Page 82 of Wedded to the Cruel Duke

Phoebe glanced up from her teacup to find one of the ladies who was in Miss Thomas’s inner circle smiling snidely at her.

“It was such asurprisewhen news of your marriage reached us. Do tell—was it every bit as romantic as they all say?”

“Miss Wingrove, I think that is too—” Miss Cartwright did not even get the chance, for Miss Wingrove practically mowed her down.

“Oh, Catherine—do not pretend you aren’t as curious as the rest of us,” she scoffed, her beady eyes still fixed on Phoebe.

Daphne looked as if she might pounce on Miss Wingrove at any moment, but Phoebe put a hand on her arm and shot her a cautious glare—it would not be prudent to engage with someone like Miss Wingrove, who had already come out looking for trouble.

In any case, trouble always came for those who went looking for it.

“But she is practically calling you out!” her youngest sister hissed under her breath.

“Yes,” Phoebe smiled placidly. “But you know what Mama always said about tussling with pigs, correct?”

Her voice was neither too soft nor too loud. It was simply enough to be heard by a few, who leaned in to hear what words of wisdom Lady Townsend had imparted upon her daughters.

Phoebe watched as Daphne’s eyes cleared and a mischievous glint shone in them.

“Yes, dear sister,” she replied in a sweet voice that was most contrite. “One must never tussle with pigs, for the swine are already covered in filth and you will only smear dirt upon yourself by engaging with them.”

A faint giggling arose from those seated closest to the sisters and Miss Wingrove turned a shade of red. In spite of their purportedfriendship, Miss Thomas did not even go out of her way to defend her, content to have her friends do the attacking for her.

Phoebe could only shake her head at how fickle and shallow friendships amongst some ladies of thetoncould be.

“Well, we can only hope that we marry someone as dashing andmysteriousas Lord Wentworth,” Miss Morton chimed in belatedly. “After all, is it not every woman’s dream to be saved by such a handsome man such as His Lordship?”

They were such pretty words on the surface, but Phoebe had been amongst such ladies to understand what was truly being said—that Lord Wentworth had to marry her after the scandal of their relationship broke out. Not only that, to add the word ‘mysterious’ was to imply that he was not like the other gentlemen at all, and not necessarily in a good way.

She quietly dabbed at her lips with a napkin and merely regarded them with a polite smile. There was simply nothing she could say to these women that would improve their impression of her. From the outset, they had been determined to stand against her and make every bit of this afternoon as uncomfortable for her as possible, over some inane sense of injustice of Phoebe marrying after being a self-proclaimed spinster.

That did not mean, however, that she had to simply sit there and endure all of it. She was a Marchioness now, and she outranked most of those in attendance. Besides, she was still worried about Charles.

So, she set the napkin down on the table, infinitely aware that all eyes were upon her. She stood up slowly and smiled at Miss Thomas.

“Thank you so much for hosting us today, Miss Thomas. I can only hope I might be able to return yourhospitalityin the future.”

She dared not wait for a reply as she turned around and calmly left the parlor, much to the astonishment of the ladies. Smiling widely, Daphne hurried after her, vaguely murmuring her goodbyes, much to the consternation of their host.

“Did you see her face?” her younger sister giggled, once they were safely ensconced in their carriage. “She looked as if she might hurl her scone at you and then me!”

“Daphne Townsend, I do not think it is a matter of pride to have your host feel so inclined as to launch food at you,” Phoebe sighed.

“Well, she most certainly deserved it!” Daphne scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest with a most obstinate expression on her face. “Just you wait until I tell Mama about all of this. She will never let that witch off, I tell you!”

Phoebe could only smile at her sister and shake her head. She was a grown woman now and married—she should not be relying on her Mama to avenge her over some pettiness in the parlor. She was grateful enough that none of the ladies had evenmentioned Lord Edwin Oakley, as Miss Thomas was wont to do so whenever she felt backed into a corner.

Perhaps, now that Phoebe was married to Charles, she felt that the insult had lost its edge.

In any case, she would not be attending any tea parties or the like anytime soon. Nor was she inclined to host one of her own at Wentworth Park. The thought of having Miss Thomas in her own home sent a shudder of disgust running through her.

If this was the kind of company she would have to put up with, then she could very well understand why Charles preferred his solitude. She would really much rather spend her time with her husband and her cat over a handful of supposedly polite ladies who insisted on trying to make each other as uncomfortable as they possibly could.

She sighed in relief when Wentworth Park finally came into view. A month ago, she would never have dared to think such a thing, but she had to admit, it was a much-needed return to normalcy for her...

CHAPTER THIRTY

Phoebe returned to Wentworth Park to find Charles very much improved and already in his study before she could even admonish him in exasperation.