Phoebe brushed past him and into the study with as much dignity as she could muster. In stark contrast to the shrouded and mummified ballroom, the study burst with light and warmth. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth and the curtains had been drawn back to allow the winter sunshine in. Every surface had paper piled high on it. In one corner a model of a travelling engine stood. Phoebe stared at it, puzzled, but at the sound of rattling papers she turned her attention back to Simon Clare, who had sat down in an armchair.
‘Now that you have seen the study, is that all? Or was there something more than the urge to gawp?’
‘I…I…’
‘You appear at a loss for words.’ Mr Clare stretched out his legs. ‘Surely you are not coming to say that you wish to leave.’
‘No, not that.’
‘Very well. Your visit here saves me the trouble of climbing up the stairs. Precisely why did my sister choose to send you?’ He indicated a sofa. ‘Please sit. Should you remain standing, I would be forced to stand up again.’
Phoebe opened her mouth to protest, but then she saw the deep circles under his eyes. The man had spent the night by his son’s bed. Exactly how bad were his injuries?
She sank down on the sofa and kept her hands tight on her lap. Here was her chance to begin anew and to explain why his sister had felt it necessary to send her, why she had to stay and why the doctor should be sent for.
‘Lady Coltonby assured me that she had given a full explanation,’ Phoebe replied, keeping her head up. She was not going to think about the fate that awaited James if she left. Sophia had made it very clear that she was unprepared to help either James or Edmund. In her view, the boys had become men and should be responsible for their own livelihood, but Phoebe knew they would drift without help. Their potential had been cut cruelly short, first by their own father’s death and then by their older brother’s. She had a duty towards them, even if both Alice and Sophia denied it. Families should help each other out.
‘She wrote very little. What are you hoping to gain from this exercise? I do not believe that you came here out of purely altruistic motives. People seldom behave in that fashion. What are you escaping? Or have you been compromised and are seeking a refuge?’
‘How dare you, sir! My reputation is spotless.’
Their gazes warred until he suddenly developed an interest in the carpet. ‘I want to know the sort of woman I have under my roof. False protestations of modesty do neither of us any good, Miss Benedict.’
‘It is not for my sake that I travelled up here, but for my stepbrother James.’ Phoebe leant forwards. He had to understand that she was not doing this for her own gain. James had to have this one chance to make something of his life. Her father would have seen to it that he had a commission, if he had lived. ‘Lord Coltonby has agreed to help James get a commission. Not one of the most fashionable, but a solid regiment with a chance for advancement. I believe it will be the making of him. It was the perfect solution—each of us helping the other’s brother.’
Mr Clare lifted an eyebrow. ‘And why did your stepbrother not make use of the connection before now? Surely he can speak.’
‘My stepbrother is unconnected to Lord Coltonby. I felt obliged to ask. His enthusiasm for the army has happened quite recently.’ Phoebe shifted uncomfortably. She had no wish to go into the details about James’s debts or the need to prise him away from his troublesome companions. He was not feckless, as Sophia claimed, simply young and in need of a purpose in life. The army would give him that purpose. She had counted on Charles to look after James and Edmund, but with his death, there was no one to provide a steadying hand but her.
‘I am certain that had you but asked…Lord Coltonby would have been delighted to help. My brother-in-law is like that.’ The faintest hint of irony laced his voice. ‘He has a great love of organising people and situations.’
‘I…I…’
‘You know I speak the truth. Has Coltonby refused your request?’
Phoebe summoned all her dignity. Mr Clare was being deliberately awkward. One could not ask for favours, one had to give something in return. It was understood. She would never have gone to Lord Coltonby if she had thought otherwise. In any case, she had only gone for advice. That Lady Coltonby had received the letter only hours before her visit was fortuitous in the extreme, a sign that it was meant to be. She had acted decisively because she had to seize every opportunity. She knew how quickly doors could be slammed when you no longer had anything to give.
‘My family does not accept charity. Lord and Lady Coltonby have promised to do all they can for my brother and I will try to help your son. It is a fair exchange.’ Silently she prayed her words would be enough.
‘And who exactly is your family? You say that you are Coltonby’s second cousin, but your stepbrothers are unrelated.’ His voice was cold. ‘Your accent is far too fine for you to have been some poor relation. It oozes London quality.’
‘My eldest stepbrother was the fifth Viscount Atherstone. His baby son is now the sixth.’ Phoebe forced her tongue not to stumble over the name.
‘Your father was the fourth Viscount Atherstone?’ Mr Clare’s eyes narrowed and his body stilled, but there was an alert look to it.
‘Yes.’ Phoebe kept her head up and met his gaze full on. ‘Were you acquainted with him?’
‘We had business dealings many years ago. We were fellow shareholders in a canal. I lost touch with him recently, though. When did he die?’ The words were deceptively casual, but his entire body had become alert, poised.
‘Hediedeightyears ago.’ Phoebe forced her voice to sound calm and prayed that Mr Clare would not enquire into the exact circumstances. There again, he might already know. Was he one of her father’s creditors who had hounded him until he had gone for a long walk on the frozen Thames? The river had given up his body when the ice had melted that spring. Because her stepmother was prostrate with grief, Phoebe had claimed the body. She shivered slightly. No one could ever say if he had intended to fall or had merely slipped.
How could she explain her part? How her father had asked her to go for a walk with him, and she had refused, being more concerned with the trim of a new bonnet? How she had not realised how deep was the state of melancholy that he was in? She bore her responsibility with fortitude. She did not explain her troubles or her duty. She still had her pride.
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