not certain in my own mind
he is the right husband for her, although I do believe his offer will make a
difference in Phaedra's life, whether she marries him or not."

Cousin Louisa patted her hand. "At this point, we can only wait
and see."

The pile of mended sheets grew as they sewed in silence,
content in quiet domesticity, after the excitement of the past few
days.

* * * *

Phaedra greeted her suitor with damp palms and a shaking voice.
After the usual polite exchanges, she said, "Mr. Farwell, I must thank you
for your offer..." She could go no further. She simply could not imagine
kissing him, let alone sharing his bed for the rest of her life.

At her words, his lips tightened, then relaxed, so quickly she
was unsure she had really seen the subtle change. He stepped to the
fireplace and stared down into it for a moment, then turned and laid his
arm along the mantel. His stance showed him at ease and prepared to wait
as long as was necessary for her to find her voice again.

"Oh, why did you have to do it?" she cried angrily. "Now I
cannot be comfortable with you, and I was, before."

This time the tightening of his lips was unmistakable. After a
brief silence he said, in an uncharacteristically serious tone, "Will you sit,
Miss Phaedra, while you rail at me? I confess that I do not wish to receive
your refusal while standing."

She sat on the sofa, expecting that he would take the chair
whence he could look into her face. Instead he seated himself beside
her.

She clasped her hands tightly in her lap and stared at them,
waiting for him to speak.

After a moment, his hand covered hers. His skin was warm,
firm, his touch somehow comforting.

How strange. His hand does not look like I would have expected the
hand of a fop to appear. It is strong, not delicate and useless.

She stole a peek at him. His expression was guarded, and his
gaze was fixed steadily on her face.

Phaedra took a deep breath, seeking courage. "I am not refusing
you, Mr. Farwell. Not yet. But I cannot accept you, either."

"So I am to hang about on tenterhooks until you make up your
mind?" His lips twisted in a grimace.

Pain? Or anger?

"My dear Miss Phaedra, I want to marry you now, as soon as the
banns can be called. I do not wish to wait for months while you dither
about."

"Why?"

"Why? Why do I not want to wait? You silly chit, because I am
not a patient man." He pulled a lacy handkerchief from his sleeve and
wafted it at her. "We fops do not like delayed pleasures, don't you
know."

Where was the sleepiness, the ennui? Phaedra frowned. "Why
do you want to marry me?" She peered at him, wishing she could see
beyond the abrupt opacity of his grey eyes.

"Why? You ask why? Great God, what a foolish question."
Again the lacy handkerchief waved between them. "Because it is time I
took a wife. Because you are suitable. Because I want to set up my
nursery. Why does any man wish to marry?" His voice had increased in
volume as he spoke, until his last words were close to a shout.

Still wondering who this strange, new person was, this
impatient, forceful man who wore the façade of Reginald Farwell,
she shook her head. "None of your reasons is sufficient," she told him.
"Perhaps I should not ask you to wait on my decision."

He sat back, but left his hand over hers. "What do you consider
to be a sufficient reason, then?"

"Love. I will not marry where there is not love. I have seen what
my parents have and I want it too."

"Well, then, I love you. NOW will you marry me?"

"I think you said you love me because I wanted you to, not
because you do. We have known each other barely a month and we have
fought continually. I wonder if we should suit at all. I had hoped you
would offer for Chloe. She and you seem so like."

When he opened his mouth, she held up a hand. "No, let me
finish. We have never agreed upon a single topic, not once. To me this
says we are entirely unsuited, but you obviously have a different
understanding of our relationship. Until I am convinced one way or the
other, I cannot give you the answer you desire, or any answer at all." She
turned her hand under his, so that their palms touched. "Please, give me
time."

"I would not have had your sister as a gift. Had I wanted a social
butterfly for a wife, I could have had one long since." His hand tightened
on hers, squeezing until she winced. "Blast you, Phaedra, must you be so
stubborn?"

"I have no choice. Will you wait one month?"

"If I must, but I will not like it." He released her hand and
relaxed against the back of the sofa. "Since you are determined to know
me better, you may begin the inquisition."

"The inquisition? What do you mean?"

"The questions. To get to know me. I am waiting. Go
ahead."

Phaedra found herself without speech.
Questions? I am
supposed to ask him questions so I can learn more about him? Has he no
understanding of how a man and woman become acquainted?

After a moment in which thoughts spun madly inside her head,
she said, "I will not ask you impertinent questions as a way of getting to
know you better. We must spend time in each other's company, learn
each other's habits and likes and dislikes. We will that way learn much
more than mere words could impart." She lifted her gaze to his face,
seeking his understanding.

His eyes were closed.

"Reginald Farwell! How dare you go to sleep when I am
speaking to you?" Filled with hot anger, Phaedra picked up a pillow from a
nearby chair and began to beat him with it. "Wake up, you idiot! Listen to
me! Wake up!"

More swiftly than she had ever seen him move, he wrested the
pillow from her and grabbed her wrists in one hand. Before she could
think of struggling, he had them behind her, manacled together with long,
strong fingers.

His other arm went around her, and he pulled her hard against
him. "If you will prose on with nonsense, I will fall asleep. Now, what was
it you would like to know? My teeth are good. I am told that I snore, but I
have never heard myself do so, and it is therefore probably a lie. I do not
keep a mistress and I gamble only in moderation. I am twenty-nine years
of age. I was schooled at Eton, but did not go on to university. I have a
small estate and a modest income, enough to house you and clothe you
comfortably. Is there anything else you wish to know?"

