One week after West had left the Clare Estate, Edward Larson returned from Italy.
Phoebe had done her best to carry on as usual, maintaining a falsely cheerful fa?ade for the children’s sake and going through the motions of everyday life. She was good at that. She knew how to endure loss and had learned that it wouldn’t break her. No matter how miserable she felt inside, she couldn’t let herself go to pieces. There were too many responsibilities to face, especially those involving Edward and the fraud he’d committed as executor of the estate. Although she dreaded having to confront him, it was a relief when he finally came to Clare Manor.
As soon as Edward entered the parlor, Phoebe saw that he knew trouble had been brewing. Despite his smile and obvious affection, his face was strained and his gaze was sharp.
“Ciao, mia cara,” he exclaimed, and came forward to kiss her, the firm, dry pressure of his lips making something inside her cringe and recoil.
“Edward, you look well,” Phoebe said, gesturing for him to sit with her. “Italy must have agreed with you.”
“Italy was a marvel, as always. Georgiana is quite happily settled, and I will relate all the particulars of her situation. But first . . . I’ve been made aware of some concerning news, my dear, with some rather serious consequences on the horizon.”
“Yes,” Phoebe said gravely. “So have I.”
“Rumors are flying about a houseguest you entertained during my absence. You are so charitable and generous in the way you treat other people that you would doubtless expect them to treat you the same way. However, society—even out here in the country—is not half so kind as you.” The touch of paternal beneficence in his tone irritated her.
“Mr. Ravenel came to stay for a few days,” Phoebe acknowledged. “Our families are connected by marriage, and I requested his advice about the estate.”
“That was a mistake. I don’t wish to frighten you, Phoebe, but it was a grave mistake indeed. He is the worst kind of scoundrel. Any association with him is poisonous.”
Phoebe took a calming breath. “I do not require a lecture on propriety, Edward.” Especially not from you, she thought.
“His reputation is tarnished beyond redemption. He is a drunkard. A profligate.”
“You know nothing about who he is,” Phoebe said with a touch of weary exasperation, “or what he’s made of himself. Let’s not discuss him, Edward, there’s something far more important for us to deal with.”
“I saw him at soirée once. His behavior was indecent. Staggering about drunkenly, fondling and flirting with married women. Insulting everyone around him. A more vulgar, sneering display I have never seen. The host and hostess were humiliated. Several guests, including myself, left the soirée early because of him.”
“Edward, enough about this. He’s gone now, and it’s over. Please listen to me—”
“He may be gone, but the damage has been done. You are too na?ve to understand, my innocent Phoebe, what jeopardy you’ve put yourself in by allowing him to stay here. People will have already begun to repeat the worst interpretations of the situation.” He took her stiff hands in his. “You and I will have to marry without delay.”
“Edward.”
“It’s the only way to contain the damage before you’re ruined.”
“Edward,” she said sharply. “I know about Ruth Parris and little Henry.”
His complexion turned bleach white as he looked at her.
“I know about the house,” Phoebe continued, gently drawing her hands from his, “and how you used funds from the loan company to pay for it.”
His eyes were dilated with the horror of someone whose darkest secret had been exposed, his protective veneer shattered. “How . . . who told you? Ravenel has something to do with this, doesn’t he? He’s trying to poison you against me. He wants you for himself!”
“This has nothing to do with Mr. Ravenel,” she exclaimed. “This is about you and your . . . I don’t know what to call her. Your mistress.”
He shook his head helplessly, standing up from the settee and pacing in a tight circle. “If you only knew more about men, and the ways of the world. I will try to explain in a way you can understand.”
She frowned, remaining seated as she watched his nervous movements. “I understand that you borrowed money on behalf of my son’s estate to set up a young woman in a household.”
“It wasn’t stealing. I intended to pay back the funds.”
Phoebe gave him a reproachful glance. “Unless you married me, in which case the money would have become yours anyway.”
“You’re insulting my character,” he said, pain contorting his face. “You’ll try to make me out to be a villain on the level of West Ravenel.”
“Were you ever going to tell me, Edward, or did you plan to maintain Ruth Parris and her child in that house indefinitely?”
“I don’t know what I planned.”
“Did you consider marrying Ruth?”
“Never,” he said without hesitation.
“But why not?”
“She would be the ruin of my future prospects. My father might disinherit me. I would be a laughingstock, marrying someone so lowborn. She has no education. No manners.”
“Those things can be acquired.”
“Nothing can change what Ruth is: an honest, sweet, simple girl who is utterly wrong as a wife for a man of my position. She’ll never be a society hostess, nor will she ever be capable of making clever conversation or telling the difference between the salad fork and the fish fork. She would be made miserable by requirements she could never satisfy. Any concern for her is unwarranted. I made no promises, and she loves me too well to make a wreck of my life.”
“But what have you made of hers?” Phoebe demanded, outraged on the girl’s behalf.