“A very angry, very impertinent, very arrogant young woman who couldn’t be less charming if she tried?” Albion prompted with a sigh. “Yes, she is, but I am determined to do my duty and fulfil the former duke’s wishes.”
Phoebe’s cheeks flushed bright red. “How dare you!”
“I don’t think she would disagree with me, Countess,” Albion said flatly. “But if you’re worried about her welfare in my care, then don’t be. I intend to let her live her life however she sees fit once we’re married, so long as she doesn’t bring any dishonor on my family or make things difficult.”
Phoebe’s hands curled into fists. “Any gentleman would be lucky to have my friend as a wife!” she snapped. “Any gentleman worthy of her, at least. I do not like this, Daniel. I do not like this at all.”
“With respect, my sweet, I do not think it is any of our business,” Daniel said quietly, offering Albion a look of apology.
“I disagree!” Phoebe railed. “This is my friend’s life we are talking about. My friend’s happiness, andthisfellow does not seem at all enthusiastic about her. He ought to be considering himself the most fortunate man in England!”
Albion met her livid gaze without a hint of apprehension. “Would you rather I lied to you? It seemed to me that Lady Matilda was someone who preferred honesty. Brutal, at times.”
“You do not know one thing about her!” Phoebe shot back.
Albion smiled thinly, remembering his conversation with Matilda. “And she doesn’t know anything about me, either. Maybe, it will stay that way. If that’s what she wants, it will.” He paused. “It is a marriage of convenience and duty, Countess. It is also my belief that your friend might prefer that, too.”
Are they all like this, these friends of Lady Matilda?There was undoubtedly a similarity, particularly in their fieriness of spirit. When he joined the militia, he was quite certain that ladies were not so ferocious. Or, perhaps, he had not met enough women prior to concentrating on his vocation.
Indeed, his mother was the only woman he had known well, and she was the very opposite to these ladies: the pinnacle of obedience, almost to a fault.
“Break the betrothal,” Phoebe urged, taking another few steps toward him, but something about him made her halt at least four paces away. His face, no doubt. His scars. His “intimidating” presence.
Albion cast her an apologetic smile. “I can’t do that, Countess.”
“You have to!”
“I am not in the habit of repeating myself, but I can’t. Now, I am being courteous at present, Countess, with consideration of who you are, but do not continue in this manner—my patience isn’t infinite.”
“But… you do not like her; she does not like you—what could possibly compel you to proceed with this?” Phoebe sounded desperate now, as if a window of opportunity had opened before her, and she could feel it closing rapidly.
Albion furrowed his brow. “Because I have to,” was all he said, unable to bring himself to speak the whole truth—that if it was not Matilda, it would be no one, and that would bring more shame upon his family than he had conjured in the entire two-and-thirty years of his existence.
For once, he would do what was expected for the sake of his brother’s memory. For once, he would do what Isaac would have done so that if Isaac was looking down upon him, he would not be disappointed. Nothing could sway him from that, regardless of how much he wished to be swayed.
“I think I should leave,” he said.
Phoebe sniffed, making an effort toward courtesy. “Yes, Your Grace, I think that might be a timely suggestion.”
“Until the wedding, then.” Albion bowed his head and strode out of the terrace doors, feeling a prickle up the back of his neck as a storm brewed behind him. It had not been the right thing to say, but he had never been very good with words.
CHAPTERSIX
“Look at them all,” Matilda growled, downing her glass of punch. “They are like drunken peasants at a tourney, baying for blood, hungry for calamity.”
Before her father died, there had never been a social gathering held at Montale House. They had preferred it that way, keeping their home private, refusing to allow anyone to peek behind the curtain. Since James’s arrival, there had been smaller gatherings—dinner parties, tea parties, garden parties—with his closest circle of friends which she had abhorred, but those were far more tolerable than a ball like this.
“I am a spectacle,” she bemoaned, fighting against the heat that kept flooding her cheeks every time a cluster of ladies laughed in her direction. “No, I am a laughingstock. No one shall ever take my books seriously now. Although, they might purchase one out of amusement, so I suppose there is that to consider.”
Phoebe huffed and puffed, already on her third glass of punch. “I cannot believe he did not heed my threat. I was quite clear. I was certain he would sever the betrothal after I met him—I wascertainof it.” She shook her head. “I should never have allowed him to leave until I had his absolute assurance.”
“You tried,” Matilda said, having heard all about Phoebe’s encounter with Albion. The only part that had brought her a sliver of comfort was hearing that he intended to let her live her life as she pleased, their marriage one of convenience and nothing more.
“The worst part is Daniel used to tell me what a decent fellow he was,” Phoebe continued between sips. “He is practically a hero to my beloved, so why did he not break the betrothal? I told him he would be stealing your freedom, and he did not care a jot!”
Matilda tilted her head to one side. “A decent fellow?”
A hero?Her curiosity piqued, despite herself.