She could not answer, for immediately upon uttering his last
question, he had captured her lips with his. He held her so tightly she
could only struggle weakly.

In the next instant, she lost interest in breaking free. A warm
glow kindled in her toes and swept through her. She struggled no longer,
but was content to be held. This close, she was aware of his subtle scent, a
faint spicy odor suggestive of cloves and cinnamon.

When he pulled away, she felt a strong urge to catch hold of his
ears and pull his mouth back to hers. Instead she leaned her head against
his chest and waited for him to speak.

A minute passed. Then two. She could stand it no more.
Phaedra looked up into his face, seeing not the bland expression he usually
wore, but something hot and insistent. Her breath caught.

"Will you marry me, Phaedra?" he said, his voice soft but
somehow not entirely gentle. "Now? As soon as possible?"

"Not yet," she replied in a whisper, hating her words, but
knowing she was making the right decision.

His arms dropped releasing her. He stepped back and bowed.
"Very well, ma'am. I will endeavor to play the ardent swain for one
month. But at the end of that month, I expect an answer. And it had better
be yes." He walked out of the room without a backward glance.

Phaedra stared after him, mouth agape. Somehow the fop had
been transformed into an assertive, very masculine gentleman, despite the
frivolous clothing. After a few minutes' stunned immobility, she backed up
and sat on the sofa. When her mother entered an hour later, her chin was
still in her hands, her elbows still on her knees, a thoughtful expression
still on her face.

* * * *

Reggie, striding toward Grosvenor Square after leaving the
Hazelbourne house, silently castigated himself for his poor handling of
Phaedra. He had expected her to be surprised at his offer, had assumed
that her first impulse would be to refuse it. But he had been determined to
convince her to change her mind. Reggie knew he could be very
persuasive. Never had any woman stood against his will for long.

Not that there had been all that many, for he had been a figure of
fun since he first outgrew his school fellows when he was scarcely twelve.
The façade he had constructed for himself had served him well, but
it had kept the world at a distance. Especially the feminine portion of the
world.

Instead of amusing Phaedra, his apparent sleepiness had angered
her. Unlike most women he dealt with, she had been neither amused nor
intrigued. At least she had not twigged that his principle reason for
offering for her at this time was to protect her from Society's gossip. His
original plan had been to defer his offer until he could woo her properly,
but Chloe's foolishness had put an end to his plan.

He prayed she would never suspect. Nothing would influence
her refusal so much as to think herself the object of his pity. He began to
devise a new strategy as he strode along. By the time he had reached the
Duchess' imposing mansion, he was whistling.

Lady Mary greeted him as he entered the drawing room.
"Well?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Pay me," she demanded. He pulled a roll of bills from his purse
and peeled off one hundred pounds.

"I knew she would not have you." She smiled widely as she
tucked the bills into her reticule. "Have you any hope?"

"She wants a month to get to know me. Worse yet, she says she
will not marry without love."

"I told you that."

"You did, indeed. And I refused to believe you." He followed
her into the small parlor at the top of the stairs. Throwing himself into an
armchair, he contemplated the pointed toes of his high-heeled shoes. "She
seemed to show a preference for me, as much as she did for any
man."

"You great looby. Of course she prefers you. She's half in love
with you already, but does not know it yet," the Duchess said from the
doorway. "I've seen how her eyes follow you."

"What are you going to do now, Reggie?" Lady Mary
asked.

"Oh, I'll do the usual thing. Take her driving in the park. Send
her flowers at every opportunity. Squire her around. What else can I
do?"

"You treat her like any ordinary gel and you'll lose her for sure,"
the Duchess warned. "Phaedra's got an odd kick to her gallop. You'll need
different tactics with her."

Lady Mary reached up to pat his cheek. "Why will you not show
her the real Reggie Farwell? She still thinks of you as a fop, as does
everyone."

"Mary, I have worn the fop persona for so long that I do not
think I can doff it. Not in Town, at least."

"Can you try? No one will laugh at you any more. You are no
longer the Storky Farwell of your schooldays, you know. You are really
very handsome, at least when you wear something other than those awful
waistcoats." Lady Mary looked him up and down, wincing when her gaze
passed over the primrose and royal blue brocade of his waistcoat. "Reggie,
come out of hiding. Let Phaedra see the man behind the peacock.
Please."

He clenched a fist, pounded on his bent knee. When he opened
his mouth to reply, the words caught in his throat. A deep breath, a
cough, and he was able to whisper, "I am afraid to. I want her so terribly."
He buried his face in his hands and muttered through them, "She might
not have me if she saw the man behind this ridiculous façade. At
least this way I have a chance, for she knows the fop."

"Do you expect to carry out this inane masquerade all your life,
Reggie? She will learn what you really are soon enough. How can you hide
your writing and your agricultural experiments from your wife?"

The Duchess laid a hand on his shoulder. "Mary's right, Reggie.
Show her what you really are. If you feel you cannot do it in Town, we'll
go the country for a while." Her hand tightened and she gave him a small
shake.

"You and the Hazelbournes will come to us for a fortnight.
We'll leave next week." Having decided everyone's schedule, the Duchess
called for her butler so she could issue instructions.

"What about your Season, Mary? Do you wish to leave Town in
the middle of it?"

"Pooh. There will be others. I am in no more hurry to marry
than you were at my age, Reggie." She looked away from him, then said,
with a casual air, "Do you suppose Mr. Martin might like to join us? His
presence would make the group more balanced."