They reached the intersection. "Turn right," Elise instructed. They started down the block and she added, "I should warn you, the MacGregor men are relentless. The only way he will give up the chase is if you can prove you…dislike him."
Or if I denounce him as a traitor, Phoebe thought, but said, "I suppose if I don’t dislike him, I may not want to call off the wedding."
"Exactly," Elise said. "And I don't blame you one bit for wanting to be sure he's worth having. Some of England's most respected husbands care nothing for pleasing their wives."
Phoebe looked at her. What was she saying?
"I suspect that isn't the case with Kiernan." The duchess looked Phoebe in the eye. "After all, the apple doesn't usually fall far from the tree."
Phoebe stared. Was the Duchess of Ashlund saying that the Duke of Ashlund was a good lover; therefore, his son would be as well?
Elise cast a glance behind her and Phoebe couldn't help following suit. Niall had fallen back a few paces. Elise leaned into her and whispered, "The damage has already been done to your reputation. If you have any doubts about the marriage, it's only right that you investigate his suitability."
"Investigate?" Phoebe repeated dumbly. "Suitability?"
"Try out the goods beforehand," Elise prodded.
Phoebe recalled Kiernan's words the night of the Halsey soiree, "I will pursue you, court you, and, lastly, seduce you.” By heavens, if she didn't know better, she would swear Kiernan had colluded with his stepmother.
"I see," Elise said.
Phoebe jarred back to the moment.
"Perhaps your investigation is already underway," she said. "Or…," her gaze turned speculative, "Kiernan has begun a campaign of his own."
Phoebe realized her cheeks were flaming. "Ma'am," she began, but Elise cut her off.
"Here we are." She entered the shop with Phoebe following on unsteady legs. "There isn't a thing here you won't love," Elise said. She stepped up to the counter where various pastries were displayed.
The petite, middle-aged woman behind the counter looked up. "Your Grace," she said with a slight French accent. "How lovely to see you."
"And you, Madam Araquette. How are you?"
Phoebe watched them, lost in the wonder of what sort of duchess suggested that her stepson's future wife should try out the goods beforehand. Were Scots that…loose?
"Why, Miss Wallington."
Phoebe turned at hearing Jane Halsey's voice. "Lady Halsey."
Lady Wilmington stood alongside her with a look in her eye that Phoebe didn't like. Jane, too, looked self-satisfied and Phoebe had the sneaking suspicion she was about to discover why.
"Lady Wilmington," Phoebe said with a deferential cant of her head.
"You look well," Lady Wilmington replied. "I suppose a Scottish marquess can do that for a woman."
"I am fond of His Lordship," Phoebe said.
"Fond?" Lady Wilmington exchanged a glance with Jane. "Is he fond of you?" Phoebe frowned, but before she could answer, Lady Wilmington added, "How long do you think his fondness will last now that all of London knows you made a fool of him by trapping him into marriage?"
"I beg your pardon?"
Lady Wilmington opened her reticule and produced a newspaper clipping and handed it to her. Phoebe's gaze snagged on the headline London Heiress kidnapped by the Marquess of Ashlund. She caught the word Green Lady Inn and her heart thumped so hard she couldn't hear anything save the rush of blood that pounded in tandem to the beat.
"What's this?"
Phoebe snapped from the horrible spell. Lady Wilmington and Lady Halsey's faces went white and they stared at Elise as she stepped up beside Phoebe.
"Your Grace," they murmured in near unison, and curtsied deep.
Elise took the clipping from Phoebe's hand. Her eyes flicked over the paper, then she looked at the two woman. "Jane, you will inform your mother that His Grace and I will not be attending your party this week as planned. I will send a note explaining why. As for you, Katherine, if I'm not mistaken, His Grace was recently considering a business venture with your father—shipping, I believe. My husband will not be investing as your father had hoped, and His Grace will send a letter of explanation. In fact, I feel certain His Grace will visit your father. It's only right, wouldn't you agree?"
"Your Grace," she began, but Elise faced Phoebe.
"Come along, Phoebe."
Phoebe's attention caught on the clipping as it fluttered to the floor in their wake.
*****
Phoebe waited until Gaylon had closed the door and left her alone with Alistair. The shock of seeing the article in the paper that afternoon had worn off, and now she was furious—for several reasons.
"I arrived home to find a note from Lord Briarden asking when my wedding date was," she said.
Surprise flickered in his eyes—barely.
"Don't toy with me, Redgrave," she said. "Does Her Majesty now expect British spies to marry their quarry?"
"Of course not."
"Then what is Briarden about?"
"Something's happened, but I have no idea what."
"None?"
He gave her a sharp look. "Now who's playing games, Phoebe?"