LITMIR.BIZ

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along what she’d do next before she knew it herself.

      Phaedra slumped in her chair, getting her racing pulse under control. Admittedly, she had little practice with this sort of man, with any man. He’d had it aright when he’d guessed her kissing had been limited to party games and holiday traditions. He’d been right, too, when he’d suggested she wanted to know about his kind of kissing. Just because she hadn’t been kissed, didn’t mean she didn’t want to be. There just hadn’t been the right opportunity, or maybe there just hadn’t been the right man. She was twenty, after all, and girls younger than she were married with families.

      Phaedra fiddled idly with the paperweight on her desk. Bram Basingstoke thought he could be the right man. Was he crazy? She was a duke’s daughter. It raised the question of whether or not he knew better. He acted like no servant she’d ever met. There was a bit of irony to the idea that a lady took a groom out riding with her as protection, as a chaperone, but who protected her from the groom when he came in the form of Bram Basingstoke? In no way did he meet Aunt Wilhelmina’s terms of an ideal chaperone. He was far too handsome, and far too exciting with his brash brand of conversation.

      Phaedra gave a heavy sigh. If the truth be told, she was disappointed he hadn’t kissed her in spite of her scold. It might have been nice to know once and for all what the mystique was all about. She was tired of being twenty and having never been kissed, at least not really kissed by a real man. Perhaps there was still hope. Bram had left without claiming his forfeit. Until then, she had Warbourne to think about. Phaedra grabbed a lunge line from a hook on the wall. It was time to see what her colt could do.

      Phaedra looked up at the clock on her wall and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Quarter past six already! The afternoon had sped by in an enjoyable flurry of activity. Warbourne had not disappointed. She’d worked with him until late afternoon and then buried herself in her office writing copious notes about the day’s training. It was all very promising and she was tempted to send to the house for supper instead of going back. But that was the coward’s way. It would accomplish nothing. If she didn’t show up for supper, Giles would seek her out down here. If he meant to have a talk, nothing would stop him.

      Phaedra rose and stretched, her stomach rumbled. She’d worked through lunch and tea. Supper sounded nice but she’d have to hurry if she was to be on time and dressed to meet Aunt Wilhelmina’s exacting standards. Even though no guests were present, Aunt Wilhelmina expected the family to dress for dinner. One never knew who might arrive at the last minute and while they could have bad form in showing up unexpectedly, the Montagues could not. A duke and his family must always be prepared to look the part.

      Phaedra arrived in the drawing room promptly at seven o’clock dressed in a cream dinner gown of Spitalfields silk woven with blue and red flowers, her hair put up in a twist with a few tendrils left down to frame her face. Her maid, Henny, had been prepared, a gown laid out and a pitcher of warm water already waiting in anticipation.

      Lumsden summoned them for dinner with a properness not to be outdone by any London household. Phaedra thought it was all a bit silly since everyone was gone but Lumsden had been with the family for years and, like Aunt Wilhelmina, he had his own ideas about the importance of standing on ceremony even if it was just the three of them.

      That importance extended to where they dined. The long, stately dining table dominated the centre of the room; eight-armed candelabra of heavy silver graced the table length atop a snowy white cloth. Lights from the candles played across the delicate Staffordshire china and crystal wine glasses. Every night, the room was turned out to perfection, much like its three guests, and every night, the room remained mainly empty with only a few to enjoy its beauty.

      It had been different in the fall. Kate had been home and Cousin Ross had come to visit with his sister, Araminta. Phaedra had enjoyed their company.

      Ross had made dinners lively, discussing local news with Giles and Kate. Even Aunt Wilhelmina had been charmed by him right up until he’d been discovered having a little romance with the maid, Lisette. Aunt Wilhelmina hadn’t minded the romance—’it was what men of his station did’—but she had minded greatly that he hadn’t wanted to end it. Now Ross was gone and Araminta had married and gone to live in Cambridgeshire.

      ‘Perhaps we could invite Alicia to dine with us again some evening,’ Phaedra suggested, taking in the empty expanse of table. Alicia must hate dining alone.

      Aunt Wilhelmina, her iron-grey hair pulled back into a tight bun, shot her a quelling look as if she’d spoken blasphemy. ‘That woman has not yet earned a regular place at the table with the Montagues, no matter what name she calls herself.’

      That woman, Alicia Montague, had been relegated to the Dower House with her little son and stuck in limbo since autumn waiting to prove to them all she was truly Jamie’s widow, waiting for acceptance. Phaedra felt sorry for her. Alicia had been up to the house a few times. Phaedra knew her father liked seeing the little toddler when he was well enough. But for the most part, the family liked to pretend she didn’t exist whenever they could. Alicia Montague was awkward to say the least, a reminder that not all was settled.

      Phaedra opened her mouth to respond but Giles cut in. ‘Phae, let’s not bring any unpleasantness to the table. The kitchen has prepared roast pheasant tonight. We should enjoy it. Why don’t you tell us about the colt? Did you take him out today?’

      ‘Giles, he’s splendid. You should come down and watch him tomorrow.’ Phaedra managed to keep up a steady stream of chatter about Warbourne and the stables for most of dinner. She began to hope Giles would forget the talk he wanted to have. But by the time the raspberry crème was set in front of them for the last course, Giles brought the conversation to his subject.

      He fixed her with a friendly, brotherly smile. She was not fooled. ‘Phae, I mentioned at breakfast that I wanted to talk with you about this spring.’ He nodded in Aunt Wilhelmina’s direction. ‘We would like to give you a Season. It’s long overdue and you deserve it. Tucked up here in Derbyshire, you’ve had very little chance to meet anyone your own age or station.’

      Phaedra put down her spoon. She hated when he did that. It was a nasty strategy, making the command seem like a gift. He wanted to give her a Season. ‘That’s very generous of you both.’ Phaedra returned Giles’s smile with one of her own, picking her words carefully. Aunt Wilhelmina was a grand proponent of the Season. She and Kate had gone around about it when it had been Kate’s turn to come out.

      ‘I think it would be a burden and an expense.’ Aunt Wilhelmina might like the Season but she liked to save a pound whenever she could. Phaedra hoped the money argument would appeal to her. ‘We’re just getting the money back in line, Giles, after father’s bad investments. I don’t want to undo your hard work by straining the coffers over something as unnecessary as a wardrobe and opening up the town house.’ To say nothing of the cost of keeping the horses and the carriage in town and all the other expenses of simply being in London.

      It was Aunt Wilhelmina who answered. She sharply dismissed Phaedra’s concern. ‘If we’re worried about cost, we can stay at Lady Grace Mannering’s, Araminta’s aunt. Not much to be done about the wardrobe though. We can’t have you go looking like a pauper. People will talk. There’s frugality and then there’s stupidity. The money has to be spent in the right places.’

      Giles covered Phaedra’s hand with his own. ‘Don’t worry your head about money.’ There was a glint in his eye that warned her not to press the argument further. He knew very well she hadn’t been worried about money in Buxton when it came to Warbourne. He understood her argument now was just a polite subterfuge to avoid the real issue. If she was going to get out of a Season, she’d have to tell the truth, the real reason she didn’t want to go.

      ‘I can’t leave the stables,’ Phaedra said bluntly. ‘When I left in January to visit the new stables at Chatsworth everything fell apart while I was gone.’ She’d come home to find the stables in disarray, hay orders not placed and horses not shoed.

      ‘We have a reliable man in place now. Bram Basingstoke is quite accomplished, Tom Anderson said as much today when

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