Page 37 of Make Mine a Marquess

“What did I say, then?”

Phoebe bit her lower lip as she struggled to recall—something about what the other young ladies were wearing to tonight’s activity. A mesmerist was expected at Landon Hall. The women excitedly chatted about it as they strolled, with parasols in hand to shield their fair skin from the afternoon sun. Phoebe hated parasols and loved the kiss of sunlight on the bridge of her nose and cheeks, yet today, she dutifully held a pink parasol that matched her walking dress.

“How about my deep rose gown?” Phoebe asked.

Hillary Dawson blinked. “Pardon?”

“You inquired what I want to wear tonight. I think the color will match the mood of a mesmerist.”

Her mother’s face changed from confused back to annoyed in a flash.

Phoebe fidgeted beneath the disapproving stare. She’d answered the wrong question. Her stomach had been in knots and this conversation was not helping.

“That wasn’t what I asked, young lady. Just as I thought, your mind is a mile away,” her mother snapped.

She was right.

Phoebe bit her lip harder. Her time alone with Willard the prior afternoon was the cause of her current anxiousness and absentmindedness. She’d been up all night wondering if Willard had had a chance to speak with her father about moving up the wedding date. She wasn’t prepared to do so.

Would her parents take her feelings into consideration?

Why should they? I’ve already consented to the match. No one would think twice about an heiress swiftly wedding to gain a title.

Then there was Willard’s kiss. Looking back, it had been selfish in its aggressiveness, though utterly lacking in ardor. She’d been taken completely by surprise. He hadn’t shown an iota of assertiveness during their brief courtship. But then, they hadn’t been alone for longer than five minutes before.

And why does any of this bother me?

She’d wanted a businesslike marriage without the complications of passion or a broken heart. She’d decided long ago that unreciprocated love was the doom of women. She’d channel her passion into helping less unfortunate women.

Then why did the mere memory of her betrothed’s kiss cause her stomach to knot? She felt the beginnings of a headache and rubbed her right temple.

“I asked you if you had a preference where you sat during the mesmerist’s performance this evening,” her mother said, interrupting her thoughts. “I don’t wish for you to become frightened.”

Phoebe let out a sigh of relief. Her fingers, which had tangled in her skirts, relaxed. Willard must not have spoken to her parents yet about the wedding, and her mother assumed her distraction was due to the evening’s upcoming activity. She took a deep breath of fresh country air and the tension in her temples eased.

“I won’t,” she said. “And I wish to sit beside Beatrice.” She was grateful for her mother’s consideration. She didn’t want to sit next to either of the twins, Clarice or Elaine.

Guilt centered in her chest. Her mother might be insufferable regarding her future, but Phoebe knew her mother loved her, in her own way. Although Phoebe had never confided in her about Philip or the heartbreak after he’d abandoned her, her mother had noticed her melancholy. She’d assumed it was due to one of Phoebe’s childhood friends moving away. She’d attempted to cheer her with a trip to Gunther’s for ices.

Her mother’s lips turned upward in a smile as she patted Phoebe on the arm. “Knowing Beatrice, she may need you to calm her.”

Her mother’s attention was diverted when she noticed Lady Delmont and Lady Milton walking together. Phoebe recognized the look in her mother’s eye. The two titled ladies, who would never give Hillary Dawson the time of day in Town, smiled and waved at her.

Her mother quickly waved back. Whatever concern she’d had about her daughter was already forgotten.

“Excuse me,” she said, then hurried off to join the pair.

Phoebe wasted little time in finding Beatrice.

Beatrice took one look at her face and her brows snapped together. “What’s wrong?”

Phoebe’s voice drifted to a whisper. “I never had a chance to speak with you after my walk with Lord Willard. He wants to hurry up the wedding date. Soon after we return to Town.”

Beatrice scowled. “Whatever for? You haven’t even visited the dressmaker for a gown or your trousseau.”

“Thankfully, he hasn’t yet spoken to my father. My mother was concerned with whom I would sit with during tonight’s mesmerist. I told her you, of course.”

Beatrice shook her head. “I still don’t understand the baron’s reasoning.”