‘The important thing is that Robert is now sleeping.’ Phoebe clung on to the remnants of her temper.
‘Shall we quarrel about that as well?’ A smile touched Mr Clare’s face, transforming it. ‘I fear my sister will have misled you. My temper has become far shorter since the accident. I do assure you, Miss Benedict, that my bark is worse than my bite. Above all else, I want Robert to get well.’
‘Hopefully, there is a room near Robert’s where I can store my things.’ All the exhaustion from her long journey returned, crashing over her in one great wave. All she wanted was a warm bath and the welcoming embrace of clean sheets, but these would have to wait until Robert was better. She knew her duty. Phoebe stifled a yawn. Even the armchair in Robert’s room would be welcome after the hard springs of the coach.
‘I refuse to allow you to start tonight. You have just arrived. Someone will watch over him.’
Someone? Gladys, the upstairs maid? Did she dare risk another confrontation? Phoebe forced her body to relax. She had to be content with her small victory. He might decry arrogant aristocrats, but Mr Clare was without a doubt one of the most pigheaded people that she had ever met.
She willed a smile to cross her lips. Her time in the ton had taught her how to be polite to the rudest people. ‘Robert’s health is more important, Mr Clare. I want to hear if he cries out in his sleep.’
‘Very well, if you wish.’ He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘Jenkins, put Miss Benedict’s things into the little room next to Robert’s rather than in Miss Diana’s old room. She appears determined to look after him. You will be able to hear Robert if he cries out.’
‘Your sister entrusted me with his care. I gave her my promise.’
‘How much did my sister tell you about this house?’
‘Very little. There was not time. Speed was of the essence according your letter.’ Phoebe kept her voice steady. ‘I expect I will learn the house rules as I go on.’
‘There is one request I must make of you, Miss Benedict.’ His face became stern. ‘Onnoaccountspeak to Robert about his mother.’
‘Why ever not?’ Phoebe’s eyes widened and she wished that she had questioned Lady Coltonby more closely about the precise nature of the situation. What had this boy’s mother done before she died?
‘I have no wish to encourage morbid fantasies. His mother is dead and that is the end of the matter.’
‘But—’ Phoebe stared at the man. Surely he had seen the hunger in Robert’s eyes when he mentioned that his mother had died. She knew what it was like to be alone and motherless. She knew what it was like to be without a family. Did Mr Clare?
‘That is the one charge I make on you.’ Mr Clare inclined his head. ‘I have agreed reluctantly to my sister’s scheme, but I will have the rules obeyed in my house.’
‘I will take it under advisement.’
‘You will obey my orders.’
‘If I had obeyed your orders, Robert would now be tied to his bed. Or, worse, in a madhouse. Robert is seriously ill and has been treated badly.’
Mr Clare opened and closed his mouth and his scar became a livid red. A small thrill of satisfaction ran through Phoebe. She enjoyed seeing the barb hit home. It might make her wicked, but she felt Mr Clare deserved it.
‘You speak very boldly.’
‘I fight for those who need it. And I will fight for Robert.’
‘Then I must be grateful that you intend to do that.’ Mr Clare gave an imperious nod and turned away down the hall.
A soft noise woke Phoebe from where she slumbered on a narrow cot. It took a few moments to work out where she was. She forced her muscles to relax as she realised that it was not Atherstone Court and she would not have to see her sister-in-law today.
She listened again, hoping against hope that Robert was not about to experience another fit. The noise appeared to have stopped. She nodded and forced her breathing to come easy.
She was safe here. No men would come knocking at the door, demanding money for unpaid bills, no stepmother would look at her with injured eyes when she suggested economies. No sister-in-law to roll her eyes when Phoebe suggested starting a dressmaking or millinery shop, rather than sinking slowly into the mire of impoverished gentry.
Here, she was giving James a chance. He had not asked for Father to go walking on the frozen Thames. He had not been the one to refuse to join him on that stroll, preferring to stay at home and trim a bonnet. She knew who bore that guilt. And he had not caused Charles to take the corner too fast, overturning his carriage on his way to mediate a dispute between her and Alice. She trusted that Lord Coltonby would do as he had promised. Then there would only be Edmund to worry about. She hoped all of them understood the sacrifices she was making and why. Far too often they seemed to take her feelings for granted. Phoebe pushed away the thought. They were the only family she had and belonging to a family was important. She would keep her mind only on the good things, the way forward.
She’d concentrate on the little boy and his heartless parent. Imagine having your only child looked after by a creature like that and in such conditions. It was not as if they lacked money. The whole house screamed money, but it lacked love and tenderness. It lacked a heart.
The noise sounded again. It appeared to be halfway between a sob and a wail. Phoebe’s heart sank. She did not want to think about confronting Mr Clare at this hour.
She wondered if Mr Clare had been true to his word. Robert could be alone in there or with someone as unfeeling as that miserable maid. She refused to let that happen. The boy needed help.
In the moonlight, Phoebe fumbled for her shawl and wrapped it around her body. She lit a candle and held it aloft as she tiptoed over to the door that separated her from Robert. She opened the door slightly, but kept to the shadows.
Robert appeared to be asleep, but a figure knelt at the side of the bed, head bowed, one arm stretched out on the coverlet.
She raised the candle higher, trying to discern who was there. The too-long hair and finely moulded shoulders could only belong to one man. Simon Clare. For confirmation, she spied the cane lying by the side of the bed. She started to tiptoe out when she heard a hoarse whisper.
‘Let me take his place. Please…I will do anything. Punish me, not him.’
Phoebe put her hand to her mouth. She had inadvertently intruded on this man’s grief. How she could have thought him heartless? A sudden fear gripped her. ‘Is everything all right, Mr Clare? Is Robert…?’
At the sound of her voice, the quiet groans ceased. He lifted his head. His white shirt was open at the throat, revealing his golden skin. In the darkness, his face had become all shadows and planes, but she could clearly see how handsome he was. He was no monster, but the personification of masculinity.
‘Robert is asleep. All is well, Miss Benedict.’ His voice held a singular raw note.
‘That is good to hear. I…I heard a noise.’
‘I regret having
