"Is that what you call me: business?"
"Phoebe," Kiernan began, but her gaze shifted past his father. Kiernan followed her line of sight and saw Regan talking with Lord Mallory. Lord Harrington joined their group.
"When did Lord Stoneleigh return to London?" Phoebe asked.
"I believe he arrived two days ago. If you recall, I was forced to convalesce," Kiernan said.
"You saved my son's life," his father said.
Phoebe smiled sweetly. "One good turn deserves another, wouldn't you agree?"
"Aye," he replied. "But allowing you to become a pariah isn't a good turn."
"Your Grace—" She stopped when Regan, Mallory, and Harrington arrived at Kiernan's father's side.
"I believe congratulations are in order," Regan addressed Kiernan, then faced Phoebe. "Miss Wallington." He gave a slight bow. "May I present Lord Mallory and Lord Harrington.
Lord Mallory bowed. "Miss Wallington."
"Madam." Lord Harrington inclined his head.
"My lords." She offered a graceful bow that was the epitome of gentility, but had her gaze lingered for a bare instant too long on Lord Mallory?
Lord Redgrave appeared at Phoebe's side and Kiernan was sure he heard her groan.
"Your Grace," she addressed his father, then looked at Kiernan, "Lord Ashlund, may I present Lord Alistair Redgrave. He is a long time family friend and my escort tonight."
"Your Grace," Alistair said to the duke, then looked at Kiernan, "Lord Ashlund, my congratulations on your upcoming marriage."
Kiernan nodded. "Thank you."
"So, when is the wedding?" Regan said.
Phoebe shot him a look filled with daggers, but his grin didn’t falter.
"We're in the planning stage," Kiernan said.
"A year from now," Phoebe put in.
The duke cut his gaze onto her.
"As I said," Kiernan quickly added, "a proper wedding takes some time to plan."
"A year," Phoebe emphasized.
Her gaze moved past him and her eyes widened. Kiernan glanced over his shoulder to see her uncle headed toward them.
Kiernan grasped her hand and slipped it into the crook of his arm as he turned to face her uncle, and whispered, "Forgot all about him, didn't you?"
Her head snapped up and he read in her eyes that she would avenge herself on him for having brought his father and her uncle to corner her at the party. He was sure she would have said something had her uncle not reached them and pulled her into a hug.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Phoebe wished she could forget about her uncle. It was immediately clear a night’s rest hadn't softened him. They sat in his library, him behind his desk, her in the chair opposite him. She glanced at the portrait of her mother and father hanging on the wall behind him. Lord Albery had never replaced the picture with one of him and his wife. Tenderness rippled through her and she looked back at him.
“Uncle,” she said, “Lord Ashlund has explained the circumstances. Surely you understand my position?”
“The marquess was wrong to have taken you against your will," he replied. "But he wouldn't have mistaken you for Miss Ballingham had you not been in her company.”
“I wasn't in her company—”
“You're friends with her, aren’t you?”
Phoebe sighed. “Yes.”
“You were in her coach and,” he paused to give her a reproving look, “you were cavorting with her lover.”
“It's not as bad as all that, I assure you, Uncle.”
“Phoebe, I have tried my best to guide you.” Guilt replaced her earlier tenderness when his expression turned anxious. “But this sort of behavior... It is past time you married. Your aunt and I had never hoped to make such a fine connection for you. You will marry Ashlund."
“I have told him I will marry him,” Phoebe replied, “but not before a year.”
“A year, is it?”
“A year is an acceptable engagement.”
“Given the circumstances, don’t you think that is a bit overdone? Not to mention, women of your age don't usually wait any longer than necessary.”
“Afraid the marquess will change his mind?"
“Not in the least. The special license he obtained proves his intentions.”
“Special license?” Phoebe blurted. “He said nothing of this last night.”
“My guess is, he knew better.”
“I won't marry before a year,” she said.
“If you think to wait until after your twenty-fifth birthday, collect your inheritance, then thumb your nose at the lot of us, you can think again.”
“The money isn't the issue.”
“Indeed, it is,” he replied. “The arrangements have been made.” He paused, then added, “You are aware that I am in charge of your finances?”
“Of course.” She angled her head. “And a fine job you have done. I have no complaints.”
“Enough of the flattery. I have more control over matters than you might like.”
She stilled.
“There's a codicil to your mother’s will that gives me control of your inheritance.”
“What sort of control?”
“Your mother was concerned that fortune hunters…”
Phoebe kept her gaze steady. “Fortune hunters such as Brandon?”