guilt at having failed on all counts. His wife had been a stranger to him, despite his best efforts, and he’d lost both her and the son he’d hoped for. So, he had buried himself in the business of bringing the estate back to what it had once been. Now everything was flourishing once more and, with good management in place, it needed less of his attention than it had. An estate must have an heir, though, and so he had returned to society, with the notion that he might find a woman he could be friends with, one who would be a companion to him as well as a mother to their children, if they were to be so blessed. He had not been so foolish to consider that he would fall in love.
Though he had become friends with Lucian over five years ago, through St Clair, and often spent time at Dern, he had never considered Phoebe as anything other than Lucian and Matilda’s daughter. Then, quite by chance, he had seen her again, only to discover the rather gauche young woman he’d last seen had blossomed into something… quite spectacular.
He’d not been able to keep away since.
She had stolen his breath and his heart, and he could do nothing but curse his own stupidity, for she would never dream of considering him a suitor. As far as Phoebe was concerned, he was old and dull, and she never turned her gaze his way. It did not matter that he was one of the most eligible bachelors on the marriage mart. It did not matter that he was besieged with female admirers, many of whom were her friends, all wishing to capture an earl for a husband. Not to mention those beautiful widows, wanting a sophisticated lover to amuse them, who cast their lures his way. Phoebe simply did not notice. He was her father’s friend, and he had unwittingly got himself lumped in with those far older than he. It was the grey hair, he reflected bitterly. Though he’d fared better than his father, who had been completely grey by his mid-twenties, the scattering of that colour at his temples made him look distinguished, and gave him the appearance of more seniority than was his due. He had even considered dyeing it before telling himself not to be such a blasted fool. He’d had one wife who could barely tolerate the sight of him, and he’d not have another. With time, he would get over this ridiculous infatuation and find someone who at least enjoyed his company. It wasn’t too much to ask, after all. Many women did. That he felt compelled to remind himself of the fact, despite plenty of evidence, only showed how far he had fallen.
“What’s this?” asked a small voice.
“Oh, do be careful, love,” Phoebe said, hurrying to the sideboard where little Evie was flourishing a battered-looking top hat. “That’s rather precious.”
“Oh, it’s our hat!” Bonnie Cadogan cried in delight. “You’ve still got it.”
“Of course,” Matilda said, laughing. “It’s an heirloom for our children.”
All of those gathered knew the story of the Peculiar Ladies, the intrepid band of female friends who had caused such a stir among the ton, more than a decade ago now. Phoebe rescued the hat before the children could dive into it and open all the paper slips, each one of which had a dare written upon it. According to the stories, those dares had been instrumental in cementing their friendships, and had played no small part in how they’d met their respective husbands.
“Oh, Max, do hold this for me, please,” Phoebe said, holding the hat out to him as she tried to untangle little Alana, who had discovered that one of the boys had tied the ribbons on her shoes together. The poor girl was sitting on the floor with a face like thunder that promised retribution to whichever boy had been foolish enough to do such a thing.
“Should I take a dare while I’m about it?” he asked, peering down into the hat at the dozens of slips of paper.
Phoebe laughed and looked over her shoulder with a quizzical expression. “Of course not. You’d never do it.”
Max winced. Well, there it was. Phoebe had been banned from taking a dare by Matilda, who was adamant that the girl needed no encouragement. Yet she believed him too hen-hearted, too dull to even consider it. He stared down into the hat, a heavy sensation of inevitability in his chest.