Page 6

Six

SERENDIPITY

Serendipity, according to the Oxford English Dictionary:

The faculty of making happy and unexpected discoveries by accident.

P hoebe bit her lip, wondering if she’d made the correct decision. After the fiasco the night before last, her only thought had been to see her father. He always made everything better. Her anger—and Aunt Lucy’s continued chatter—had kept her steadfast on the way north.

“I feel you made the right choice,” Aunt Lucy had said as she left Phoebe at the coaching inn. “You’ll be fine on your own from here. The driver assured me it is only a ten-minute drive to Beecham Manor. I’ve hired a coach to bring me as far as the border, then I’ll get another coach from there.”

Aunt Lucy gave Phoebe a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Remember, this was a learning experience. Write to me. I want to know how this debacle ends.”

Now she stood in the hallway of a family she didn’t know, blinking back tears at her own behavior a few moments earlier. Why did she behave so rashly at times? How would she face these people later? Even if her father agreed to accompany her back to London, she would still need to attend dinner tonight.

“Confound it, Phoebe. What has happened?” her father demanded, not in an angry tone but frustrated at least. “Why are you not in Town?”

“I caught my fiancé in the linen closet with a maid. He… he…” She let out a growl, letting the anger push back the hot tears. “I can’t even say it. He’s a scoundrel of the lowest lot, an obsequious lecher, a?—”

“And you are sounding like a scorned termagant. Your aunt would be appalled.” Her father took her by the shoulders, turned her around, and gently pushed her into the parlor down the hall. “Now, sit and start at the beginning without the language used in the hallway.”

She poured out her story: catching Kendall with a servant, confronting him with his infidelity, his excuse she was only a distraction, and men had needs (emphasized with a sneer), and the fact he would not promise to bed another woman once married.

“Papa, how did I not know him? We’ve been courting for six months, and he’s a stranger to me.” Phoebe threw herself against the back of the rocking chair, and her father had to grab her ankle to keep it from falling backwards. She would have a broken engagement and a broken head for Christmas Day. “I’ve ended our betrothal.”

“Does he want to cancel the wedding? Are you sure there was no misunderstanding?” Her father squeezed her calf and gave her a half smile. “I love you, but you can be a tiny bit overbearing, though your heart is always in the right place.”

Her heart… Why did she seem more angry than heartbroken?

“Of course he doesn’t want to end it. With a beautiful, respectable wife and a generous dowry? If only I was a malleable, shy wallflower, he would be ecstatic. But I won’t be leg-shackled to a man who does not see me as enough woman to keep his bed warm.”

At the mention of “bed,” Phoebe blushed, knowing pink now overlayed the angry spots on her cheeks.

“You do not have to marry if you do not want to. However, keep in mind that many men keep mistresses and do not consider it an affront to their wives.”

“Papa, you are siding with him?” No, not her own father.

“Absolutely not. You are my only child. After the holiday, I intend to invite him to Jackson’s. A friendly boxing match might remind him how to treat a lady.” He sighed. “Matrimony is a serious endeavor, and one which I consider should always be a monogamous state. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“It’s insulting.” Phoebe crossed her arms over her chest and let out a deep growl. “I wanted to punch him in the nose, but I’ll settle for you doing it.”

Andrew couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out.

“That’s humorous?” She glared at him. “The scandal this will cause!”

“No, not your situation. But the host’s daughter, Lady Annette, was disgraced her first Season when she did exactly that. She might give you a lesson.”

Phoebe’s head jerked up, interested. She opened her mouth to comment.

“I’m only jesting about a lesson.”

Phoebe’s frown deepened. “It would make me feel better.”

“About that.” Andrew moved his chair closer to his daughter. “I can understand the anger at first, but after time spent in a carriage, with the opportunity to take in the significance of this incident… I admit I’m surprised you haven’t shed any tears. Or have you?”

Phoebe stared at him, wide-eyed, shaking her head slowly, brows furrowed in thought. Had she shed any? “Not one,” she admitted, looking at her father with trepidation. “What does that mean?”

“I’m not an expert, but either the sadness hasn’t quite caught up with you, or you never truly loved him. I’m praying for the latter.” Her father’s hand covered hers.

“I-I’m not sure.” What was wrong with her? How could she have accepted James’s proposal if she didn’t care for him? “I thought I loved him. We were the perfect match. He and his family had everything on my list. How could I not love him?”

“A list does not create love. A list is tangible where love… is ethereal. A feeling that comes over you, and you understand instinctively there is no denying it. Love is knowing that life without that person will never be as magical, as rewarding, as blissful as it might have been with them.”

Phoebe pondered this, picking at an invisible thread on her spencer that she hadn’t yet removed in her haste. The knot in her stomach tightened. The wretched tears threatened, then fell. “Could I have imagined myself in love?”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” her father said quietly, rising and pulling her into his embrace.

She cried against his chest for a while, letting out her disappointment of a broken betrothal, her shame of not knowing her own feelings. Thankful she had such a wonderful papa who understood her and would always be there to comfort her.

