Candlelight Wish (24 page)

She was right. He arrived punctually as the clock struck ten, dressed with his usual elegant propriety, with only the slightest bulge about his left shoulder to indicate a bandage remained. He strode into the salon on the heels of the major-domo with all his usual athletic grace and bowed over her hand with a reserved stiffness that owed nothing to any wounds. Phoebe expressed her pleasure at seeing him abroad and offered him a glass of wine.

This he refused with a curt word of thanks then forged ahead with his purpose. “It seems I have much to thank you for, Miss Caldicot.”

No warmth, no friendliness of a shared adventure, only the stiltedness of a deeply chagrined gentleman. The wound to his pride caused by her assuming control must be far more painful than the one to his shoulder. Somehow she must cajole him down from his high ropes, restore him to his usual humorous outlook on events.

She offered her most conciliatory smile. “Not in the least. I am dreadfully sorry we were forced to leave you at the inn but I knew you would understand the necessity of returning Lucy to town.”

“I did. I find myself deeply in your debt. If you had not been with us to take charge of Lucy—“

“Well, I was,” Phoebe broke in hastily, dismayed by his refusal to unbend. “So let us hear no more about it. It was my pleasure. I am well paid back by having been privileged to take part in the discomfiture of that rogue.”

Miles bowed again, still not smiling. He renewed his thanks then took his leave.

Phoebe, watching the stiff figure retreat through the door, suffered a lowering of her spirits. He might express undying gratitude but she doubted he could forgive her for placing him so deeply in her debt. Or was it the fact she had managed all, without need of his aid, that weighed so heavily with him?

She did not see him for the remainder of that day nor the morning of the next. That he might be keeping his room seemed to her highly unlikely, which left her to suppose he avoided her company. She felt restless and somewhat depressed. Her morning ride she took alone and found much of the delight gone out of it, which depressed her even further. She wanted to see him again…and again and again. It occurred to her she might just as well have done him a singular disservice. The result would have been very much the same.

When Lucy joined her for a drive in the park that afternoon, her first words dispelled the mystery and renewed Phoebe’s alarm. “He left town this morning heading for the Towers—our home in Surrey, you must know,” that young lady declared.

Phoebe regarded her in no little alarm. “Surely he did not undertake such a journey with that injured arm! He could not possibly drive.”

“Mr. Dauntry took him in his tilbury since Simon did not wish to leave town at present.” A soft flush crept into the girl’s cheeks and she hurried on. “I am in the greatest quake what might have taken him down there.”

“Is there trouble on the estate?” Phoebe asked with polite concern though her worry lay more in the harm the journey might have done Miles.

Lucy wrinkled her nose. “There is nothing amiss at all. He was restless all day yesterday and we feared, Aunt Jane and I, that he would bring on a fever. But at last he seemed to come to some decision and went off to see Simon and then Mr. Dauntry.”

“He probably needed to manage something,” Phoebe said, striving for a light note. And what she said was probably true. He would work on the estate, make some decisions, regain his sense of being in control and return to town restored to his usual confidence.

It was Phoebe who suffered. Every day he remained away seemed an eternity to her for they had parted on indifferent terms. She needed to see him, see the warm smile light his eyes once more as his gaze rested on her. His continued absence quite cut up her peace.

The morning of the fifth day after his departure brought Lucy to her doorstep. Phoebe sat in the morning room, going over the menu for their small dinner party that night, when Arthur announced Miss Saunderton and ushered the girl into the room. Phoebe laid down her pen and Lucy came forward a few steps, regarding Phoebe with wide considering eyes. Phoebe greeted her, both curious and amused by the girl’s odd manner.

As soon as they were seated opposite one another in the comfortable chairs, Lucy came directly to the point. “Have you seen my brother since he returned to town yesterday?

“Yesterday?” A hollowness yawned in Phoebe’s stomach. “No. Did he— Is he quite recovered? No ill effects from the journey?”

