Page 16 of The Rogue’s Countess

“I can see now why Matilda has always said you are a romantic at heart, Louisa,” the dowager marchioness said, still smiling.

“I plead guilty,” the younger woman said with a laugh before her dreamy look returned. “They say yours was a love match and that he had to fight his father fiercely to marry you.”

“He did. According to his grandmother, their shouting matches echoed like volleys at the battle of Waterloo. Alexander was third in line to the duchy, and he refused to let his father dictate our happiness. In fact, if it had not been for the dowager grand duchess, we would never have had our ten years of happiness. The woman was a force to be reckoned with until the day she died. It nearly killed her when Alexander died.”

Sadness crossed Lady Wrotham’s face as she focused on a spot over Louisa’s shoulder. It was obvious the woman was thinking of happier times. The marchioness’s poignant expression made Phoebe’s heart ache for her. The woman had clearly lost a great love. As if aware she was the object of fascination, she emerged from her private retrospection and smiled at Louisa.

“I would love to hear more about your romance,” Louisa said with a note of pleading in her voice.

Clearly eager to hear more, the younger woman leaned forward with a look on her face that encouraged Lady Wrotham to tell more of her story. Phoebe couldn’t help but hope the woman would do so. The marchioness laughed at Louisa’s expression.

“Alexander was one of the dowager grand duchess’s favorite grandchildren, and she was determined to see him happy. The moment the woman weighed in on the matter, Alexander’s father gave way. She always said it had taken her less than fifteen minutes to secure our happiness. Alexander said an hour was a more reasonable time frame. It was quite the scandal at the time. Although when I married Thomas little more than a year after Alexander died, that was almost as great a scandal.”

The mischievous smile on the dowager marchioness’s died as a sad look crossed her face. Phoebe admired the woman for her perseverance. Before her own scandal, she’d heard of the Marquess’s death, and gossip had said Lady Wrotham had been grief-stricken.

“Although, when Cornelius died less than a week after we were married this past Christmas, the gossip was dreadful. I don’t know which was worse, the rumors I had done something to hasten his death or the appalled gasps when they learned I would not go into mourning. I loved Cornelius dearly, but we were married for only a few days, and I know he would have approved of my rebellious decision not to wear black.”

As Phoebe listened to the dowager talk about her past loves and losses, she marveled at the woman’s strength. It made Phoebe ashamed of all the times she’d pitied herself over the years for her own hardships. In sharing her memories of the past, Lady Wrotham had demonstrated her strength of character in overcoming the worst obstacles one could face.

It was impossible not to admire the marchioness. Many people would have become bitter and morose in the face of so much loss. In fact, she felt ashamed of her own moments of bitterness as she’d listened to Lady Wrotham’s story. The woman released a small noise of irritation.

“Forgive me. I have become maudlin.” Protests filled the air, and the dowager marchioness waved her hands to silence them. The mischievous smile returned to her lips as she looked at Constance. “Now then, Constance, you were saying you knew of someone who might be suitable to act as my secretary.”

“I do, but as I said, I think this individual believes I’ve taken up their cause as a charity case, which isn’t true. I happen to like her very much.”

“Then, you must introduce me to her so I can persuade her that pride goeth before a fall.”

Beside her, Constance coughed, and Phoebe turned her head to look at her. The countess arched her eyebrows imperiously. It was an obvious indication that if Phoebe didn’t speak up, Constance would. With a grimace of annoyance, she was forced to acknowledge the woman was determined to befriend her. Not only that, but she was also equally set on seeing Phoebe ensconced in the role of Lady Wrotham’s private secretary. She glared at Constance for a moment, but the woman merely smiled with satisfaction as if knowing she’d won their battle of wills.

“I believe what Lady—” The sound of Constance clearing her throat in a warning manner made Phoebe tighten her mouth for a moment before she continued. “It appears Lady Lyndham has decided to take me under her wing and believes I would be suitable for the position.”

Beside her, Constance uttered a sound of frustration and annoyance, while the dowager marchioness’s eyes widened in surprise. A quick glance around the tea table said Constance’s family were equally astonished. Phoebe’s cheeks grew hot as she saw the amazement on their faces. Embarrassment tightened her muscles as she quickly set her teacup and saucer on the table in front of her. Determined to escape being placed under the microscope, she stood up.

“I must be going. Thank you for a lovely tea, Lady Lyndham,” she said coolly as she met Constance’s gaze. Chagrin and regret crossed the countess’s face as if she realized her meddling had been a miscalculation on her part. For a moment, Phoebe experienced the need to reassure the woman that she was grateful for her efforts in trying to help. Phoebe immediately chastised herself. If she did so, the countess might find that as an incentive to continue her efforts to help Phoebe.

“Please don’t go, Phoebe. I’m sorry for any discomfort—”

“Constance Rockwood Blakemore. Did nae Lucien warn you about meddling in the affairs of others?”

“Yes, but—”

“Ye are fortunate Lucien is nae at home,” Lady Stewart snapped as Phoebe headed toward the door.

When she reached the main hall, a maid appeared to retrieve Phoebe’s hat and gloves. She quickly tugged on first one glove and then the other as she walked toward the front door. She had almost reached it when Lady Wrotham’s voice rang out quietly in the foyer.

“One moment, Lady Helstone.”

The imperious note in the dowager marchioness’s voice made Phoebe instinctively come to a halt. When Lady Wrotham didn’t say anything else, she slowly turned around, knowing the woman was waiting for her to do so. She’d expected to see pity in Lady Wrotham’s gaze, but there was only curiosity and appraisal. Still feeling vulnerable, Phoebe lifted her chin.

“Yes, my lady?”

“It just occurred to me why I’ve not seen you for such a long time. Am I correct in assuming your husband’s cousin forced you to leave Helstone House?” Lady Wrotham’s question made Phoebe’s fingers tighten around her purse as she debated what to tell the woman. Frowning, the marchioness narrowed her gaze at Phoebe. “I wish to know the truth, Lady Helstone.”

The woman’s voice was stern and inflexible, and. Phoebe’s heart sank. Humiliation crept through her as she nodded then averted her gaze. Lady Wrotham uttered a scathing word in reference to Jasper before she took a step toward Phoebe.

“My dear girl. I think you already know how much I understand what you must be feeling at the moment,” she said gently. “It is not easy to receive help from others, but the most courageous of individuals are the ones who accept assistance despite their reluctance to do so. Will you not help me?”

Startled by the question, Phoebe stared at Lady Wrotham in surprise. The dowager marchioness’s words conveyed a compassion and understanding few people would have shown her. The woman had deliberately veiled her offer to help Phoebe by claiming she was the one in need of assistance.