Phoebe’s late brother, Francis, had held a similar hope in his heart, and in his last days he’d sunk into deep despondency as he’d been forced to agree to marry the woman their mother had selected. However, the fiancée was not the one who deeply held his heart. Her brother had died without the woman he loved by his side. And the worst of it was that he had called for her in his delirium, but their mother had forbidden anyone from acting on the request.
Phoebe still recalled the terror she felt sneaking out in the dead of the night, with only a scared Sarah by her side, as they had made their way to Mayfair Square to knock on Miss Minerva Tilby’s door. But it had all been in vain. Hating to recall how Miss Tilby had wept when she discovered Francis’s death, Phoebe forcefully shut the memories away. “Am I silly and capricious for desiring such happiness?” she asked the dog.
Unexpectedly, Wolf nudged her chin, and an odd rumble came from his throat. “Really?” she asked. “Do you think I should defy Father and do everything to secure my own future?”
Sarah gasped and looked worriedly behind her at the closed door before facing Phoebe. “I do not think this creature implied anything of the sort, milady!”
“His name is Wolf.” Phoebe smiled tearily when the dog rumbled again. “I think he did, didn’t you, my boy?”
Another deep, lazy rumble, then it licked her chin.
“You are right,” Phoebe murmured with a shaky laugh. “I am Phoebe Maitland! Daughters of dukes do not allow fear to master their lives! We do not succumb to self-pity and despair or the coercion of others. We must be smart…and witty…and outwit those who wish to control our lives as if we have no thoughts of our own!”
Sarah sounded as if she was choking, but Phoebe paid her no heed.
“Why am I not able to choose?” Phoebe whispered into Wolf’s neck. “Am I not a person who bleeds and cries and has hopes?”
“You are distraught. I will go call for a warm bath and some tea,” Sarah said, hurrying from the chamber.
“I must keep fighting, mustn’t I, Wolf?”
Wolf rumbled his agreement, though it could just be that he found pleasure in her rubbing behind his ear. Richard had often scolded her that her capacity for recklessness was truly unmatched. Of course, Phoebe did not agree with that assessment; she simply did not accept that Papa, Mama, and society’s opinions must direct her entire life.
To most in society, it was inconceivable that there were young ladies who dared to step out from under the restrictions their families and society dictated. But to her mind, if every lady in society had allowed themselves to be controlled by the collective group of society, then surely famous ladies whom Phoebe admired such as Mary Wollstonecraft, Charlotte Lamb, and Lady Hester Stanhope wouldn’t have rebelled against expectations and inspired so many young ladies of society to aspire for individuality. Why, if Caroline Herschel had followed the persuasion of her mother, she would have been a well-trained servant, and not a woman of great intellect who discovered eight comets!
How do I escape the future you’ve plotted for me, Papa?
Could she go to her brother? Richard had his own worries and battles to fight, so how could she think to burden him with her problems? And if Phoebe were honest, she was afraid to create a deeper rift between Richard and her parents. She felt like she had no one to turn to with all the doubts, anxiety, and pain that were a constant pressure on her heart. Phoebe was hurting and confused. And she felt utterly alone, a state she had existed in since Francis died and Richard had cut all ties with the duke and duchess.
Francis had died far too young, Richard had been labeled a scoundrel, and so the family had reinvested their hopes in her. And that hope rested on her making an eligible and proper match, one they could exploit for their politics and influence in the realm. Her parents were constantly involved in political chess with the powers that be and were quite determined to carve more influence for the Maitland family. Everything they did, even deciding which ball to attend, seemed to be carefully plotted and executed because it mattered who would be in attendance.
At times, Phoebe wished she had been able to escape as Richard had. He had stormed from their clutches by forging his destiny, damning all consequences. But of course, it was different for Phoebe. She had been reared with the benefits of an excellent education, which had alarmingly paid close attention to propriety, duty, and obedience. Aristocratic ladies did not dare to chart their destinies or fall head long in love with a gentleman of their own choice.
Heaven forbid we should have dreams and desires of our own.
Chapter Two
Byne Hill, Scotland
Glencairn Castle
“Have you decided?”
Hugh Winthrop, the future Earl of Albury, stared at the crashing waves below, the tranquility of the moment ruffled by those three simple words. An unnamed sensation clutched at his throat, yet anyone looking on would not be able to detect that he was a bit out of sorts. Most importantly, his father would not know. Hugh had learned over the years to suppress his emotions behind a composed façade. Despite the deep love and respect Hugh possessed for his father, he did not want the old earl to know that at times he felt confused, unmoored like a ship about to be tossed against jagged rocks. A decision from Hugh now meant that his father could give up, for the old earl would lose the reason that kept him so ruthlessly tethered to living.
Hugh stared down at the seaside, imaginin
g that he was down there, walking barefoot in the sand, the pebbles digging into the soles of his feet as the wind battered at his body. He inhaled the cold crispness of the morning air into his lungs. Hugh very much enjoyed these long walks with the old man and would sacrifice anything for several more years with his father. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he held and moved to stand in front of his father.
Lifting his hands, he replied, “Not as yet.”
“I do not have much time left.”
He heard the chilling manipulation and the hope in that simple statement. His father was dying. According to the best doctors from Edinburgh, the old earl would soon go onto his eternal rest and should spend his last days abed. An advice his father staunchly disregarded and, with admirable willpower, spent most of his days hobbling about his lands or in his gardens. His father was very prosaic about death, nor did he fear the hollowness of a grave.
What his father feared was leaving his son alone in a world he believed was cold, vicious, and unforgiving to anyone who did not fit their carefully preserved mold of privilege and perfection. So much so that he had asked his son to fulfill one request before he died—marry a suitable woman and take his place in English society as Earl of Albury.
“Thirteen women were desperate enough to respond to the Advert you had Caroline place.”