Free Scandalous Innocent by Juliet Landon Page B

equanimity. So when the whisper went round that she’d been staying at Ham while the great Duke himself was in residence, the reason for her preoccupation became plain. The scandal concerning the Duke’s handsome secretary was only three years old, and a man had died for love of Mistress Laker.
    When at last her impatience was rewarded with a distant sighting of Sir Leo Hawkynne on his unmistakable grey Andalusian surrounded by a group of friends, Phoebe’s courage deserted her. ‘I cannot,’ she whispered to Mrs Overshott. ‘He’s with his friends. What will it look like? I shall not know what to say. Let’s go home. I feel sick.’
    ‘That’s not like you, love.’
    ‘I know. I’m not me.’
    Never having met the Duke’s secretary, Mrs Overshott would have liked to persevere, but knew better than to insist when Phoebe was already heading for home.

    On the next day, ostensibly to satisfy Mrs Overshott’s burning curiosity to see the recent additions to Ham House, Phoebe donned another of her modish riding habits, this one of deep gold and black, to call on her friend the Duchess who would presumably welcome the chance to conduct another admirer through her rooms.
    The Duchess was, naturally, happy to see them both, but did not for one moment believe that this alone was the reason for Phoebe’s return so soon after that contentious visit when nobody’s plans had been effective. She saw how the light disappeared from Phoebe’s expressive eyes when she was told that the Duke and his secretary were out riding with Elizabeth and Katherine that day. ‘And their brother too,’ the Duchess added. ‘Thomas arrived yesterday, quite unexpectedly. What a pity you’ve missed him. I know he’ll want to see you again. How long has it been?’
    ‘Oh, dear,’ Phoebe said, recalling the distant figures she’d seen in the park the day before, ‘we seem to spend our lives just missing each other. Whenever I arrive at Court, Thomas has just left on some mission or other.’ Smiling ruefully at Mrs Overshott, she followed the Duchess into the dining room above the hall where the high white-plastered ceiling and blue curtains came as a relief from so much gold leaf.
    Thomas Tollemache was one of the Duchess’s sons by her first husband. The eldest son, Viscount Huntingtower, had extensive estates to manage in distant counties but, being nearer to Phoebe in age, Thomas had known her better than his two sisters. His chosen career in the army had kept him away from home for months at a time, and for him to be at home at the same time as his stepfather was most unusual.
    ‘Court life is a very hit-and-miss existence, my dear, as you know well,’ said the Duchess, leading them through a succession of doors with a vista of rooms that spanned the length of the north front. ‘Even Sir Leo has seen the need to have a place of his own these days. He’s taken them to see it.’ She smiled indulgently, waiting for Mrs Overshott’s murmurs of praise. ‘I think he’s been inspired by my renovations. He’s spent a fortune on having it brought up to date.’
    This was news to Phoebe. ‘His own house? Where, my lady?’
    ‘Just across the park from you, in Richmond. Now, from the drawing room we go into the long gallery, which,’ she said, turning to Phoebe, ‘has too little light for my taste. Portraits…ancestors…mostly mine. And the late King Charles up there. And through there is the Duke’s library on one side, and the state apartments on this side.’
    Inwardly, Phoebe groaned. ‘Will he be living there soon?’ she asked.
    ‘I believe that’s his intention, my dear, but it will all depend on his work with the Duke, I suppose. John tends to work his staff very hard.’
    ‘I didn’t realise he could afford to—’ Phoebe stopped, aware that she was thinking out loud. ‘I thought…well…’
    The Duchess looked at her and waited, observing the conflict between polite interest, blatant curiosity and the matter