to give away to suffer cruel indignities.
It had been fear, anger, and a raw determination to protect her baby that had pushed her with such impetuosity from her home. But staring at the silent man before her, unable to read his expression, all the fears she had suppressed during the journey surged to life.
This man will never agree to marry me…not while I carry a child. What reason would he have?
The door swung open, an aging man came out, and from his mode of dress she presumed him to be the butler.
“My lord,” he said after a careful shuffling of his feet.
“My lord?” Phoebe murmured, her heart a beating mess. “You are titled?”
The butler drew himself up stiffly as if she had affronted his master.
“May I present Viscount Huxley, the future Earl of Albury.”
Shock blossomed through her in a chilly wave. Along with sorrow and fear.
An Earl.
Albury was a title spoken in hushed whispers in her father’s study whenever he met with his political cronies and fellow business investors. It was a title long held by the Winthrops. She had never met the family out in society nor heard their names mentioned anywhere else. Supposedly, they found the frivolity of the seasons beneath their notice.
A gentleman with such a bright future ahead would have his duty to the title and the realm. Such a man, of course, would never marry a lady who was so irrevocably ruined…even if she was the daughter of a duke with an inheritance of fifty thousand pounds. The urge to cry shuddered painfully inside her chest. Phoebe was out of her element—out of her mind more like it—to have arrived on a stranger’s doorstep without an invitation. And why? Because of precisely ten letters. Never more had she felt the weight of her age and inexperience.
“I sent you a letter, one of utmost importance; however, I was unable to wait for your reply to my query. I needed to depart England immediately.” On the week’s journey, she had lived with the possibility his answer might have been no. Based on their exchanges, she knew she was not at all the kind of lady he wanted to marry, even though she had never understood the reasoning behind his requirements. She had been so desperate, afraid, and fiercely protective of the life growing inside her that every prudent consideration had been tossed to the winds, and she had acted, hoping that she was doing so with courage and not with stupidity.
The reality of her situation and just how naive she was in the ways of the world rested on her shoulders at that moment—heavy and uncompromising. Nothing felt familiar, and nothing felt safe. And Phoebe felt more alone than she’d ever been in her nineteen years.
Her throat aching, she stopped only a few feet from him. She dipped into a curtsy. “I believe we should dispense with our…sobriquets. I’m Lady Phoebe Maitland, daughter of the Duke of Salop.”
His gaze sharpened. That should be enough to ensure she was offered shelter and be treated with all courtesy until she came up with another plan.
“Welcome, Lady Phoebe,” the butler intoned.
After an almost imperceptible nod of the butler’s head, three footmen appeared and made their way to the coach behind her.
At the lack of welcome, her heart grew heavier. “Please forgive me, my lord.”
A rough bark from the carriage halted her speech. Thank heavens, she wasn’t all certain what she had been about to say. The stranger before her stiffened, his eyes growing wide.
“Oh! I do hope you like dogs. He was sleeping inside the carriage, and he is a huge beast I did not wish to wake without first securing permission.”
The viscount touched her shoulder, a quick brush, but the shock of it had Phoebe peering up at him. But he wasn’t looking at her. His palm was pressed flat against his chest, and his breath clearly held. Phoebe swore he still did not breathe when he stepped around her as the massive dog leaped from the carriage in one graceful bound. But he did not run to her. No, Wolf darted forward with the power of his legs taking him over to the man who had sunk on his knees and held out his arms in a few leaps.
Phoebe stared in astonishment as the dog crashed into the viscount, who held on to him as if his life depended on it. Wolf was so excited, his barking had devolved into soft and slightly high whines, his tail wagging