Lucy eyed Phoebe with perturbation. “He seemed terribly preoccupied. And he did not call upon you at once. Oh, this is dreadful.”

“What is?” Phoebe fought her sense of unease. “Surely your brother could not be about anything so terrible as all that. It is hardly in his nature.”

“But it is!” Lucy declared with considerable heat. “You know how much he likes to have everything ordered just so.”

“And what do you fear he is ordering?” Phoebe prompted when the girl fell silent.

“His life,” came the short answer.

At that Phoebe couldn’t help but smile. “He has passed his thirtieth year, Lucy. He has had the ordering of his life for a very long time and has managed quite well.”

Lucy sniffed. ‘“Quite well’ to arrange a marriage of convenience for himself?”

“To—” Phoebe broke off. “What do you mean?” she forced out through an uncomfortable catch in her throat.

“Why else should he have visited the Towers at such a time?”

Phoebe stared at her blankly.

“I had hoped— But he has not called upon you so I must fear the worst.” She fixed Phoebe with a look of despair. “I have reason to believe he has gone to make Lady Sophia Langley an offer this morning and I do not think I can bear the thought of him—Miles, of all people!—wed to such a dull insipid female.”

Chapter Twelve

Phoebe’s hands, which lay folded in her lap, clenched. “Offer for Lady Sophia?” she managed. “Whatever makes you think that is likely?” She refrained from making the comment that filled her thoughts, that she could think of no lady less likely to inspire Sir Miles Saunderton with love. But if that was not what he wanted…

“Something he said to my Aunt Jane this morning.” Lucy fixed her with an intent stare. “Do you not mind?”

“Mind?” Phoebe pulled herself back together. “It is none of my concern whom your brother chooses to marry. I feel certain she will make him an admirable wife. She is most biddable and would never challenge his decisions.”

“But that is just the point!” cried Lucy. “She will never argue with him and he will grow more and more tyrannical as the years pass and it will be quite dreadful for him.”

With that Phoebe found herself in agreement. And to marry where one did not love? It tore at her heart.

What, she wondered suddenly, might have happened that night at the Pershings had she encouraged Miles rather than put him off? Would it be she he now approached rather than Lady Sophia? Or did she delude herself? If he wanted peace in his marriage he had made the right choice. But peace did not necessarily imply happiness.

She closed her eyes as regret, deep and aching, plunged through her. Chances and opportunities. Xanthe had provided them and Phoebe had thrown them away. She’d come to town to form an eligible alliance, to find love and she’d been too blind—and too stubborn—to recognize it when it appeared. And now she had nothing and no hope.

No, that wasn’t quite right. She did have something. She had the love that had crept up on her subtly, slowly, filling her until it encompassed her entire being and she hadn’t realized until it was too late. Now it left her desolate.

And what of Miles? Why should he tie himself into this bloodless marriage? Lady Sophia would never love him, never tell him off for his own good, never light that spark of passion in his eyes. And now neither could she.

Her eyes stung and she turned her head, blinking rapidly to rid herself of the vexatious tears that threatened. Crying never did any good. But the thought of Miles, dooming himself to so tepid a partner as Lady Sophia Langley, was more than she could bear. He would never know any real happiness with so spiritless a lady. She didn’t share his love of music, she never rode in the park in the mornings. He would be so much alone.

Well there was very little she could do if he had made the irrevocable step of offering for the lady. But what she could do, she would. She could ensure he knew some measure of love and companionship. She focused her gaze on Lucy, who sat in silence, watching her with an intensity that surprised her.

“What are you going to do about it?” Lucy demanded.

Phoebe managed a smile. “Give him an engagement present.”

“But— You cannot mean you approve of this decision of his!”

“It has nothing to do with me.” She kept the bleakness from her voice with a tangible effort. “Are you acquainted with Ashby’s cousin, Lady Wrexham?”

“Gussie?” Lucy stared at her as if she had gone mad. “Of course. But whatever—” She broke off as comprehension dawned. “You intend to give him a puppy! But why?”

