Page 14 of The Elusive Phoebe (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #1)

Chapter Ten

T he sound of carriage wheels on gravel drew Phoebe to her window on a bright Thursday afternoon. Lillian was stepping down from a well-appointed landau, her pregnancy now quite visible but her spirits clearly high.

"Phoebe!" she called cheerfully. "Are you ready for your proper introduction to the Widows?"

Phoebe had been looking forward to this gathering with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. While she'd met Lady Joanna and heard about the organization, she had yet to experience a full meeting of the Widows of Somerset.

"I confess I'm not entirely sure what to expect," Phoebe said as she settled into the carriage beside her friend .

"Think of it as equal parts tea party and finishing school," Lillian replied with a grin. "Except the curriculum includes subjects no proper finishing school would ever teach."

"Such as?"

"Oh, you'll see. Last month we learned how to repair roof tiles and identify dry rot. Lady Joanna believes every woman should understand the structure of her own home."

"How practical," Phoebe said, though she couldn't help wondering what her mother would have thought of such unconventional education.

They arrived at Thornbrook Manor, Lady Joanna's estate, to find the grounds bustling with activity.

At least twenty women were gathered on the lawn, some playing what appeared to be a spirited game of bowls while others arranged themselves in conversational groups under the shade of ancient oak trees.

"Good heavens," Phoebe murmured. "I had no idea there were so many of you."

"The membership has grown considerably over the past few years," Lillian explained as they approached the group. "Word has spread about Lady Joanna's philosophy, and widows have been coming to Somerset from across England."

Lady Joanna spotted them immediately and glided over with her characteristic poise. "My dear Phoebe! How wonderful that you could join us at last. Come, you must meet everyone properly."

What followed was a whirlwind of introductions.

There was Mrs. Eleanor Whitmore, a motherly woman who had arrived from Yorkshire after her husband's death left her with debts and difficult in-laws.

Lady Catherine Mills, elegant and sharp-eyed, had fled London society after discovering her late husband's gambling debts.

Miss Rosalind Fairweather was actually a spinster rather than a widow, but had been welcomed into the group after her father's death left her managing a small estate alone.

"And this is Lady Smock," Lady Joanna said as they approached a woman with elaborately styled hair and an impressive array of jewelry. "She joined us from Bath just two months ago."

Lady Smock extended a gloved hand with a forced smile. "Lady Smalling, how delightful to meet you at last. I understand you've taken the lovely Lavender Cottage?"

"Yes, it's perfectly charming."

"And quite isolated, I'm told. How brave of you to choose such... privacy." Lady Smock's tone suggested she found such solitude rather odd. "I confess I prefer being closer to society myself. One hears such interesting news when properly connected."

Something in her manner made Phoebe slightly uncomfortable, but before she could analyze the feeling, Lillian was drawing her toward the bowling green.

"You simply must try this," Lillian declared. "Lady Joanna insists all the Widows learn games that don't require male partners. No more sitting on the sidelines waiting for gentlemen to escort us into dinner or partnering us for card games."

The next hour passed in delightful activity. Phoebe discovered she had a natural talent for bowls, much to the approval of the other women. The games were competitive but friendly, with much laughter and good-natured teasing.

"Well done!" called Mrs. Whitmore as Phoebe's bowl knocked her opponent's out of position. "You've clearly been holding back your athletic abilities."

"I spent many hours outdoors as a child," Phoebe admitted. "Though my governess would have been horrified to see me playing such games."

"Governesses," snorted Miss Fairweather, "are far too concerned with making us ornamental and not nearly concerned enough with making us capable. "

As the afternoon progressed, Phoebe found herself genuinely enjoying the company. These women were intelligent, spirited, and refreshingly direct in their conversation. They discussed everything from estate management to the latest novels, and she was impressed by their knowledge and opinions.

When the outdoor activities concluded, the group moved to Lady Joanna's spacious drawing room for tea and what Lillian had mysteriously referred to as "the educational portion" of the gathering.

"Ladies," Lady Joanna announced once everyone was settled with cups and plates of excellent cakes, "today we're going to discuss personal protection."

A few of the newer members looked surprised, but the established Widows leaned forward with obvious interest.

"Now, I know last week's lesson on chimney maintenance was quite successful," Lady Joanna continued with a slight smile. "Mrs. Mills reported that she was able to clear a blockage herself rather than waiting three days for a sweep to arrive."

"Saved me two shillings and considerable inconvenience," Mrs. Mills confirmed. "Though I must admit I looked rather like a coal miner afterward."

"Practical skills are essential," Lady Joanna said, "but today we're addressing a different sort of necessity. Ladies, the sad truth is that women living alone—whether by choice or circumstance—face dangers that married women under their husbands' protection typically do not encounter."

Lady Smock shifted uncomfortably. "Surely you don't mean... physical dangers? In Somerset?"

