more, the secrets she kept, even from herself. “Oh, it is ever so exciting.” Her sister’s lyrical sing-song voice called her to the moment. Justina fairly bounced on the edge of her seat. At seventeen, there was still an honest innocence to her younger sister’s happiness. “New shops, new books.” A wistful expression stole over her face. “Oh, I cannot wait until I make my Come Out.”
There was a romantic, faraway glimmer in her sister’s lovely blue eyes that gave her pause. This whimsical dreamer remained somehow untouched by their father’s darkness. Unease stirred in Phoebe. With her golden blonde curls and trusting spirit, Justina would be easy prey to any manner of roguish gentlemen with dishonorable intentions who’d take advantage of that trusting spirit.
Feeling her stare, Justina’s smile dipped. “What is it?”
Phoebe shoved aside concerns for the future. There would be time enough for worrying when Justina made her Come Out. “I’m merely thinking of the books I’ll find,” she lied.
Justina dropped her chin into her hand and sighed. “You are so clever and bookish.”
Her lips twitched at the compliment given that would have not been construed as such by most any other lady. “You too are clever,” she said.
Her sister wrinkled her mouth. “Not like you. I’ve tried to read your books of exploration and I find my mind drifts to romance and dashing knights and scandalous loves and…” She prattled on and on, raising the warning bells once again of the perils of sending Justina out into London Society. She would need to be carefully guarded.
Phoebe stared out at the passing London streets, the crowds thinning as they disappeared deeper down to the less traveled parts of North Bond Street, while thinking of another—a gentleman whom her friends vigorously attacked with their words and urged caution of.
Edmund, the Marquess of Rutland—a gentleman whom Society saw in one light, while in truth he, too, possessed a traveler’s soul, longing to break free from the strict confines of their gilded world and know life beyond the cage they’d been trapped within. Only, as a gentleman, he could travel and explore and go…and yet he did not. Just like her. What was it that held him here?
“Oh, dear, you have the look again.”
She released the curtain and it fluttered back into place. “What is that, dear?” she asked, returning her attention to Justina.
A twinkle lit her sister’s pretty eyes. “The look,” she whispered as though fearing the driver and the footman perched atop the box might hear her over the loud churning of the carriage wheels. “It is a gentleman, as Mother said.” Phoebe widened her eyes and made a choking sound. Her sister’s smile widened. “The look of longing…” She choked again. The look of longing? “And you wearing the expression a person has the moment they try their first ice at Gunter’s.”
“I do not,” she said, drawing her shoulders back in indignation. She was practical and logical and didn’t have dreamy eyes and faraway expressions.
Justina nodded as though the matter were settled on fact. “Oh, yes.” Then as the ultimate insult, she leaned over and patted Phoebe’s knee. “Nor did you deny there is a gentleman.”
“There is no gentleman,” she replied automatically…and belatedly. Warmth burned her cheeks.
Her sister gave her an entirely too mature of a sudden, sympathetic smile. “I am sure he is splendid.”
He was splendid; a magnificence that defied the hard, chiseled planes of his cheeks and a noble, square jaw with a slight cleft, the only hint of softness in a face that may as well have been chiseled of stone. Even with but their two meetings, Edmund asked questions of her interests as though seeing someone more than any other lady who’d made her Come Out and sought a respectable match.
“You’ve the look of longing again.”
Blessedly, the carriage rocked to a halt alongside their destination.
There was a romantic, faraway glimmer in her sister’s lovely blue eyes that gave her pause. This whimsical dreamer remained somehow untouched by their father’s darkness. Unease stirred in Phoebe. With her golden blonde curls and trusting spirit, Justina would be easy prey to any manner of roguish gentlemen with dishonorable intentions who’d take advantage of that trusting spirit.
Feeling her stare, Justina’s smile dipped. “What is it?”
Phoebe shoved aside concerns for the future. There would be time enough for worrying when Justina made her Come Out. “I’m merely thinking of the books I’ll find,” she lied.
Justina dropped her chin into her hand and sighed. “You are so clever and bookish.”
Her lips twitched at the compliment given that would have not been construed as such by most any other lady. “You too are clever,” she said.
Her sister wrinkled her mouth. “Not like you. I’ve tried to read your books of exploration and I find my mind drifts to romance and dashing knights and scandalous loves and…” She prattled on and on, raising the warning bells once again of the perils of sending Justina out into London Society. She would need to be carefully guarded.
Phoebe stared out at the passing London streets, the crowds thinning as they disappeared deeper down to the less traveled parts of North Bond Street, while thinking of another—a gentleman whom her friends vigorously attacked with their words and urged caution of.
Edmund, the Marquess of Rutland—a gentleman whom Society saw in one light, while in truth he, too, possessed a traveler’s soul, longing to break free from the strict confines of their gilded world and know life beyond the cage they’d been trapped within. Only, as a gentleman, he could travel and explore and go…and yet he did not. Just like her. What was it that held him here?
“Oh, dear, you have the look again.”
She released the curtain and it fluttered back into place. “What is that, dear?” she asked, returning her attention to Justina.
A twinkle lit her sister’s pretty eyes. “The look,” she whispered as though fearing the driver and the footman perched atop the box might hear her over the loud churning of the carriage wheels. “It is a gentleman, as Mother said.” Phoebe widened her eyes and made a choking sound. Her sister’s smile widened. “The look of longing…” She choked again. The look of longing? “And you wearing the expression a person has the moment they try their first ice at Gunter’s.”
“I do not,” she said, drawing her shoulders back in indignation. She was practical and logical and didn’t have dreamy eyes and faraway expressions.
Justina nodded as though the matter were settled on fact. “Oh, yes.” Then as the ultimate insult, she leaned over and patted Phoebe’s knee. “Nor did you deny there is a gentleman.”
“There is no gentleman,” she replied automatically…and belatedly. Warmth burned her cheeks.
Her sister gave her an entirely too mature of a sudden, sympathetic smile. “I am sure he is splendid.”
He was splendid; a magnificence that defied the hard, chiseled planes of his cheeks and a noble, square jaw with a slight cleft, the only hint of softness in a face that may as well have been chiseled of stone. Even with but their two meetings, Edmund asked questions of her interests as though seeing someone more than any other lady who’d made her Come Out and sought a respectable match.
“You’ve the look of longing again.”
Blessedly, the carriage rocked to a halt alongside their destination.
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