CHAPTER11
“Are you sure this is the address?” Aurelia asked as she peered out the window of the carriage at the massive brick building that stretched out in front of them. It sat in the middle of Grosvenor Square, the center building that spoke of prestige and wealth. It even had wings — slight as they were, but they bracketed the fountain in the front of the house.
“This is it,” Phoebe responded. “Berkley House. It is rather extravagant, is it not?”
“I suppose we shall see when we enter,” Aurelia responded with all of her practicality as she took the footman’s hand to descend the carriage steps.
Their assumptions proved to be correct as they entered the foyer, which was clearly meant to impose with its grandeur, a white marble statue at the bottom of the steps, high, expansive ceilings upon which murals of cherubs and clouds were painted, and gilded cornices and lavish landscapes of what Phoebe was sure were the Berkley country estates and grounds surrounding them.
Aurelia looked over at her with a slight nod of her head and a wink, telling her that yes, this was very much what was expected, the grandiose residence of the marquess.
Phoebe bit her lip, as she suddenly wished they had never come. She had wanted to become close with the marquess, yes, but to be invited to his house for dinner? Of course, it would have been the height of rudeness to refuse, but now their families were involved in this charade. And she was no closer than she had been at the start of this in determining what the marquess was planning in regards to her publication.
But they were here now, so she supposed she would just have to make the most of it. They were about to follow the butler up the stairs when a huge, furry body came flying down them.
“Maxwell!” came a cry from up above. “Come back!”
But it was too late, as Maxwell found a welcome audience in Phoebe and Aurelia, who stopped to greet him, and he returned their affections by pressing his wriggling body into their legs while he licked their hands and faces.
“He’s lovely!” Phoebe exclaimed, to which Aurelia nodded in agreement.
“Maxwell, come!” repeated the bark from above, and Phoebe thought she caught the butler rolling his eyes. She suppressed a smile as Maxwell went bounding back up the stairs, and they followed him up, entering the first door, which proved to be into a drawing room. No sooner had Phoebe stepped through the doorway when she was surrounded by a chorus of voices, all belonging to young women of varying heights and shades of the same blond locks that she had come to appreciate upon the marquess.
“You’re here!”
“We are so glad you came!”
“You are as pretty as Viola said!”
“Penny, that’s enough!” came a voice from behind the three women in front of her, and Phoebe smiled, knowing it was Viola admonishing them. Apparently, she was altogether unlike her sisters.
Viola pushed through her sisters now, taking Phoebe’s hand.
“My apologies for my sisters,” she said, looking at each girl with some reproach. “They can be… slightly overwhelming at times.”
Phoebe had to laugh at that. Not only was Viola correct, of course, but Phoebe was also enjoying the fact that these were Lord Berkley’s sisters. Somehow she had pictured prim and proper young ladies who would be waiting for her, sitting in a line on the sofa, with the same reserve that he possessed. But no. She looked around the room, finally finding him leaning against the mantle of the fireplace, and he raised a shoulder helplessly. She shook her head. How could a man who, at the very least, allowed his sisters to be women of character, have opinions so annoyingly old-fashioned?
She looked down when she caught motion at his feet and saw that Maxwell, friendly yet unkempt, was sitting next to him, with one of Lord Berkley’s hands on his head. Phoebe was drawn to the dog — not the man, she assured herself — and was about to approach him when an elegant older woman, streaks of grey running through the same light hair as her son, entered through the doorway, shooing away her daughters as she took Phoebe’s hand.
“Good evening, my dear, and welcome. I am Lady Berkley, Jeffrey’s— that is, Lord Berkley’s— mother, and the crowd that greeted you when you arrived is made up of my children. My apologies if they are slightly overbearing. And Lady Aurelia! How lovely it is to see you again.”
Phoebe raised her eyebrows as she looked at her aunt, who had never mentioned that she was acquainted with the Berkley family. Her aunt winked at her before turning to greet Lady Berkley.
“I am Rebecca,” said the girl who looked to be eldest after Viola, as the three light-haired young women once again crept closer to Phoebe, studying her as though she were one of the curiosities on the walls of her home.
“And I am Penny.”
“Annie,” said the youngest.
“It’s lovely to meet you all,” Phoebe said, nodding to each of them in turn. “And thank you so much for hosting me.”
She included Lord Berkley in that statement, and he finally pushed himself off the mantel, sauntering over toward her, a half-smile on his face.
“Are you allowing her to breathe, children?”
“We are notchildren, Jeffrey,” Penny said with a dramatic roll of her eyes.
“Yes, Jeffrey, we are young women,” said Rebecca with a sniff. “I am 20 years old for goodness sake, and have been out already for a season. You cannot call us girls any longer.”