He found his way across the wide, cavernous room, filled with color this evening from the multitudes of hues of women’s dresses to a table on the side, which held an assortment of drinks, pastries, and all sorts of epicurean delights. The only thing he had any interest in, however, was the brandy. He took the glass with relish, letting the amber liquid burn down his throat. Women.
“I say, Berkley, what sort of beast has a hold of you?”
Jeffrey turned, his frustration abating somewhat upon finding his old friend, the Duke of Clarence, at his elbow.
“Nothing that cannot be tamed,” he said, covering his unease with a grin, and the Duke laughed, holding his glass up to his own in a salute.
“Troubles of the female persuasion, then?”
“You could say that,” Jeffrey muttered, his eyes perusing the room for a glimpse of the vixen. When he found no sign of her, he wasn’t sure whether it was relief or dismay churning within his belly. Though why he would want to see a woman such as her, with her viperish tongue and threatening hands again, he had no idea.
“When one disappoints, there is always another,” Clarence said with a shrug, and Jeffrey nodded, though he was sure Lady Phoebe was one of a kind — a kind he should avoid. He looked around the room at the young women and their mothers sending admiring glances and inviting smiles toward the two of them — both eligible, unattached, powerful men of theton. There were many who would hold no issue with his views nor his presumptions of how a young woman should behave. Yet none of them, despite their attractiveness and their equally lovely shapes, lit a fire in him as did the lady of the drawing room. Lady Phoebe Winters was trouble, and he needed to do all he could to keep from furthering any acquaintance with her.
He shook his head, not realizing that he had spoken her name aloud until Clarence questioned him.
“Lady Phoebe? I know of her. Is it she who is vexing you so?”
Jeffrey came back to the present moment, turning his gaze upon his friend.
“I suppose you could say that. We had an interesting … exchange a few moments ago. She has a wicked tongue, but there is something rather intriguing about her.”
“Hers is an interesting story,” the Duke began as he drained his glass. “Her parents died of illnesses within months of one another, though romantics would say her father died of a broken heart. He was a viscount, and his title went to the next in line, of course — some cousin — but he had amassed a plentiful fortune through his lifetime, and ensured the unentailed portion of his inheritance was bestowed upon his only child — the Lady Phoebe.”
“Indeed?” Jeffrey had heard some of this, of course — of her parents’ untimely passing, but not of the inheritance. He supposed he should pay more attention to the gossips.
“Indeed,” Clarence confirmed. “She has a chaperone — an aunt, I believe — who lives with her here in London, who attends events such as these so all is proper. As far as I am aware, however, for the most part the Lady Phoebe lives as she pleases, acting upon her own whims.”
“That’s a dangerous thing, a woman on her own in the world,” Jeffrey muttered.
“I suppose,” returned the Duke with a shrug. “Though it has been near a couple of years now, and she seems to do well enough on her own. It’s not my business, I suppose, but that’s the story.”
“Interesting,” Jeffrey said, his eyes scanning the room for her once more. “Very interesting indeed.”