When the sobs subsided, he cupped her face in his hands. “Perhaps this was fate intervening, saving you from an unhappy future with an undeserving man. You are destined for real love, my sweet Phoebe. You deserve it.”

She nodded and gave him a watery smile. “I’ve made a fool of myself in front of Lord Beecham and his family. I’m so sorry.”

“They will understand if you don’t mind me sharing your story.”

“It will be all over the broadsheets by tomorrow, anyway.” Phoebe sniffed, wondering how she would face everyone. “Please, could we go home?”

“I’m afraid we’d miss all of Christmas Day if we left now. There’s plenty of room for you here. I think you’ll like my friends.”

Phoebe’s bags were sent to the Green Room, her father’s chamber, until a room was readied for her. Lady Annette had sent a tray up for her since she hadn’t been ready to join so many strangers for dinner.

An hour later, her father appeared with a footman, who showed her to her sleeping quarters. It was a lovely space, appropriately named the Yellow Room. The buttercup drapes were pulled back to allow the sunlight. The counterpane and bed curtains were a creamy butter color. Papa tucked her hand inside his arm, and they entered the drawing room together. Introductions were made, and the warm reception eased the tension in her shoulders.

One gentleman, who looked very familiar, towered over the other men. He had sandy-brown hair and eyes almost the same color. Not quite brown, not quite gold. When he smiled at her, she knew. The dinner party!

“Mr. Wilkens, I am surprised to see you again,” she said as he bowed over her hand. Her stomach released the final knot. “It’s nice to see a familiar face other than my father’s.”

“I am here to please and at your service,” Mr. Wilkens said jovially, exchanging an odd look with Mr. William Page. “We’re sorry you missed a splendid breakfast, but you have arrived in time for the afternoon festivities and the wassail.” He held out his arm, and Phoebe took it with a grateful smile.

Wassail was passed around, then the group splintered off. Charles silently cursed himself when he agreed to play whist with Lady Annette against Lord Beecham and his fiancée. William had promptly engaged Miss Weston in a game of chess. After losing the first set, he gave his place to Lord Weston.

“I hope you will do better than me,” Charles said, noting Lady Annette’s beaming smile when Lord Weston took his place. “I’m afraid I’ve been a disappointing partner.”

Charles couldn’t believe his luck. Lord Weston had explained his daughter had sustained a terrible shock, not going into details. He did say, however, that she had broken off a betrothal. If Charles had not switched places with Will’s brother, he wouldn’t be spending Christmas with this stunning creature.

Serendipity.

Charles had agreed to a last-minute invitation from his cousins to Hyde Park, where he first saw Miss Phoebe Weston. He had also agreed to attend a dinner party as a favor to a friend. He had been miraculously placed next to the same beauty at the table.

Miss Weston had learned of, or found out on her own, that Kendall was a rake. She had immediately sought out her father. Lord Weston happened to be staying at Beecham Manor.

Charles had agreed to help his uncle and, by chance, had mentioned his trip to Will. In turn, Will had suggested traveling together and staying one night at Beecham Manor. The widow who Charles was to see happened to be the woman Will’s brother was in love with. By swapping places with Lord Page, Charles was now staying—hopefully for more than one night—in the same house as Miss Weston.

If either he or Miss Weston had changed their plans slightly at any point along the way, they may never have arrived at this point. Fate, luck, or serendipity? The deuce if he cared. It was the final results that mattered. Charles was now enjoying the company of a woman who had dazzled him from first sight. First sight! Ridiculous, he would have said prior to meeting her. But after that chance encounter, his life had changed.

“You have a lovely voice,” Charles told Miss Weston after they had sung some carols, accompanied by the pianoforte.

“Thank you,” she replied quietly.

The sudden shyness in her sent a bolt of ire through his body. The woman he had dined with in London was amusing, clever, and bold. How dare that rapscallion take that from her. Even if it was only temporary. Charles realized he had a new goal—to restore the authentic Phoebe Weston. Oh, how he longed to plant a facer on that beast Kendall.

“Charles, how about a game of billiards?” asked Will.

“I’d love a chance to even the odds. You beat me soundly the last game.” He turned to Miss Weston. “Would you like to join us?”

“Oh, thank you, but I think I’ll rest a bit before dinner. It’s been quite a day already.”

When she cast those dark-chocolate eyes on him, he would have handed her the world if she’d asked. You’re smitten, you green boy!

“Of course.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Will lean against the door frame, a smile on his face.

Mistletoe! That devil.

William plucked a berry and held it up. “A toll, my lady,” he said with a grin, offering his cheek. Miss Weston obliged with a smile and repeated the kiss for Mr. Wilkens. But oh, how he longed for more than a peck on the cheek. He wanted to taste those plump lips, smell the scent of lavender in her hair, pull her curves against his lean frame.

Instead, he bade her a good rest and followed Will to the billiard room.