West End Earl by Bethany Bennett
Chapter Twenty-Two
Aspecial license, eh?” Milton’s solicitor looked over the half-moons of his spectacles and raised unruly silver brows at Phee. “You found a girl with money, then.” He studied the document closer. “The Marquess of Eastly’s chit? My, my, you are coming up in the world, Mr. Hardwick.”
Phee bit her tongue and did her best to maintain a benign expression. “I’m sure we will be very happy.” That should be innocuous enough. Every word during a visit to the solicitor handling her parents’ estate—and by extension, her uncle’s—would get back to Milton. After all, this same solicitor had drafted the marriage contracts for a thirteen-year-old girl and hadn’t raised a fuss. Closing this chapter of her life would be a relief. Plus, she’d never again have to set foot in this office, which smelled of musty onions and moldy books.
“It appears all is in order. You’ve fulfilled the terms of your parents’ will, and funds will be available to you as laid out in their last wishes. Given your young age, you’ll want to keep your uncle on the accounts to oversee the transition period,” the solicitor said, as if it were a foregone conclusion. That the solicitor’s first inclination was to keep Milton in charge only confirmed his loyalties.
“Absolutely not. Effective immediately, I’m taking full control of my inheritance. Should questions arise, I have the resources and counsel of the Marquess of Eastly and my brother by marriage, the Earl of Carlyle.”
Name-dropping her new connections had a satisfying effect on the solicitor, who drooped slightly but nodded. Not only that, but she’d managed to say Cal’s title without choking. In light of everything, Phee counted that as progress.
After this there’d be a visit to a different solicitor—one Phee knew from her former position with Cal. Although it pained her to admit Cal was right about anything at the moment, he’d been right about Milton. To expect her uncle to tuck his tail between his legs and scamper off was unrealistic. Protecting Emma and the baby needed to be the top priority. That meant a will of her own with provision for Emma and her rather excessive dowry with a solicitor she could trust.
Thankfully, the next solicitor was easier to deal with and had the added benefits of not being a snitch to her uncle or of smelling like onions. The last order of business on the agenda was to call on the offices of Hapsburg Life and Property. If Phee’s accounts had paid for a life-insurance policy, then she owned said policy. God forbid, but if something did happen to her, Phee didn’t want Milton benefiting from her death.
Finally, a hackney deposited her in front of Cal’s address. The whitewashed edifice of his townhome loomed over the street. Black cornices framed the windows like concerned eyebrows, so the house looked like it judged all who passed by. Strange that she’d never noticed the effect before now. Knowing the awkward silence awaiting Phee in that house made her want to tell the hack driver to take her anywhere else.
Cal’s decision to stay behind at Lakeview had bought Phee and Emma some peace, but things between the three of them had been chilly since his return home. Everyone tried to remain civil, but frankly, Phee couldn’t wait to move. Eastly hadn’t been forthcoming with an offer to stay with him. So until Milton’s fingers were officially removed from Phee’s banking, she and Emma were keeping rooms on Hill Street, where they shared brutally tense dinners with Cal every night.
In the gold drawing room, Emma sprawled rather inelegantly on a chaise, idly flipping through the most recent copy of La Belle Assemblée. Phee grinned. Marriage to Emma—as unorthodox and platonic as it was—had been a bit of a revelation. Her new friend made an entertaining companion, and with the fear for her future gone, Emma’s excitement about the baby grew each day. Having a female friendship was foreign but surprisingly fun.
With all the pregnancy talk between them, it had been a relief when Phee’s courses arrived right on schedule. One less potential scandal for the Earl of Carlyle to deal with—not that he’d done that great a job with the last few.
When the door closed behind Phee, Emma didn’t look up. Instead, she turned the magazine around to show an illustration of a gown and said, “Do you think this style would mask my condition for a while longer? Waistlines are tightening and lowering right when mine is expanding. It’s dreadfully unfair.”
Phee squinted at the drawing. “Lady Amesbury swears by Madame Bouvier’s designs. If you visit her shop, she could probably create something like that but with room for the baby.”
