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A ROMANTIC

A romantic, according to the Oxford English Dictionary:

A romantic, sentimental, or idealistic person.

December 1820

Kent, England

Weston Estates

“O h, Papa, he’s the most wonderful man in the world.” Miss Phoebe Weston knew she was gushing as she did a little pirouette.

Lord Weston clasped his hand to heart. “You wound me, Daughter.”

She threw her arms around him, happiness almost exploding in her chest. “Next to you, Papa, of course.”

“Of course.” Her father stepped back and cupped her cheeks in his hands as he kissed her forehead. “I’m happy for you. I hope Lord Kendall will make a fine husband.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind my going to London for Christmastide? I do want to get to know his mother better before we are wed.” Phoebe worried about him being alone while she was in Town enjoying new people every night. “It will be our last holiday together.”

Papa shook his head. “Nonsense, I look forward to many holidays with my grandchildren about me.” He smiled at the blush now heating her face. “No, dear. Your aunt will be chaperone enough. I have plenty to occupy my time and…”

“And?” She gave him a sly grin, reaching up to tug on his cravat. “A lady friend, perhaps?”

He snorted. “No, but I did receive an invitation from an old friend in Suffolk. I might visit with him for a few days and catch up. He hasn’t taken his seat in the Lords for several years, and I’m not much for correspondence, as you know. So, we’ll have much to talk about.” He waggled his brows. “Lord Beecham met my brother at Oxford. Used to come home with Phillip since we lived in town. They both took care of me when I started university during their last year. Oh, the antics we’ll relive over some good brandy.”

Laughter threatened to bubble up her throat at the thought of her father acting silly. “Papa, I couldn’t imagine you being devilish. But I hope you change your mind, for I will miss you dreadfully.”

“You are a beautiful young woman about to start a new life with a family of your own. There won’t be time for thoughts of me.” When he hugged her, she saw him blinking rapidly and her heart swelled. “You know I will always be here whenever you need me.”

Phoebe almost skipped from the room, so excited at the thought of beginning her new life—her adult life. How would Papa get along without her? She halted mid step and bit her lip. Guilt twisted her belly, and she turned around. She had forgotten to kiss his cheek. Knowing that their future time together was precious, Phoebe would not miss one peck. But as she neared the open door of the library, his voice broke the silence.

“I believe she’s made a good match, Aggie.”

Who was he talking to? She peeked into the room to see her father looking at the portrait of the late Lady Weston, before pouring himself a brandy from the side table. He stood tall and familiar against the dark paneling, surrounded by shelves of books and floor-to-ceiling windows flanked by blue damask drapes. It was his favorite room, decorated in masculine colors. A man’s space with a thick, patterned Turkish rug, large carved oak desk, and great wingback chairs. This is where her father relaxed and, it seemed, talked to her dead mother.

Her hand went to her chest as Papa spoke again.

“With our Phoebe leaving, I’ve been thinking about being alone.” A young Agnes smiled down at him from above the hearth. Phoebe had always envied her mother’s pale hair and golden eyes. She had inherited her father’s auburn hair and plain brown eyes.

With a sigh, he settled in one of the fine leather chairs, and propped his gleaming boots before the fire, swirling the amber liquid in the cut crystal glass. “I’m lonely, Aggie. What we had was… irreplaceable, but I’m no good on my own.”

Her father peered up at his wife, as if waiting for an answer. “I’m not looking for another love. Companionship, though, would be nice in my doddering years.” He chuckled. “Not that I’m old yet, but I need to look to the future. How will I deal with grandchildren without a woman by my side? You know how awkward I can be with youngsters.”

He puts on such a brave face. She wanted to cry out, “You were never awkward with me. You made me feel loved and beautiful and clever.” She blinked back the hot tears burning her eyes.

He took another sip of the liquor and leaned his head back. Was he crying? Should she go to him? Then he spoke again, and his tone sounded of frustration rather than sadness.

