The anticipation of excitement. And more.
No other man had affected her as Deverell did.
One part of her rational, logical mind unreservedly labeled him as dangerous—to be avoided. An equally assertive part of that same rational mind pointed out, quite tartly, that she knew perfectly well that with him she was safe.
Not only had he told her—sworn to her—that he would never harm her, she bel
ieved him.
Oddly enough, to her soul.
He was driving her demented.
He wasn’t going to go away, and her chances of avoiding him were slim to none. If he wanted to whisk her away alone—for instance, tomorrow night—he would. There was precious little she could do to stop a man of his ilk from doing as he pleased, especially not one as experienced as he.
And then…
Her mind halted. Simply refused to go further. Didn’t need to go further and imagine what would follow.
“I have to get control of this.” She muttered the words through clenched teeth; the instant she heard them, she knew they were right.
The right—possibly the only—way forward.
She halted. Glancing at the clock, she grimaced at the hour. She had “business” to attend to tomorrow; determinedly she headed for her bed.
At least she now knew what she had to do.
The one remaining mystery was how.
Phoebe was waiting for Edith in the front hall, ready to leave for their morning engagements, when Fergus McKenna, her longtime groom, who also acted as the household’s coachman, appeared at the open front door.
Alerted by the large shadow he cast, Phoebe looked up from buttoning her gloves and smiled. “What is it, Fergus?”
Fergus beckoned. Henderson, Edith’s butler, was hovering; Fergus rarely ventured into the front hall, Henderson’s domain.
Phoebe joined Fergus by the door, her eyes repeating her question.
“Thought as I should warn you,” Fergus rumbled, his Scots burr smothering his words. “Paignton’s young lad’s skulking about in the street, keeping an eye on the house. D’you want something done about him?”
Lips thinning, Phoebe considered, then shook her head. “As long as he’s only watching the front of the house, he won’t see anything useful.”
“I think he’s been following us about town.”
Phoebe raised her brows, then smiled. “In that case, we’ll certainly keep him busy today—we’ve two morning visits, and three afternoon teas. Let him follow by all means—he won’t learn anything.”
Fergus shuffled. “Skinner said as how Paignton—Deverell as he’s called—saw enough to become suspicious.”
“Indeed.” Phoebe turned as Edith came slowly down the stairs; she lowered her voice. “Which is why I want his lad let be. If you run him off, Deverell will know we’ve something to hide in where we go, and he’ll set someone else to watch, from the mews, for instance. I’d much rather his lad was following us.” She met Fergus’s eyes. “That way, we’ll control what he sees.”
“Aye.” Pulling one earlobe, Fergus nodded. “There is that.” He smiled at Edith, then stepped back onto the porch. “Let’s be off, then.”
Phoebe waited for Edith to join her, then, arm in arm with her aunt, went down the front steps to the waiting carriage.
Phoebe spent the day interviewing prospective employers. Not, of course, that the ladies she spoke with had any inkling she was assessing them and their households; over the four years since she’d established her business, she’d grown adept at conducting such interviews without the interviewees suspecting.
“Lady Lancaster.” Beside Edith, Phoebe curtsied to her ladyship, the last of the hostesses they planned to call on that afternoon. After exchanging greetings and the usual small talk about the Lancaster children—Phoebe made a mental note that Annabelle, the eldest daughter, now married with her own household, was increasing and would thus, at some not too distant time, require a nursemaid and later a governess—she and Edith moved into her ladyship’s drawing room.
The Lancaster events were always well attended. Despite her lack of success thus far that day, Phoebe remained optimistic that somewhere among the ladies gathered to chat over the teacups, she would find one with the right credentials.