So that he would have something to love and something to love him but she could hardly tell Lucy that. Instead she returned an evasive answer which did not satisfy the girl in the least. Nothing would do but that Lucy must accompany her on her errand. To this Phoebe at last acquiesced and sent for the carriage and less than twenty minutes later they set forth to Mount Street where they were lucky enough to find her ladyship at home.

They were not the only visitors. As the butler ushered them into the elegantly appointed salon, Ashby looked up from where he had gone down on one knee beside the box of growing pups. His gaze fell on Lucy and Phoebe’s heart ached to see the glowing warmth of his expression. If only Miles looked at her like that… But it was too late.

Lucy greeted her hostess, a raven-haired young matron with a laughing eye, very like in appearance and manner to her handsome cousin. Then Ashby called her and Lucy knelt at his side. He leaned toward her, pointing out the various pups, telling her what they had been about that morning. One he picked up, handing it to her and as she took it she raised her gaze to his face with a tremulous smile.

Phoebe felt an aching pull at her heart and turned to Lady Wrexham. “We have come about a puppy,” she said.

Ashby looked up. “Does Lucy wish one?”

“It is for Miles.” Lucy hugged the pup and returned it to the box only to select another.

Gussie Wrexham brightened. “He’ll be the perfect owner for one of them. It’s such a worry, trying to find good homes for all of them, you must know.” She looked into the box, considering. “Simon, which do you think he would like? That one?” She pointed to a little male that industriously tried to dig its way out of the far corner.

“How about this one?” Ashby reached in and stroked the back of a sleeping ball of liver and white fur. Lucy instantly replaced the one she held and picked that one up instead, receiving a cavernous yawn from it for her efforts.

Phoebe studied each of the pups, looking for she knew not what. One stared back at her with large soulful brown eyes and she was lost. She stooped down to pick it up and its ecstatic tongue went to work first on her hands and arms then on her chin.

“That’s one of the females,” Gussie Wrexham said, “and quite my own favorite. No,” she laughed as Phoebe started to replace it. “Only look how many I have to settle. I should be delighted for Miles to take her.”

“How soon?” asked Phoebe. Now that she held it she didn’t want to put it back.

Lady Wrexham looked to Ashby. “I was going to start letting them go tomorrow,” she said after a moment. “One day earlier should make no difference.”

Lucy came to inspect Phoebe’s selection with delight. “We can take her with us now?”

With this Lady Wrexham agreed and Phoebe tightened her hold on the squirming licking pup. How could so small and young a creature give so much love? She experienced a strong desire to keep it for herself, not to part with it. But Miles’ need for it would be great if he allied himself with Lady Sophia.

As great as my own
? she wondered then thrust the thought from her mind. She didn’t want to consider the bleakness of her own future at the moment.

They stayed long enough to drink a cup of tea then took their leave with Phoebe still carrying the puppy. Lucy showed a tendency to linger beside Ashby who accompanied them down to the waiting barouche. He offered to hold the puppy while Phoebe settled herself but she refused to part with her squirming burden for even so short a time. Amused, Ashby assisted them in, promised to see them at dinner that evening and waved the carriage on.

The puppy stood on Phoebe’s lap, hanging its little head over the side of the carriage, watching the vehicles and horses and people until, exhausted by so much excitement, it curled up on Phoebe’s skirts with a contented sigh and fell asleep. It would be lonely for its littermates that night, Phoebe knew and sympathized. She herself was likely to be lonely every night for the rest of her life.

“When will you give her to him?” Lucy demanded.

The sooner the better, Phoebe realized. The longer she waited, the harder the parting would be. “Tonight. You are to come to dinner, remember? Or do you think he will be dining with Lady Sophia?” Phoebe stroked the peaceful head and thought of Miles, asleep from the laudanum. How it must have chafed at his proud spirit to have been so helpless. But like the puppy, the helpless stage soon passed and he had made it abundantly clear he had no further need of her.