Page 62 of West End Earl
Eastly sighed. “Very well. I’ll leave right now and return with a license. Lucky for us, the archbishop is visiting the area this month.”
“Thank you, milord,” Phee said. “We have one other request to make in connection with this.” Phee shot a look at Emma, who nodded encouragingly. “Lord Carlyle will not look favorably on the match. But, milord, since you are head of your house and have given your consent, yours is the only opinion I care about. We ask that you not say anything about this to Lord Carlyle or anyone else until it is done. When we say our vows, he may find out along with everyone else.”
A glimmer of amusement appeared in the marquess’s expression. Emma had been right to suggest Phee appeal to her father’s place as head of the family and his love of secrets.
“I will hold my tongue and call on the archbishop.” Eastly stood, smoothing the front of his waistcoat, and tugged his coat into place. “Mr. Hardwick, I believe I owe you my thanks for helping my Emma-girl.” He held out his hand, and Phee stood to shake it. The older man’s grip was firm, but his hands were soft. “Welcome to the family.”
As soon as the front doors closed behind him, Emma grinned. “We did it!”
Phee let herself relax a little. “That’s that, I guess.” Having never had a girlfriend before, she didn’t know what happened next. Did they hug? Squeal? This relationship was a mystery.
“You have no idea what to do now that we have the plan in motion, do you?” Emma asked.
Phee huffed out a laugh. “Is it that obvious? Normally, I’d talk through the next stages with Cal, but if I see your brother, I might spit in his eye.” Or punch him—on purpose this time.
“Cal isn’t normally one to play fast and loose with a girl’s affections. I would never have pegged him for a bounder. But you’re right. Clearly, he protested but didn’t actually cry off if Miss Cuthbert and Rosehurst are still expecting her to become the new countess. I love my brother, but you deserve better.” Emma took one of Phee’s hands and squeezed.
Phee tried to smile, but it wobbled, and tears threatened. “I think I’ll go lock myself in my room for the rest of the day. If anyone asks, tell them I got too much sun and felt unwell.”
“I will. Try to rest. We have a lot ahead of us. The hardest part of this plan might be keeping the details to ourselves until it’s done,” Emma said.
“No one would believe us if they knew the full truth.”
Phee was at the door when Emma said, “I can never thank you enough for helping me.”
“We’re helping each other.” With one last smile at her new friend and soon-to-be sort-of wife, Phee escaped to her room.
Hours later, Phee’s eyes were puffy from crying. Each time she blinked, it felt as if her eyelids were moving at a snail’s pace, and the spiky clumps of her lashes wanted to tangle together. The focused anger hadn’t lasted long enough to result in a smug feeling of satisfaction at seeing her machinations play out or to grant her the peace to nap. Instead, she’d sprawled in the chair by the fireplace, having taken off only her cravat, coat, and waistcoat before collapsing into a sobbing heap.
On the other side of the wall, the faint murmur of voices in the hall warned that Cal was retiring for the night. Any other night, she would slip out and meet him at the door. She would kiss that beautiful smile and feel like the luckiest person in the world, even if she could be a lover only in secret.
She couldn’t face him. Not yet. Not without yelling, begging to knowwhy, or confessing to the things she’d put into motion. When the doorknob turned, she glanced over to make sure the brass key stayed in the lock where she’d left it.
“Adam?” A pause. Phee bit her lip. Anyone could hear him call down the corridor, so of course he’d call her Adam. Their relationship was one big lie. “Are you awake? Emma said you weren’t feeling well. I’ve hardly seen you all day. Please let me in.”
Phee stayed in the chair, watching the door, listening to the voice that had been the root of her fantasies for so long.No countess of mine will have scandal attached to her.
She’d loved him well. To the best of her abilities. She’d loved him to the point of sometimes wondering if she’d kept any love for herself, or if she’d poured everything into him.
Well, now she knew. There’d been plenty reserved for herself, and it was hers alone. No one else could touch it. Even though the loss hurt, at the end of the day she didn’t need him to love her. Especially not if it meant sacrificing her self-respect. She deserved to be loved out in the open, not hidden away like a shameful secret.
The sounds from the hall quieted. Eventually, even the usual house noises of doors opening and servants murmuring faded.
Cal didn’t fall asleep easily, usually wanting to talk through the day. It was something she’d teased him about, because he’d once said that Emma couldn’t rest until she’d expelled everything on her mind. The siblings were so alike in some ways. Like his sister’s, Cal’s body needed to wind down like a pocket watch, expending all his energy until there was nothing left to run on.
Phee glanced at the clock. Hell, he probably hadn’t even undressed yet. Cal liked to end the night with a brandy in the chair by the hearth—even during the summer, when there wasn’t always a fire.
That was one example from thousands of things she knew about him. Intimate facts like schedules and preferences. Paying attention—no, reveling in those personal details—had been easy when she’d tricked herself into believing their relationship would last.
Such a gullible fool she was. The exhaustion and despair Phee had wrapped around herself earlier disappeared as fury awoke, rolling through her in a hot wave. The rage burned away reason and logic and any lingering tenderness toward him.
She’d given Cal her body. Her heart. Her trust. What was it he’d said in the library, when he’d confessed his love?Whatever happens, we handle together.
Meanwhile, Cal—despite his protestations—had been engaged to an heiress the entire time. Phee and Cal hadn’t handled anything together. He’d kept her in the dark and fed her lies.
Lies she’d gobbled up, because they’d come with affection she’d been missing her entire life. It had been unwise to trust anyone other than herself, and she’dknownthat. All those years on her own should have made Phee immune to the sting of betrayal.
But damn it, they were supposed to love each other. Each time they’d come together, Phee had believed Cal gave as much as she did—an equal exchange of devotion. Maybe he’d only been taking.