"Dangers can appear anywhere, my dear. A footpad on a country lane, an intruder in one's home, or simply a man who refuses to accept 'no' as an answer." Lady Joanna's expression was serious. "We cannot always depend on others to protect us, so we must learn to protect ourselves."

"But surely," protested one of the newer members, "a lady shouldn't need to... that is, it seems rather unseemly..."

"There is nothing unseemly about surviving," Lady Joanna replied firmly. "Now, shall we begin with basic situational awareness?"

What followed was unlike any lesson Phoebe had ever received. Lady Joanna, with the assistance of some of the more experienced members, demonstrated how to identify potential threats, how to position oneself advantageously in a room, and how to recognize when someone might be following.

"Always know where the exits are," instructed Mrs. Whitmore, who apparently had considerable experience in such matters. "And never allow yourself to be cornered without an escape route."

"But what if escape isn't possible?" asked Miss Fairweather practically.

"Then we move to more direct methods," Lady Joanna said with a slight smile. "Ladies, please observe."

To Phoebe's amazement, the elegant Lady Joanna proceeded to demonstrate how a lady's fan could become a weapon, how hat pins could be used for more than securing millinery, and how even a reticule could be employed defensively if properly weighted.

"The key," explained Mrs. Mills, demonstrating a technique with surprising competence, "is to use what you naturally carry. No one suspects a lady with a parasol, but the ferrule can be quite effective when applied with force to certain sensitive areas."

"Sensitive areas?" Lady Smock looked rather faint.

"Shins, insteps, the soft spot just below the ribs," Mrs. Whitmore said matter-of-factly. "A sharp blow to any of these will usually disable an attacker long enough for you to escape."

"And if he grabs your wrist," added Miss Fairweather, demonstrating on a willing volunteer, "you twist toward his thumb—always the weakest part of his grip—and pull straight down. Like so."

Phoebe watched in fascination as the seemingly delicate spinster easily broke free from Mrs. Mills' grasp.

"Your turn, ladies," Lady Joanna announced. "Pair off and practice the techniques we've shown you."

For the next half hour, the elegant drawing room was filled with the sounds of rustling silk and muffled exclamations as pairs of ladies practiced defensive techniques. Phoebe found herself partnered with Lillian, who despite her condition proved surprisingly adept at the exercises.

"How do you know all this?" Phoebe asked in wonderment as Lillian demonstrated the proper way to strike with a closed fan.

"Oliver insisted I learn some basic protection before we married," Lillian replied. "He said any woman living independently needed to be able to defend herself. Lady Joanna was happy to provide instruction."

"This is all rather shocking," murmured Lady Smock to her partner, loud enough for others to hear. "I can't imagine when a true lady would ever need such... aggressive... knowledge."

"I used it just last month," said Mrs. Whitmore calmly. "A man attempted to force his way into my cottage, claiming I owed him money from my late husband's debts. A firm application of my walking stick to his knee convinced him to leave."

"And," added Miss Fairweather, "I once discouraged a rather persistent suitor by demonstrating my knowledge of hat pin placement. He decided to pursue a less... educated... lady."

As the lesson concluded and the women began to take their leave, Phoebe found herself both exhilarated and slightly overwhelmed. The afternoon had challenged every assumption she'd held about proper feminine behavior.

"What did you think?" Lillian asked as they settled back into the carriage for the journey home.

"I think," Phoebe said slowly, "that I've been educated in ways my governess never imagined. And I think I rather liked it."

"The Widows have that effect," Lillian agreed with a smile. "Lady Joanna believes that true independence requires both financial and physical capability. We can't be truly free if we're constantly afraid. "

"And the others? They all seemed so... competent. Even the newer members picked up the techniques quickly."

"Most widows learn to be competent quickly, or they don't survive as widows very long," Lillian said matter-of-factly. "Though I did notice Lady Smock seemed rather reluctant to participate."

"Yes, I noticed that too. She seemed... uncomfortable with the whole concept."

"Some women prefer to seek male protection rather than develop their own capabilities," Lillian observed diplomatically. "There's nothing wrong with that choice, but it's not the Widows' way."

As they approached Lavender Cottage, Phoebe reflected on the afternoon's revelations.

She had expected tea and polite conversation, perhaps some discussion of books or charitable works.

Instead, she had discovered a group of women who were systematically preparing themselves for every challenge widowhood might present.

"Lillian," she said as the carriage slowed, "when is the next meeting?"

"Two weeks from today. Why?"

"I want to learn more. Everything they're willing to teach me."

Lillian's smile was warm with approval. "I think you're going to fit in perfectly with the Widows of Somerset, Phoebe. We believe in taking care of ourselves—and each other."

As Phoebe watched the carriage disappear down the lane, she touched the hat pin that secured her modest bonnet and smiled. Tomorrow she would practice the techniques Lady Joanna had shown them. She was, she realized, rather looking forward to becoming dangerous.

After all, as Mrs. Whitmore had pointed out, there was nothing unseemly about surviving. And if her current situation had taught her anything, it was that survival was very much on her mind.