Page 3 of The Rebellious Lady and the Phantom Lord
“Faugh! What is this stuff? Boiled rats?”
“No, indeed.” Belda bustled over to him, stirring a spoon through the thickened, grayish lumps. “‘Tis a most nourishing stew. I prepared it myself.”
While the two of them had their backs to her, Phaedra turned her attention to Charmelle, who lingered by the doorway. The temptation was too great to resist. Phaedra squinted up one eye and bared her teeth, mouthing the words, “I’ll tear your heart out and eat it.”
Charmelle’s painted mouth hung open for a moment before she screeched, “Owww, Danny, save me.” She whirled in a rustle of purple skirts and petticoats, blundering into the door. Amidst a cloud of powder, she fled the room.
“Charmelle! What the deuce!” Lord Arthur spluttered, running after her and slamming the door behind him. Belda eyed Phaedra with suspicion, but Phaedra sat with her hands folded across her lap, gazing vacantly at the wall.
Banging the lid back down over the soup bowl, Belda scowled, “You’d best not be up to any more of your tricks, m’girl. Eat your dinner, or I swear I’ll come back and stuff it down your throat. We want no more of your starving nonsense.”
Phaedra continued to stare as if she heard nothing.
Belda paused just outside the door to peek one last time through the grate. “You don’t fool me none with those saintly airs. You’ll end up buried at the crossroads with a stake through your heart yet, you mark my words.”
With this grim prediction, the matron stalked away. Phaedra waited until she heard the heavy feet retreating before she permitted her lips to twitch into a smile. As she thought of Charmelle bleating like a terrified sheep, the smile became a chuckle, the chuckle a laugh which shook her entire frame. She rocked to and fro with her mirth until the tears stung her eyes. Abruptly she stopped, ramming her hand into her mouth. Heaven help her! She was starting to sound like Marie.
Drawing in fortifying breaths, she calmed herself. No, they would not make her mad. Even if no one came to help her, she would find some way to save herself and her child despite Belda, despite the throngs of insensitive visitors. Despite Armande.
She had barely time to dry her tears when she heard the scrape of the key. Not Belda again so soon. She had controlled her emotions as much as she was capable of in one morning. She could not bear any more torment. She half-rose, tempted to fling herself at the door and keep the old witch out, when she heard a familiar, gravelly voice.
“Phaedra, it’s me.”
A slender man of medium height stepped into the room, his dark eyes anxiously seeking out hers, the sensitive mouth twitching into a semblance of a melancholy smile.
“Jonathan!” Phaedra hurled herself into his arms, burying her face against the plain brown poplin of his waistcoat, reveling in the cold, fresh scent of autumn that still clung to his greatcoat. His thin hands tangled in her hair.
“Oh, Phaedra, Phaedra. My dear one.”
“Take care, sir,” Belda growled a warning from the threshold. “Her hands’ll be around your waist one moment, your throat the next.”
“Be gone, old woman. Leave us in peace.”
Enfolded in the comfortable security of her friend’s embrace, Phaedra heard with surprise the authoritative note in Jonathan’s voice. Equally surprising was the manner in which Belda obeyed, although she did grumble as she locked the door behind her, “Damned fool. Serve him right if he gets his eyes clawed out.”
Phaedra raised her head, eagerly scanning Jonathan’s careworn face, unable to still the hope that flared to life. “You have done it, then? You have secured my release?”
Tears filled his eyes.”My dear, I would give anything if I could. Alas, no, I am not yet able to bring you home.”
One crystal droplet overflowed, trickling down his face. Phaedra swallowed her own disappointment for his sake. She caressed away the tear, her fingers trailing over his rough cheek, pitted from the bout with smallpox that had almost cost him his life.
“Do not distress yourself,” she said, easing herself out of his arms. “I am sure you will find a way to help me very soon.”
Dear, loyal, ineffectual Jonathan. She sank back down onto the cot with a sigh. Where was Gilly when she so desperately needed him?
She did not realize she had voiced the question aloud until Jonathan replied, “I am sorry, my dear. I can find no trace of your cousin. He seems to have vanished from the face of the earth.”
Phaedra’s heart grew numb. Gilly vanished? No, nothing could have happened to him.
“And Grandfather?” she asked softly.
“Sawyer is mending somewhat.” But Jonathan’s smile was too forced to deceive Phaedra.
Her grandfather was dying, she thought sadly. Her relationship with the old man had been stormy at the best of times, and yet she would fain have seen him one last time before he passed away.
Her heart already overburdened with despair, she started to inquire after Armande, then stopped herself. No, she need not imagine that he was ever coming back. The man had accomplished what he’d set out to do.
Jonathan hovered over her. “My dear, you look so pale. Have you not been eating?”