Emma flipped the magazine around and tilted her head to the side as if considering. “Madame Bouvier made my wardrobe for the Season. I might visit her again. You don’t mind if I get a few new gowns?”
“It’s your money—why would I care what you do with it? Besides, you’ll need clothing for your confinement. All I ask is that we pay our bills promptly. We won’t live on credit. I…can’t. Not after living with the poorest of London. People deserve to be paid for their work promptly.”
“I’ve never thought of credit that way before. But I hear what you are saying. You really don’t mind me buying a new wardrobe? People will say Mr. Hardwick overindulges his new wife,” Emma teased.
“Well, we both know he does nothing else with his new wife. The poor girl deserves to feel pretty,” Phee said dryly.
“Being married to you is better than I thought it would be.” Emma grinned.
“I’m glad you think so, because we should talk about what’s next. Uncle Milton is probably even now being told that my money is beyond his reach. Shockingly, the account was healthier than I expected. Unfortunately, his solicitor knows you came with a generous dowry, since that is hardly a secret. We are a tempting target for Milton’s ire at the moment, and I have no idea what he will do.”
“With the legalities observed, we should publish the marriage notice in the Times. Otherwise it looks like we’re ashamed of the connection or hiding something,” Emma said.
Phee dropped into the nearest chair. “Agreed. On the topic of hiding—do you still want to leave Town before you start to show?”
“I think that’s best, yes. You’ve already done your part. My baby will be legitimate. We should move towards fulfilling my end of the bargain. So—” Emma took a deep breath as if bracing for impact. “To that end, perhaps you should get a few things from Madame Bouvier as well.”
Unease seized Phee, even though Emma had a point. Years of dreaming about a hypothetical someday, and suddenly that someday was a now.
“Surely Madame Bouvier has a few things on hand.” Emma nodded toward Phee’s clothes. “You’re handy with a needle. We’ll buy something premade and alter it.”
Phee tried to imagine owning a gown. Fitting it to her adult body. Feeling pretty in her clothes, versus ensuring she didn’t look like herself. Would she be comfortable in a dress, or would it feel like a costume, like her cravats did now? Those weeks with Cal had changed her, destroying the ease Phee had once found within Adam’s persona. At the idea of a beautiful dress, a bubble of hopeful happiness settled uncomfortably in her chest alongside her broken heart. Phee rubbed at her breastbone and turned to stare out the window as she mentally walked through the next steps of their plan.
Emma must have misinterpreted her silence, because she pushed the topic. “Isn’t that the point? My baby gets a legal father, and you finally live as a woman.”
The details of the plan essentially boiled down to what most of her plans over the years had—run and start over elsewhere. Present herself to new acquaintances as if the new lie were truth and wait for the lie to feel real. Phee sighed, exhaustion pulling at her—the kind of tiredness that a nap wouldn’t fix. Aches were her constant companions these days, along with that shattered feeling, as if her emotions were shards of glass rattling together, chipping at each other and doing no good except to cause more damage. She turned to Emma.
“Not to sound mercenary, but we need all the money in the bank first. Sums of this size take time, and the will’s paperwork must be processed properly. Then we can move and enact the next stage of the plan.”
Emma nodded. “I still think you should choose a gown or two when I get mine.”
“Fine.” Phee rolled her eyes. “I’ll see what they have on hand. Something made for a particularly tall, flat-chested child, maybe.”
“The height will be the hardest element,” Emma said. “Your legs are miles long, aren’t they? I’m quite jealous of that.”
Phee shot her a dubious look.
“I’m serious. You have these endless, graceful limbs. Everything about me is short. Soon I’ll be as round as I am tall. I understand you may not have a lot of experience with extolling your wiles.” Emma’s sarcasm rang clear and made Phee snort despite the serious subject. “But you’re unique. Long and lean, like a racehorse. And we know how men adore those.”
Phee pressed her palms to heated cheeks. “Is this what having girlfriends is like? We talk about our bodies and dresses and men in far too intimate detail?”
