Chapter Seventeen
“Right then,” Mrs. Condon chirped, a conspiratorial gleam lighting her eye. “I’ll just leave you two alone to chat.”
“No!” Phoebe spat, marching after her. She grabbed Mrs. Condon’s arm, not caring that James could see and hear everything that transpired. “Absolutely not. Do you know who he is?”
“Why of course, my lady. This is Colonel Witherspoon of His Majesty’s Royal Cavalry. He was good enough to bring home your painting supplies.” She smiled. “I know the two of you are already very well acquainted, and have a great deal to catch up on. Why don’t you go to the sitting room for a visit? Elizabeth and I will let you know when dinner is ready.” Mrs. Condon spun and stepped lightly into the kitchen.
Seething at the total insubordination demonstrated by her servant, Phoebe stomped after her, fists clenched at her sides. “I have nothing to say to that man.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “You know what Colonel Witherspoon did to me.”
“Nothing you didn’t invite on yourself.”
Phoebe ignored the quip. “Why did you let him come here?”
Mrs. Condon’s demeanor grew serious as she faced Phoebe once more. “Lady Phoebe, you are one of the steadiest, most level-headed young women it has ever been my privilege to know. For you to be taken in so completely by Colonel Witherspoon, I can only believe there is real love between you.”
“But he left me,” her voice cracked as all the humiliation she’d battled the last months welled up inside her. “I would have given him everything, but he left without a single promise.”
“Would he have come here now if he didn’t love you?” Mrs. Condon asked softly. “Your brother is one of the most powerful men in Britain. Colonel Witherspoon risked a great deal in coming here. Give him the opportunity to speak before you make a decision that will affect the rest of both your lives.”
Confusion churned in Phoebe’s stomach as she turned to stare out the window. “The decisions have already been made. Everything is done. All I want is for this horrible ordeal to be over so I can move on with my life.”
“It won’t be that simple, my lady. That child is a part of you and will remain so until your dying day. There is no shame in choosing to give the baby up, in doing so you would give another family great joy, a gift unlike any other, but I want that choice to be on your terms not your brother’s or for the sake of propriety.”
Phoebe drew a shuddering breath and absently dropped a hand to the tiny mound rounding her lower abdomen. All the fight and anger drained from her as sadness and longing battled her ever present shame. “Very well,” she said softly. “I will speak with him.”
“Would you like to freshen up first?”
“No. I would like to get this over with.” Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin, and strode from the kitchen.
James waited for her in the hallway, his handsome face pensive and nervous.
Phoebe gulped, taking in his virile figure. Despite her anger a shiver traced her spine at the mere sight of him. “Please sit, Colonel. I would offer tea, but dinner is nearly ready.”
He merely nodded and followed her into the sitting room. Once inside Phoebe selected a single chair away from all the others—she was reluctant to have him too close—and sat facing James. He hesitated in the doorway and finally entered, swinging the door shut behind him.
Alarmed, Phoebe shot to her feet. “What are you doing? This is hardly proper.”
“Nothing about our situation is proper. The other women in your household are well aware of that fact, and I want what is said to stay between us.”
She shivered, totally unnerved at being alone with him. He need only look at her with his warm whiskey eyes and her insides trembled.
“Phoebe,” he began, deep baritone stroking the lonely cords buried within her, “I saw the painting you gave to my mother. It was beautiful, and it meant the world to her. I can’t begin to thank you for such a kindness. She has known far too much loss in her life.”
“Oh, um, it was nothing,” she mumbled, surprised and partially disarmed by his heartfelt thanks. “I was happy for her to have it.”
He hesitated, remaining by the closed door. “The comment you made about Judith… at first I had no idea what to make of it, but as I walked back to your cottage it occurred to me that you must have spoken with her at some point. Did my sister-in-law say something to you when you took the portrait to my mother?”
Still standing, Phoebe forced herself to maintain eye contact with him. “She told me of your plans to marry so that you might become a real father to Toby.”
“That lying bitch,” James’s said, each word sliding from his tongue with a mixture of disbelief and malice. His face tightened with frustration and fury. “I assure you, Phoebe. We never had any such plans. Judith may have had desired for such to be true, but I would never dishonor my brother by marrying his wife or subject my nephew to the confusion I knew as a child.”
Phoebe remained still, digesting his explanation. Given what she knew of his past, it made sense that he wouldn’t wish to join with his brother’s wife. “Why would she lie to me? We all believed you to be dead.”
“I don’t know,” James replied. “She’s always been a jealous creature. She must have suspected a friendship between us when you brought the painting, and wanted to lash out.” He shrugged. “Perhaps Toby told her of our meetings. I swore him to secrecy, but the boy is only eight.”
“Maybe.” Phoebe dropped back into the cushioned chair, struggling to keep her guard up. “State your piece,” she said curtly, striving to bolster her defenses.
“Right,” he muttered, expressing a deep sigh. “I, uh…” he raked both hands through his hair and began pacing across the floor. “Hell,” he cursed. “I’ve been rehearsing this apology for months and now I can scarcely think.”
“James, sit, please. Watching you pace is exhausting.”
He ground to halt, boots scraping the floorboards and faced her, expression haggard. No hint of the mischievous man she knew haunted his face. “I don’t know where to begin, Phoebe. I have so much to atone for.”
“Just start from the beginning.”
“The beginning.” He chuckled wryly. “Which beginning? Mine or ours?”
“Yours,” Phoebe replied.
