Page 62 of The Rebellious Lady and the Phantom Lord
“I don’t wish to discuss this any further.”
But her haughty words might as well have gone unspoken for all the heed Gilly paid her. “What I need is free access to that damned house so that I can search his room.”
“Don’t you dare.” Phaedra gasped. “I won’t let you.”
“Why not? If this fellow is as wonderful as you say, what are you so afraid I’m going to find out?”
“Nothing ... I mean, I don’t know.” She could feel talons of dread sinking deep in her stomach at the mere thought of Gilly’s suggestion. How could she possibly make Gilly understand why she no longer wanted to know Armande’s secrets? How could she communicate her fear that a little more knowledge might be enough to separate them forever? She had been so happy-and if it took willful blindness to cling to that happiness for even a little bit longer, why then, so be it.
“Fae,” Gilly said, his voice gone tender with concern. “You have to listen to reason.” He tried to put his arm about her again, but she jerked away.
“No, leave me alone. I wish you hadn’t come back. I wish you would just go away again.”
Hurt welled in his eyes, but his jaw stiffened into an expression every bit as stubborn as her own. “I’m not about to do that. I love you too damn much to see you setting yourself up for grief all over again.”
“If you truly love me, you will please just?—”
Her anguished words were cut off by a gruff voice booming down the length of the stables, “Eh, what’s all this?”
Phaedra did not have to turn around to realize that her grandfather was bearing down upon them. She heard the floorboards creaking beneath Weylin’s bulk.
Gilly muttered, “Now there’ll be the devil to pay and no mistake.”
Despite her desire for Gilly to leave, Phaedra whipped around to face her grandfather. She stepped in front of her cousin like a mother tigress, ready to defend him against Weylin’s certain demand for Gilly’s eviction.
Weylin hobbled forward, puffing with the exertion, leaning heavily upon his cane. “Why, bless me, girl,” he growled. “What’s come of your manners when you think to entertain honored guests down in the stables?”
Phaedra gaped at him, sure she could not have heard him correctly. She glanced at Gilly, who was looking around, as though trying to find the guest to whom her grandfather referred.
“This is your cousin, if I am not mistaken,” Weylin continued in tones that sounded almost cordial. “The Honorable Mr. Patrick Fitzhurst.” Although her grandfather did not go so far as to offer Gilly his hand, Weylin leaned on his cane, his mouth spreading into a bland smile.
“Aye, the selfsame, sir,” Gilly said faintly, sounding as though he were not quite sure himself.
“I do have a right to see my own cousin whenever I choose.” Phaedra squared her shoulders, preparing for the familiar battle.
“So you do, my dear.” Weylin roughly tweaked her cheek. “But why keep the poor man down in the stables? Why not bring him up to the house?”
“But I-I ... you’ve always said …” Phaedra floundered. She knew her grandfather had been quite mellow of late, but never had he regarded her with such an expression. He looked almost affectionate. He wagged his finger at her as though she were a naughty child.
“I declare,” he said, turning to Gilly. “I don’t know what I shall ever do with this wild granddaughter of mine. I quitedespair of ever teaching her our civilized English ways. Only look at this hair.”
Chuckling, Weylin yanked one of Phaedra’s tangled red curls. “And I’ll be hanged if she doesn’t have the marquis running about now, unpowdered like a savage.”
Phaedra felt entirely too dumbfounded by this smiling good humor even to muster a retort. Her grandfather cocked his head, studying Gilly’s face.
“Stap me, Mr. Fitzhurst, but what have you done to your head, lad? Were you in some sort of accident?”
“No, sir,” Gilly drawled. “I’ve been having a bit of trouble with my eyesight. I seem to keep walking into some of your civilized English fists. “
Weylin guffawed and slapped his thigh, shaking all over as though Gilly had made the greatest of jests. Her cousin rolled his eyes at Phaedra, indicating that he thought her grandfather had run completely mad. Phaedra was beginning to wonder about the old man’s sanity herself until Weylin said, “Well, Fitzhurst, I daresay your cousin has been too modest to tell you. She’s made quite a conquest this summer. She will likely soon astonish you by becoming the Marchioness of Varnais.”
“That would astonish me,” Gilly said. He added in a low mutter that only Phaedra could hear, “I’ll bet it would surprise the marquis, too, wherever he is.”
Phaedra trod on her cousin’s foot, flashing him a warning look. The reason for her grandfather’s abrupt change in manner had become abundantly clear. She had been a fool to think that shrewd old man had not noticed some of what had passed between herself and Armande this summer. Now he assumed that his fondest wish was about to come true- her marriage to the marquis. How furious would his reaction be when this delusion ended, as it inevitably must.
But she had a more immediate problem to deal with, Gilly’s vow to search Armande’s room. With dismay, she heard her grandfather inviting Gilly to sup with them this evening.
“I should be only too pleased to do so, sir.”
