Page 88 of Wedded to the Cruel Duke
Phoebe nodded. “I will also require you to make a list of the guests you intend to invite.”
Even if it was the most understated and private ball of the century, thetonstill would not look kindly upon a total breach of etiquette. Her family might attend, if only to express support for her as the new Duchess of Cheshire. She failed to see, however, how it would benefit either of their reputations to hold a ball so soon after the old Duke’s passing.
She sighed as she summoned Amelia and Mrs. Cranberry, the housekeeper of Cheshire Hall, to her rooms to assist her in planning for the ball that Charles wanted so desperately to host. She was doing quite a bit of sighing these past weeks, she noticed. Balls often required weeks to months of preparation in advance and Charles wanted it all planned out by the very next week.
As she took out a sheet of paper and began to write down her plans for the event, she could not help but sigh and wish that they had brought Huxley to London. It would have made for a much easier task overall with the trusted butler by her side.
She glanced towards the door that led into the bedchamber they shared together, feeling an odd sort of sadness stirring within her belly. She and Charles had hardly even spent time together, with him choosing to retreat into his study far more often in recent times.
Oh Charles, what is it that is bothering you so?Phoebe wanted to ask him.If you would just let me in, I might be able to help you this time…
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The ball was organized in quite a slapdash manner, but even then, the servants of Cheshire had been accustomed to holding such lavish events that it prevented the whole affair from becoming anything close to a great failure. Even with the invitations sent out at such short notice, there was still a sizable turnout of guests, most of whom were Charles’ acquaintances from before he absconded to Wentworth Park. Phoebe was not mistaken when Daphne and Lady Townsend appeared, as well.
“How are you holding up, my dear?” her mother asked her, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek in greeting.
Phoebe smiled as she returned her mother’s greeting. “As well as can be expected, I suppose,” she sighed. “Charles insisted we hold the ball, and as you might be able to tell, I was vastly unprepared.”
Her sister offered her a slight smile. “Oh, believe me, Fi, I have attended worse socials than this one. You have done a wonderfuljob, considering the time constraints. No one will disdain you for this.”
“Yes, but they will disdain us for holding one so soon into the mourning period,” she muttered wryly.
“In truth, I was a touch surprised to receive the invitation from you,” Lady Townsend acknowledged. “I admit that it is highly unusual, given the timing.”
Unusualwas not the word that Phoebe would have used, but Charles had been exceedingly adamant that this ball should push through. She watched from the corner of her eye as he talked to a Lord with graying hair at his temples, pausing to drink from his flask once more. She frowned when she glanced upon that scene. Shouldn’t Ambrose have taken his flask from him or at least advised him not to bring it to the ball?
“Your Grace.”
Phoebe was shaken out of her thoughts by the sound of an all-too-familiar voice. She frowned when she saw the oddly amused visage of Lord Scunthorpe beaming at her once more.
“Lord Scunthorpe.” She flashed him a polite smile, but her tone conveyed her unease in his presence. “I hope that you are enjoying the ball.”
“Oh, yes. Naturally.” His smile was equally polite, but with an unusual warmth that she was not quite sure was appropriate.She frowned a little at this and his eyes flashed in hurt, but he was a gentleman, and as such, did not pursue it further.
It is just as well,she thought inwardly to herself.In the agitated state that Charles is in, heaven only knows what he would think…
Phoebe caught her thoughts wondering and inwardly shook her head. Charles might be more suspicious than most, owing to his history of working for the Crown, but he was not the type to be impulsive.
Or was he?
At present, she could only do her best to avoid it. Ever since his father died and their subsequent return to the London social scene, he had been more subdued and temperamental.
“Your Grace, if you do need anything—” Lord Scunthorpe looked almost beseechingly at her, his gaze sliding nervously to Charles. He smiled weakly again. “Please do know that you may call upon me at any time. I am ever at your disposal.”
Thankfully, he said nothing more, and with an anxious bow, he left her to attend to her other guests. Phoebe pressed her fingers to her temples for a brief moment and sighed inwardly.
The ball was a mostly awkward affair with Phoebe and their guests caught treading the fine line between maintaining a respectfully somber attitude out of respect for the passing ofthe old Duke, while trying to maintain a genuine appearance of enjoyment.
“How are you holding up, sister dear?” Daphne later asked her softly when she had caught her alone.
Phoebe gave her youngest sister a smile that was more like a grimace. “Truthfully, I have never been in a more unpleasant situation in all my life. Even considering the tea party we attended a few weeks ago.”
Her younger sister shot her a wry smile of her own. “At least Miss Thomas and her cohorts are not in attendance on this occasion…” she began, before she leaned in a little closer, “although I honestly do not understand how Lord Scunthorpe managed to get his hands on an invitation.”
“Me neither,” Phoebe inhaled sharply as her gaze searched for the man amongst the throngs of guests.
Phoebe had been so certain that she had checked the names Charles had added to their guest list and the Baron was positively not one of them, for she would have undoubtedly remembered. However, once he appeared, she could hardly chase him out. It was bad enough that Charles had insisted on holding the ball so soon after the mourning period. Phoebe could not afford to make a scene and invite more consternation upon them, especially now that she was the vaunted Duchess of Cheshire.