Page 63 of Make Mine a Marquess

Then she’d come to the country and the long-lost Marquess of Landon had appeared in the gardens, and in her life.

It was maddening.

“What’s amiss?”

Phoebe’s gaze snapped to her mother’s. Holy hell. Could she tell? She’d tried to hide her emotions, not just from her mother.

It was useless to deny her anxiety. The best course of action was to deflect it. “I’m nervous about…about being married, Mother.”

The truth.

Her mother shut the wardrobe door. “Oh, dear. Your nervousness is to be expected.” The mattress dipped as she sat beside Phoebe on the bed. “All I’ve talked about is preparing for the wedding. Arranging for the reading of the banns, your gown and trousseau, and even the wedding breakfast. I’ve never spoken to you about…about afterward.” She cleared her throat. “Specifically, your wedding night.”

Good grief. She didn’t want to discuss that topic. At least, not about Lord Willard. She shoved it aside in her brain.

She already knew what happened between a man and a woman. She wasn’t a virgin, like her mother believed. Still, it had been years and the rushed interlude on a bed of fresh hay in the stables seemed long, long ago. When she thought of intimacy with a man, it wasn’t Willard who came to mind.

It was Landon.

No. No. No!

She mustn’t think about him. Nothing could come of this fascination except her own devastation. She’d skirted the path of ruin, had felt the bitterness of rejection. The marquess offered her nothing, least of all marriage. Rather, they both knew she was to wed his cousin.

This traitorous attraction was perilous.

For her.

Her mother must have thought her flushed cheeks were from their anticipated conversation. “It’s not so bad, my dear.” She patted Phoebe’s hand. “You must obey your husband and trust him. It will be all over in minutes.”

In minutes? She tried to picture the act with the baron. Would he expect his marital rights often? Did that mean monthly? Weekly? Heavens, daily? Could she just lie there and obey?

No, it wasn’t in her nature.

“And it results in children.” Her mother squeezed her hand. “Your father and I were thrilled at your birth. Do you understand?”

Phoebe nodded obediently. “I understand.”

Thankfully, her mother was as uncomfortable speaking of the topic as she was listening to a lecture on what occurred in a married couple’s bedchamber. Phoebe decided to do what she always did. She tucked the topic in the back of her mind and thought of another, something that meant more to her than a wedding. Her future was set. Her nervousness would not change anything. Until then, her meeting with Sarah Smith was the perfect distraction.

Her mother stood, picked up the gown, and shook out any wrinkles. “The ball is coming fast. Soon after, the house party will end, and we will be back in London.”

“Yes, Mother.” Phoebe raised her chin a notch. “Shall we try on the dress once more?”

Chapter Seventeen

“I know I’ve asked you before, but do you want me to accompany you to meet with Sarah Smith?” Beatrice asked.

Phoebe shook her head. “No. I’ll be safe, if that is your concern.” They sat on the bench seat beneath the window in Phoebe’s bedchamber. Mimi slept curled in a ball in her lap. “Sarah is going to show me where the women get together. I won’t have much time to aid the charity in person but can assess their needs and send aid from Town.”

“Good for you.”

Phoebe gave Beatrice a sidelong look. “I do need you to be sure my mother is occupied.”

Beatrice frowned. “How will I do that? Another letter writing session is scheduled.”

Phoebe’s nerves tensed at the thought of spending another lovely summer afternoon stuck inside with a quill, foolscap, and gossiping women.

An idea formed in her mind. “Mother has grown close to Lady Delmont. Before the women gather in the drawing room, tell her Lady Delmont is searching for her. When Mother rushes to meet her, I’ll slip out of the house.”