Page 3 of Her Infuriating Earl
Evan gestured toward the terrace doors. Sure enough, Ellen was standing there, batting her eyelashes at a handsome, young gentleman. A gentleman that Phoebe recognized immediately as the Baron of Harburgh. A name that had been placed on Phoebe’s secret “Wastrel List” a long time ago.
“Excuse me,” Phoebe said quickly, hurrying across the ballroom, weaving through the crowd until she cast a shadow over her sister.
Ellen rolled her eyes and put on a smile. “I was just coming to find you. Indeed, I was asking this gentleman if he had seen you.”
“Is that so?” Phoebe replied drily. “How fortunate, then, that I have saved you the need to search for me.”
“Are you her mother?” Lord Harburgh asked.
Phoebe shot him a dark look. “Charming. I realize that I am somewhat past my prime, but evenIknow I do not look old enough to be her mother.” She took hold of Ellen’s arm, pulling her away. “And you, My Lord, are much too old to be conversing with girls of nine-and-ten. What are you, five-and-thirty?”
“I have always been mature for my age,” the Baron replied. “But I am only four-and-twenty.”
“You ought to stay out of the sun,” Phoebe shot back. “If you are, in fact, telling the truth, it has weathered you terribly.”
Ellen stared at her sister, aghast. “Phoebe!”
“Do notPhoebeme,” Phoebe said quietly, pulling Ellen away. “Good day to you, My Lord. I do hope we shall not cross paths again. You ought to venture out into the entrance hall, where the wallflowers and unmarriageables are to be found.”
As the sisters headed out onto the terrace, Ellen yanked her hand free of Phoebe’s and crossed her arms over her chest, pouting as if she were still a child. “Why did you do that? He was perfectly nice.”
“Because he isnotperfectly nice, he merely appears to be,” Phoebe replied, exasperated. “He has been engaged four times in as many years, but always breaks off the engagement after a few months. Even if he were an earl, I would not allow you to speak with him. You are too easily influenced, Ellen. I realize you might not like my interventions, but it is for your own benefit. You do not see the bad intent in men like that.”
Ellen narrowed her eyes. “And you see the bad intent in everyone, even those who have none.” She huffed out a breath. “Nor do I know why you think you can speak of gentlemen at all, for you have not even courted! I do not even think I have seen you dance.”
“I have had other things to consider, but a lack of experience does not mean a lack of knowledge,” Phoebe replied, lowering her voice. “Still, I clearly have not taught you well enough if you believe you can converse alone with a gentleman.Anygentleman.”
“Hespoke tomefirst,” Ellen complained. “What was I supposed to do? Be rude and tell him to go away?”
“Yes,” Phoebe said simply.
Ellen shook her head. “I knew you would be like this. You promised you would be better tonight, you promised you would let us have fun, but you cannot change.” She took a sharp breath, adding in a harsh whisper, “You are not my mother, Phoebe.”
“No, but I am doing my best in her stead,” Phoebe murmured, her throat tightening.
Ellen sniffed. “Perhaps you should not bother. Perhaps you should worry about your own future, for I suspect you shall be a very lonely, very miserable, insufferable old spinster, while even your friends will have left you behind, the rest of them breaking that ridiculous vow you all made.” She turned on her heel. “I am going to sit in a corner, ignoring everyone. I am tired of this ball.”
“Come back here,” Phoebe urged, her voice cracking.
But Ellen had fled back into the ballroom, disappearing among the crowd. With a weary sigh, Phoebe turned her attention toward the shadowed gardens, spotting the pond that Leah had mentioned. It glittered beneath the moonlight, but its beauty did nothing to soothe Phoebe.
“Did that go as you intended?” an amused voice asked from the terrace doorway.
Phoebe’s head whipped around, her eyes narrowing at the Baron. “That is none of your concern, My Lord. Now, if you will excuse me, I must make peace.” She pushed past him, but not before whispering, “And if you dare to follow her, you shall regret it.”
“I do not chase,” the Baron replied with a laugh as Phoebe pressed on into the ballroom, realizing that the night was all but over already before she had allowed herself a single moment to enjoy it.
CHAPTERTWO
Daniel Barnet relished a dance—the more invigorating, the better. In his travels to distant shores, he had seen dances that would have astounded—and, perhaps, shocked—the prim high society of England, but, even so, there was nothing quite like a country dance among friends to remind him that he was home. A place he had sworn to stay in for a while.
As for his partner, she was a cheery delight—young and sprightly, with the same vigor for dancing that he shared. Indeed, she was even more enthusiastic, throwing herself into every leap and turn and hop, as though she had springs in place of limbs. She had not been his choice of partner, necessarily, but when the last dance had ended, she had come running up to him, begging him to dance with her so that Lord Blackstone would not hound her anymore. Knowing Lord Blackstone’s reputation, Daniel had agreed, despite the slight impropriety of his name not being on her dance card.
“Tell me more about India!” Joanna Wilson cried, twirling in a dizzying circle.
Daniel had to laugh at her youthful exuberance. “It is a beautiful country. Unlike anything you could dare to imagine. The colors, the music, the people, the food, the animals that roam—it is the most wondrous place I have ever visited. Though, if you are planning to visit, I should warn you—it is exceedingly hot. Your skin would singe to a crisp and, goodness, you might even gain a freckle or two.”
“Why would you say such a mean thing?” Joanna replied, scowling playfully. “I shall never gain a freckle for as long as I live. In the summer, I am like a hermit, hiding away from anything resembling sunshine.”