“Very well.” He nodded and faced her full on. “You must understand, Phoebe, I never planned to marry anyone. Ever. Joining the military at seventeen is a Witherspoon family tradition dating back generations, and on that same token, so is dying young.” He sank into a chair and his eyes took on a faraway glaze. “I never expected to live past twenty-five. My father didn’t and neither did my brother.” He shrugged. “I never believed I had a future so I lived carelessly and for myself. As you know I flaunted the lifestyle to anger my uncle who was impossible to please.” James sank into a chair and rested his elbows on his knees. His eyes took on a haunted, faraway glaze. “When my younger brother died very suddenly in a bizarre accident it solidified my belief that I too wouldn’t have long.” He shook his head, staring down at his palms. “Yet here I am. None the better or happier for a life of debauchery and clashing with my uncle. After the general’s funeral, I went down to the beachfront with a bottle of whiskey, intent on getting right and truly drunk as I always did when I didn’t want to consider my own short fallings, and…” He glanced up suddenly, tortured gaze slicing right through her. “And then you were there.”
The breath froze in her throat and her pulse stuttered, threatening to arrest altogether.
His tone dropped, low and smoldering, washing over senses like warm honey. “That day on the beach you appeared out of nowhere. For a moment I actually believed you might be an angel. I-I think I loved you from the very first.”
Love? Phoebe swallowed hard and clasped trembling hands in her lap, striving to maintain her anger.
“Phoebe,” he continued, voice thick with emotion. “From the moment we met you’ve seen right through me. You’ve seen past this façade to the good in me. You are one of very few people to believe I could be more, and because of you, I am more. All I ask is for the chance to prove it.” He rose then, his hulking frame looming over her as he advanced.
Panic rose in Phoebe’s chest. After that speech she couldn’t think clearly or recall any of the rational arguments that screamed to keep him away.
He dipped a hand into his uniform jacket and brandished a sapphire ring. “I came home from the war with every intention of getting down on my knees before you, begging your forgiveness, and asking you to be my wife.” He drew a long breath and knelt before her. He held the ring out between them, and made unwavering eye contact. He kneeled so close the scent of shaving soap and road dust kissed her nose. “While the circumstances I arrived home to are not exactly as I had foreseen, my intentions and my feelings for you have not changed. Lady Phoebe Landon, would you grant this wayward fool the undying honor of becoming my wife?”
Suffocated by his proximity, Phoebe’s head spun dizzyingly. Love… marriage… wayward fool… Isn’t this what she wanted? To marry James and dream of blonde haired, brown eyed babies? A dull throb began behind her left temple. “I-I…” The gemstone gleamed in the sunlight, and further scattered her senses. She squeezed her eyes shut and shot to her feet. “No!” Snapping her lids back open she fixed her gaze on the window and edged away from him.
“No?”
“No,” she repeated, resolve solidifying. Once she’d placed a safe distance, and one end table, between them she addressed him further. “I cannot marry you, James. I’ve been drawn in by your pretty speeches before, but in the end you never follow through. I would have given you everything, but back in Corsair you used me and walked away without a backward glance.”
“I’ll offer no excuses for my behavior, Phoebe, but the truth is I panicked.”
“And what happens when you panic again?”
“I won’t.” He held the ring out. “This is my grandmother’s ring. I had it with me morning I came to see you before I shipped out. I had planned to propose then, to ask you to wait for me, but after your brother and I fought…” His shoulders hefted helplessly. “I doubted myself. I convinced myself you could do better than me.” He took a hesitant step toward her. “It was a mistake. I knew it almost immediately.”
Phoebe skirted the wall, maintaining at least four feet of space between them. “Then why didn’t you write me? I waited every day for a letter, but nothing ever came. I truly believed you didn’t care.”
“I do care, Phoebe. I promised myself that if I survived I would come back for you. Over and again I started to write, but apologies on paper looked hollow. I believed anything I had to say would be better said in person. I failed to realize it would all be too late.”
Phoebe held up a hand. “I’ve heard enough, James. I don’t know what to believe, but the truth is I will never trust you again. It is too late. Words mean little without actions to support them. For months I have heard nothing from you, and now you appear out of nowhere with a ring and an apology, but for how long will you remain sincere? A week, a month, perhaps until you entice me to bed you again?” She shook her head. “I have no wish to be trifled with or hurt. I think it best we part ways now and continue with the plans already in place.”
For several seconds James stood motionless, brow furrowed, eyes darkening. “You cannot take my child from me without giving me the chance to make it right. I’ll be damned before any child of mine grows up calling another man father.”
Startled by the conviction in his words, Phoebe didn’t immediately respond.
“I’ll leave you for now, but I will be back every day until you agree to be my wife.”
* * *
Despondent and frustrated, James strode from the small cottage, a sense of determination such as he’d never known taking root. For the first time in life—the military withstanding—he had a purpose. Something worth fighting for. The sight of Phoebe’s tear streaked face refused to give him peace. He’d done that to her. He’d caused all of her pain and anguish with his fear and insecurity. Now he must make it right.
Turning onto the road leading into the village, he shifted his thoughts to plans for the next few days. He’d already seen to stabling Sam at the local livery. Seeing as Phoebe hadn’t immediately accepted his proposal he’d have to take a room at the local boarding house. He’d spotted a wooden sign advertising rooms for rent earlier that day. Lord only knew how long he’d have to stay. A week at least. Longer if necessary.
He had no intention of giving Phoebe up, but he might need some reinforcements. A slow grin stretched across his mouth. He’d spent over a decade in the military. He knew how to launch a campaign, and this one would be to win her heart.
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