“Funny thing, I don’t feel old. When the deuce did I make forty years? With a daughter grown? And how did I manage it without you?” He ran a hand through his still thick hair and blew out a breath. “But where does a man of my age find a wife who isn’t ancient or still half-child?”

A wife? He wants a wife? Phoebe stepped away from the doorway and leaned against the wall. Why hadn’t he told her? She should have known. They were as close as a parent and child could possibly be. But she had been so involved with her own life, she had paid no attention to her father’s needs. Perhaps he was just realizing he was lonely because she would be leaving him. That made sense.

When she returned from London, Phoebe would put together a plan to find the perfect woman for her father. Someone maternal, who would keep a tottering old Lord Weston company as they entered their dotage together. An older woman who could help Phoebe as she entered this new phase of wife and motherhood. Yes, she would speak to Aunt Lucinda about it.

December 19

London

The driver yelled an obscenity and shook his fist as their carriage cut him off. “Oh my, such language,” said Miss Lucinda. “Your father would give him a stern reprimand for using words like that in front of his daughter.”

Phoebe gave her aunt a side-glance and saw the smirk. “As if you’ve never heard any cursing.”

Aunt Lucy grinned, the feather on her traveling hat bouncing. “I love London. The raucous streets, the incessant fog that can hide a lover as well as a villain, the fine-looking gentlemen, the beautiful gowns.” She drew in a breath.

“I’m so glad you are my chaperone,” Phoebe said, reaching across the coach and squeezing the older woman’s hand. “You know this place so well. And don’t forget to look for a?—”

“A wife for your father.” Aunt Lucy rubbed her gloves together. “It’s been much too long. My sister would have hated him waiting all these years to find a companion.”

Phoebe leaned her head against the velvet squab and watched the commotion outside the window. The streets were crammed with conveyances of all sizes, from great coaches to a single horse pulling a wagon. Drivers called to their beasts, costermongers shouted out their wares, and the clip clop of hooves and the grind of wheels against the road created a cacophony that could only be heard in a city as crowded as London. The road was slick from rain and horse dung and the growing fog creeping and swirling along the cobblestones. It would soon envelop the occupants and make visibility difficult.

“It’s quite warm for December, don’t you think?” Phoebe asked. She had packed her warmest clothes, hoping for a lovely white snow. She caught a sniff of manure, wrinkled her nose, then the scent of tart cider. She closed the shutter of the carriage and turned back to her aunt.

“It could change by the end of the week,” her aunt said cheerily. “No matter. Rain will not cancel any of our activities. Well, perhaps a few that involve the outdoors. Lud, but this will be a whirlwind month!”

When Phoebe opened the shutters again, they were turning off Oxford toward Grosvenor Square and the townhouse in Mayfair. Do not bounce , she scolded herself when the excitement bubbled over. She was a woman grown, no longer a child but betrothed. Oh how different this trip was from last February. Her first Season had been a success, and the pressure of the previous spring had evaporated.

“I’m monstrous glad we won’t need to attend Almack’s this trip. Those patronesses are unbearable.” Aunt Lucy opened the shutter of her own window. “Your father’s house is in such a pretty neighborhood.

“Once we’re settled, I’ll send a note to Lord Kendall,” Phoebe said, spying the house on her right.

It was a small but lovely house with two white plaster pillars flanking the portico and a bay window. Narrow but three stories, it held wonderful memories of trips to Town with her father. Her first ice had been at Gunter’s, her first dance in the drawing room of this home with Papa. She had been adamant that he could teach her better than a professional instructor. In back, there was a modest garden and a mews for the horses. Phoebe had spent many hours in both while her father tended to business or sat in the House of Lords.

“Shall we invite him for tea or wait for an invitation from his mother?” asked Aunt Lucy. “I don’t see anything wrong with just a note to let him know we’ve arrived.”

