Page 13 of Wedded to the Cruel Duke
“It all depends on whether he wants to be part of the solution,” Lord Townsend muttered. “He could simply be here to demand an explanation from our side.”
“Or wash his hands clean of us,” Lady Townsend added with a shudder.
Lord Townsend let out a frustrated groan, “Either way, he is here now, and we must hear what he has to say.” He turned towards Dennyson and nodded. “We shall see the Marquess now. Everybody, leave—except you, of course, Phoebe. The Marquess wants to speak with you, apparently.”
Phoebe had no doubt that he would wish to speak with her. She was, after all, in the same conundrum as he was, if not worse. Those weretheirnames on the papers—hers and Lord Wentworth’s.
It is only natural that he would wish to speak with me if he wishes to resolve this, she thought to herself morosely.Besides, it was my own carelessness that landed all of us in this mess…
She watched as both her sisters stood up to leave the room. On the way out, they both gave her sympathetic looks and she wished for a moment that she could have asked them to stay with her.
But she also knew that she needed not involve her sisters further in this entire fiasco. She must face the Marquess and hear whatever he had to say on the matter—with her parents in attendance, of course, as was required by etiquette.
She could only hope that he had some sort of solution to this problem.
Or perhaps, she should not expect too much of him. After all, they hardly knew each other.
He would hardly be inclined to help a strange woman out, would he?
CHAPTER SIX
Townsend House was smaller than the sprawling expanse of Wentworth Park and it had taken minimal effort to get from the gates to the front door. Even so, Charles could not let his guard down until he was shown inside to the parlor where Lord and Lady Townsend awaited him withMiss Phoebe Townsend.
The moment he walked into the sunlit room, he was immediately taken aback at the sight of the sun hitting her hair, making it seem as if she had a golden halo upon her head. He had noted from last night that she was tall—taller than most other women he had ever encountered—but he could now only appreciate the classical elegance of her features or her naturally regal bearing.
Miss Phoebe Townsend, he noted, was quite an attractive young lady. How she ever ended up as a spinster…well, he could not hazard a guess when he hardly knew her. He only hoped it was not a character deficiency on her part.
“Lord Wentworth, we are honored that you have come to call upon us today,” Lady Townsend greeted him graciously, although a little too stiffly. “Please, have some tea.”
He nodded curtly at her and walked towards the remaining empty chair at the table, which happened to be right across Miss Phoebe’s.
Or should he call her Miss Townsend instead? He shook his head at that. Lord Townsend, he knew, hadthreedaughters. It would only be confusing to refer to them all asMiss Townsend.
Besides, she had already introduced herself to him last night asMiss Phoebe Townsend. Perhaps, that was an invitation for him to refer to her by her first name.
Or perhaps not. Women, he realized, found offense in the slightest thing and it would simply not do to offend the one before him at the moment.
Or anytime in the near future.
“So,” Lady Townsend smiled as she poured him some tea. “What brings you to our humble abode today, Lord Wentworth?”
He looked gingerly at his cup and noted the deep brown liquid that held a reddish tint to it. A mild fragrance arose from it and he paused for a moment. It did not seem as if it had been…compromised.
But he had learned from experience that nothing was ever as it seemed, so he refrained from picking it up. He wished he had, though, for he somehow suddenly found his mouth and throat extremely dry.
He glanced over the table and found Miss Phoebe looking furtively at him, before she ducked her head shyly. Twin spots of pink bloomed across her cheeks and Charles decided that it made for a rather charming picture—if only they were not all so uncomfortable in each other’s presence.
“I came here to discuss the story in the papers this morning,” he finally replied to Lady Townsend.
A tense silence descended upon the table as both Lord and Lady Townsend regarded him in apparent shock at his bluntness. Meanwhile, Miss Phoebe just added two sugar cubes to her tea, stirred it briefly, and then took a long, slow sip. His gaze followed her little pink tongue as it darted out a little to swipe at her lips before she pressed a napkin to her mouth.
Lord Townsend cleared his throat and said, “Of course, we regret that you have been caught up in this entire fiasco. We were just in the process of discussing how we can best approach this matter.”
Charles nodded in satisfaction—both at Lord Townsend and at the fact that Miss Phoebe drank the tea without much consequence. He, too, took that sip he had been longing for, before turning to her father.
“I admit that the situation is hardly ideal,” he told the older man. “But I am quite amenable to marrying Miss Phoebe as soon as possible.”
“Miss Phoebe!?” Lady Townsend gasped, her head swiveling quickly to her daughter, who continued to lower her gaze as if the floral embroidery on the table covering was now the most riveting thing in the world. “Have you long been acquainted with my daughter, my Lord?”