“Is it not somewhat unkind, though?” Ellen asked, having mostly recovered from her ordeal with Jacob. “He loves you, he adores you, he has been running around like a headless chicken for you, and yet you still will not put him out of his misery and accept his hand in marriage. Why, if our eavesdropping is anything to go by, you still have not told him that you love him!”
Phoebe cast her sisters a pointed look. “And what eavesdropping might this be?”
“Oh, come now, our home is not so large, and the walls have always been so thin,” Joanna protested. “It is hardly our fault if we have overheard some of your conversations when Daniel visits, nor is it our fault that he visits us so often. I can barely muster a spark of excitement when I hear the bell these days, for I just assume it is Daniel again, with yet another bouquet of tulips for you.”
Ellen grinned. “It is an excellent time to be a tulip merchant.”
“Our home is becoming a botanical garden!” Joanna laughed, and though Phoebe did not like to be the cause of their teasing, she could not deny that it was comforting to see Ellen joyful again.
For at least a fortnight after the events at the White Hart Inn, Ellen had wandered the hallways of Woodholme Manor like a ghost, eating very little, sleeping poorly, refusing to brush her hair or wash her face. And every time the newspapers arrived, she would turn even paler, asking Phoebe or Joanna to check the scandal sheets for her.
But Ellen’s name had not been in any scandal sheets, and with every clear copy, she began to come back to life. She began to eat more, sleep at a more timely hour, bathe and brush her hair, and, soon enough, she was able to laugh about the unpleasantness.
“He was not even that handsome,” she had remarked one morning, over breakfast, when their father was elsewhere. “I do not know what I was thinking, but I do wonder if he is a wizard of some kind, casting spells on unsuspecting ladies. There are some who say that the Countess of Grayling is a sorceress—do you think I should write to her and ask if she might curse Jacob so he can never do this again?”
“I do not even think you would need to ask her to curse him,” Joanna had said, for she was exceedingly enamored with the infamous Countess of Grayling. “All you would need to do is write to her to tell her of that wretch’s reputation, and she would tell all of us ladies to avoid him like the plague. We younger ladies would do anything she asked of us.”
It had given Phoebe an idea, for she knew that Leah’s husband, Nathaniel, was well acquainted with the Countess of Grayling. Without her sisters’ knowledge, she had written to the Countess herself, explaining the situation without giving away too many details about Ellen’s involvement.
Three days after that letter had been sent, Phoebe had picked up the scandal sheets, as always, to check the pages for Ellen’s name. She had almost dropped the pamphlet when she had seen what it contained. The entire thing was an exposé about Jacob Dowding, the Baron of Harburgh, though all of his victims’ names had been omitted for their privacy. It had been a searing read, and no mistake. A searing read that had exploded into Society, the tonunable to talk about anything else, and the Baron himself unable to ever show his face again.
Phoebe had written to the Countess of Grayling to thank her and had received a bouquet of roses shortly afterward, with a small note that read,They never realize we have thorns. I will always give my voice to the voiceless.On the back, making Phoebe laugh, had been another note.I do hope I shall be receiving a wedding invitation soon. Leah is growing impatient.
LeahandOlivia were both in agreement with the twins, that Phoebe should put Daniel out of his misery without further delay and marry him, but Daniel himself had shown nothing but patience and quiet affection. He had undertaken the task that she had given him with enthusiastic determination, and, bit by bit, she knew that the wounds he had inflicted on her heart were healing over. Still, until the task was complete, she would not back down from the terms she had set.
“Oh, would you look at the poor thing!” Joanna cried, her head halfway out of the carriage window.
Phoebe jolted out of her private reverie, tugging Joanna back into the carriage. “If we pass too close to a hedgerow, your face will be scratched! How many times must I tell you not to gawp out of the window like that.”
“But look at him!” Joanna insisted. “He is waiting by the gates for you. Goodness, he must have been waiting there an age, for we departed late.”
Curious, Phoebe could not resist taking a peek. Sure enough, Daniel was standing just inside the gates of Westyork Manor, holding a fresh bouquet of tulips. Red, this time. He had never given her red tulips before, and as she wracked her mind, she settled on the meaning of such flowers—everlasting love.
Soon, my darling,she promised silently, as she thumped on the side of the carriage to get the driver to stop.
“I shall continue on with him,” she told her sisters, who were as giddy as kittens, watching her wide-eyed. “You should take the carriage to the main entrance.”
Joanna grinned. “How scandalous! Unchaperoned!”
“We are within sight of the manor,” Phoebe replied evenly, hiding a grin of her own. “I think that will suffice. And, no doubt, the two of you will have your heads sticking out of the windows the entire way, observing our every move.”
Ellen laughed. “You know us too well, Sister.”
“Indeed, I do.” Phoebe made her way to the end of the squabs as the carriage slowed.
Once it had drawn to a halt, Daniel approached the door and opened it wide. He offered his hand to Phoebe, to help her down, and she accepted it without hesitation. Indeed, she kept hold of his hand as the carriage trundled past them, and they began to walk together toward the manor, taking their time.
“You have not been waiting there long, have you?” Phoebe asked.
Daniel shook his head, smiling. “I saw you approach from my study. I may be eager to win your approval, my love, but I am not mad enough to stand for hours by the gates, waiting for the carriage to arrive.”
“Thank goodness. If you were, I might have to reconsider my feelings toward you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And what might those feelings be?”
“As if you do not already know,” she replied shyly, taking the bouquet of tulips from him. She smoothed her fingertips across the soft petals, and, as a thought came to her, she took one from the ribbon that tied the blooms together and handed it to him. “I do hope that will reassure you.”
He stared at the flower. “Do youknow what red tulips mean?”