“Yes, I agree. We don’t want Lady Kendall to think we seem too eager.” She chewed her bottom lip. “I do hope there is ample opportunity to speak with her alone.”

“I’m sure there will be. She must be just as eager to get to know you, dear.”

“You’re right, of course.” But Phoebe wasn’t so sure. Lady Kendall had always been polite but never very interested . Her father’s conversations with James had far outnumbered her short conversations with the countess.

“She may be reluctant to become the Dowager Countess of Kendall. It must be difficult to pass the reins to another driver when you’ve held them for so long.” Aunt Lucy pulled the hood of her cape up as the driver opened the door. “One thing I’ve never had to worry about. Being a spinster has its benefits.”

Phoebe laughed. Her aunt was such a caricature of a spinster. The woman had helped raise her in between her many travels. A man had never been interesting enough to lure her into the parson’s trap. Though she suspected Aunt Lucy was not an innocent. Phoebe had learned about the intricacies of the marriage bed from her aunt, who seemed to know too many details and asides for the information to have come from a book.

One of the maids, Annie, acted as her lady’s maid when they stayed in Town. The redhead bustled around Phoebe’s chamber and had the trunks unpacked and her mistress dressed in fresh clothes in under an hour.

“Anything else, miss?” she asked.

Phoebe turned, smiling at Annie. “No, you’re as efficient as ever. Please ask Mrs. Grayson to have tea prepared and sent to the parlor.”

Phoebe met her aunt in the hallway, and they both descended to the ground floor together. They entered the parlor to find Mrs. Grayson, the housekeeper, already setting up the tea. She looked up with a smile. “Good afternoon, ladies,” she said. “The usual?”

They both nodded. “It’s been too long,” said Aunt Lucy before nodding at the tea tray. “Of course, you are one step ahead of us as always.”

Mrs. Grayson beamed. “Let me know if there is anything further I can do. Will you be here for dinner?”

“Yes, I believe we will stay in tonight, then have plenty of energy tomorrow.” Phoebe settled in a plush velvet and brocade wingback chair. The fire crackled and popped with a cheerful warmth, and she leaned back with a cup of tea.

“Lud, but I tire more easily than I used to,” complained Aunt Lucy. “I remember a day when a day of travel would have never kept me from the theater or a dinner party. But here I am, glad to be relaxing in front of the hearth.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m also exhausted. However,” Phoebe said with a sly smile, “I could still beat you at whist.”

“Not on your best day with me blindfolded,” retorted her aunt, hazel eyes gleaming with the thought of competition. “After dinner, we’ll have some port and play cards.”

Phoebe chuckled. If people knew some of the activities she participated in with her aunt, it could cause a scandal among the ton . “Fine, but no cheroots this time. I thought I would cast up my accounts the last time.”

“I really don’t see why the men enjoy smoking so much. But I’m always of a mind to try something new and see what all the fuss is about.”

The butler knocked at the door, his face stern and bald pate shining. “A letter arrived for you, Miss Weston.” He approached and held out the silver platter with an ivory envelope.

“Thank you, Mr. Harper.” Phoebe frowned, not recognizing the handwriting. She’d assumed it would be from James, but this was not a masculine scrawl. She opened it and began reading. “It must be an invitation.”

But her stomach tightened in a knot, and she struggled to breathe as she read the words swimming before her eyes.

“Heavens, girl, what has happened?” Aunt Lucy was out of her chair and beside her in less than a breath. She took the paper from Phoebe’s hand and read it out loud, making it all the more terrifying to hear the words said recited.

Dear Miss Weston,

I wanted to tell you as a friend that your fiancé has been enjoying the company of others in your absence. In particular, a certain actress, known for her beauty and charm, has been on his arm at least once a week. In public.

It has also been rumored that he is marrying you only for the dowry you will bring into the family. I thought you should know of his roguish ways before the leg shackles were snapped shut rather than after. We ladies must look out for one another.

An anonymous friend