“Never fear that I’ll press for intimate details about the men in your life.” Emma shuddered and curled her lip. “There are things I don’t want to know about my brother. Besides, I am not ready to make nice yet—he treated you abominably and deserves to suffer. But essentially, yes. Few topics are off limits. If it makes you more comfortable, I can belch and scratch myself like a man. Or throw up in another handy piece of porcelain. My body is a never-ending delight of bodily functions these days.”
Phee grinned. The pregnancy sickness had been the great leveler for Emma. A bit of humility did the girl some good, but Phee wouldn’t say so aloud. Besides, Emma had already figured it out.
Girding her proverbial loins, Phee stood and smoothed her turquoise damask silk waistcoat. “How about we visit the modiste now?”
“You mean, before my brother returns from his ride, and you two stare at each other across the dining table like a couple ninnies?”
“Precisely.”
* * *
Cal stepped aside to allow another footman, burdened with a trunk, access to the line of carriages waiting in the street.
Neighbors all around them suddenly seemed to feel a need for fresh air as one by one, doors opened and people wandered out for a curiously sloth-like promenade along the street. Out of sheer perversity, Cal made eye contact and called out a cheerful greeting to every one of them. Yes, he wanted to say. I see you. You aren’t as sly as you believe. And your fascination with my sister and my lover moving out of the house is not subtle.
This was hell. Over the last few weeks, Phee wouldn’t look at him for longer than a moment or two, and Emma hadn’t spoken to Cal about anything of importance since her wedding day. Dinners were torturous hours of small talk and cutting silence.
He tamped down the frustration before it could boil over and lead him to snap at the curious bystanders. These neighbors had no way of knowing it was his lover leaving him. They’d stare harder if they knew Phee had once warmed his bed and stolen his heart and that Emma was pregnant.
Yet against all odds, somehow the secrets remained safe. No one knew—so no one acknowledged his pain, and Cal couldn’t help resenting that. Which was illogical. Especially when he tried so hard all the damn time to maintain privacy.
Standing on the pavement with the sun warming his uncovered head, it occurred to him that he witnessed everyone else’s problems and ultimately found the solutions for them. But no one witnessed his messes. No one handled his problems. The two people who knew the details of this situation were overseeing the last stages of loading these carriages so they could leave.
Not that Cal necessarily wanted to live under the same roof as Phee. Fine, a masochistic part of him did. Because even if she hated him, at least she would be safe while she hated him. Seeing her caused a physical pain in his chest, and yet he ached for that moment when she appeared. Cal drank her in, savoring the sight because he knew he’d have mere seconds to do so.
As if on cue, Phee’s voice drifted through the doorway, and Cal turned to steal a look.
“Thank you, Nelson. This trunk stays with our carriage, not mixed with the rest of the luggage.”
The throaty timbre of her voice managed to both soothe and rile him. Phee stepped out the door and hopped lightly down to the street level, ignoring Cal entirely. Her waistcoat was apple green today. One he’d ordered with her in mind and then feigned a distaste for once it arrived. In the weeks since they’d left for Lakeview, she hadn’t cut her hair, and the sun played with the fluff of curls, creating colors he didn’t think had names yet, because they existed only in her.
Phee turned, caught him staring. These last few weeks, he’d made a habit of looking away, but now he didn’t. Not when there were precious few minutes left to soak her in. After a brief hesitation, Phee straightened her shoulders, as if preparing for some monumental task, then approached him with brisk strides. Cal stepped forward to meet her, but she stopped several feet away, out of reach in so many ways.
“I know none of this is easy, but I need you to remember one thing. Don’t believe everything you read in the papers.”
His confusion must be plain on his face, but instead of explaining, she turned and left him staring after her. Curse him as a dog, but he couldn’t resist enjoying the sway of her little heart-shaped arse as she left him wanting for the thousandth time in recent weeks.
Sure, Phee had withheld knowledge of Emma’s pregnancy, but his indignation over that no longer felt so righteous. Not after he’d put her in the position of watching him play matchmaker to avoid marrying someone else—all because he hadn’t told his father to hang from the beginning. In fact, given his stellar track record for handling scandals, Cal had bungled things rather spectacularly. The accusation that he’d have handled it all differently if she’d still been Adam haunted him.
Cal couldn’t miss the feeling of déjà vu. There were so many instances from his childhood when he’d stood helpless as his mother loaded the carriages, leaving pain and tears in her wake as she chased her happiness or fled another betrayal from her husband. Cal hadn’t been enough of a reason for her to stay, and the hopelessness beating at his chest suggested not much had changed.
The emotion seemed to be his constant companion now. The pile of things he’d managed to ruin would crush an elephant at this point.
Emma had made one awful choice after another, all under his oblivious nose. Only Phee had seen everything and recognized a problem. Cal hadn’t had a hand in protecting Emma or her reputation.
Phee’s danger with Milton? Cal might have gotten her out of Town, but in the end, Phee had dealt with that too. All along, Phee had proved herself to be the best possible partner and friend to him, and he’d been too bullheaded to acknowledge when things weren’t well in hand.
In the end, everything had gone to hell despite Cal’s best efforts. The baron had demanded payment. Rosehurst was done waiting.
Everything was changing, and none of it for the better. The days when Cal and Adam could sit in the library drinking brandy and speaking honestly about problems were long gone. Phee’s quick mind and willingness to dive into solving a situation had been priceless, and he’d squandered it. He missed his lover, but above all, Cal missed their friendship.
And damn if Phee wasn’t the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, with her legs showcased in snug breeches and boots.
A movement to his right interrupted his shameless ogling.
Ethan arrived and surveyed the carefully orchestrated chaos with crossed arms. “Moving day, aye?”
Cal tried to answer, but the words stuck until he cleared his throat. “Yes. Emma and…Adam are taking a wedding trip. They’ve picked some tiny village by the sea to settle in for the time being. Newlyweds and their privacy, you know.”
The weight of Ethan’s gaze made the side of his face prickle, but Cal resolutely stared forward, refusing to look from the carriages, the trunks, and one redhead who directed it all.
“I don’ understand all of what’s happening here. But you look like you need a friend. You dine with us tonight,” Ethan said.
“I don’t think—”
“What part of that sounded like a choice?” Ethan interrupted.
Cal gave a huff of weak laughter. “Fine. I’ll be lousy company. You can’t say you weren’t warned.”
Ethan clapped a hand on Cal’s shoulder. “I’ll tell Lottie tae use the old china so I can throw things at your hard head if you get out of hand.”
The first genuine smile of the day crossed Cal’s face. “Fine.” Tonight he’d dine and mope. And tomorrow he had an appointment with Eastly to discuss Rosehurst and his daughter.
Miss Cuthbert had made friends at the house party but had not enticed a lover. The party hadn’t been a total matchmaking failure. As of this week, a few other women at the party were engaged. Miss Lillian Fitzwilliam and Lord Hornsby’s whirlwind romance was the talk of society. And Miss Georgina had somehow landed Gaffney. How the hell that had happened, Cal had no idea. He’d gently quizzed Gaffney during their meetings at Lakeview, but his grace hadn’t been forthcoming with personal information. The woman was mousy, quiet, and apparently irresistible to the young duke. And of course, the whole ton knew about Emma’s marriage to the unlikely Adam Hardwick.
Cal had failed. Spectacularly. He’d failed Emma. He’d failed Violet. But most of all, he’d failed Phee.
In every way. No wonder she showed no signs of forgiving him anytime soon.
On the street, Phee pointed toward a carriage, saying something to Nelson. The sun in her hair had been so beautiful he’d failed to notice the shadows under her eyes. The hollows beneath her cheekbones were carved deeper, making her appear sharp and gaunt, but highlighted her ridiculously pouty lips. God, he missed her.
Beside the carriage, Nelson said something that made her smile, and Cal lost his breath.
Nodding a goodbye to Ethan, he fixed a neutral expression on his face and retreated inside. The house would be empty soon, and being alone suddenly seemed like the worst possible punishment.