Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 01] by Desperately Seeking a Duke Page B

white. Wrong and right. No room for error. No easing of expectations. No freedom. No laughter.
    No passion.
    For Brookhaven, for all that he was every bit as young and handsome as Marbrook, seemed rather more like the vicar at heart. Both men were strict with themselves and others. Both men had precise views of the rules and obligations of their positions. In fact, the resemblance in their personalities was so striking that Phoebe took a certain dismal comfort that she was not to marry a complete stranger after all.
    Yet Phoebe couldn’t suppress the notion that the vicar had aged in the last week since she’d seen him. Or had she stopped noticing at some point as she had sleepwalked through her life in Thornton?
    The vicar seemed inordinately worn by his short journey back from the next county where he’d been visiting friends. Subsequently, the drive through Hyde Park had been canceled in favor of tea in the parlor.
    All of which was magically accomplished without any of the ladies managing to put in a word. Brookhaven certainly had a commanding air about him. Even Tessa’s sullen staff jumped to carry out his every wish with alacrity.
    Now, the vicar turned to her at last. “Well, my dear, you’ve
done nicely for yourself, I must say. He’s a capital fellow. I couldn’t have chosen better myself.”
    Then why don’t you wed him?
    Oh, heavens—she hadn’t just said that aloud, had she?
    No, no one seemed shocked or taken aback. In fact, the insipid smiles just went on and on. It had only been that the irreverent remark had sounded so loudly and defiantly in her head that she could have sworn she had voiced it.
    Brookhaven seemed equally pleased with the vicar. “How gratifying to learn that Miss Millbury has been influenced by such sensible thinking all her life. So many young ladies these days seem to have no thought in their heads but balls and gowns,” he said approvingly.
    Phoebe had the sudden mental image of him patting her on the head. Good dog . Just let him try it, she thought in a giddy panic.
    Phoebe saw Deirdre bite her lip, hard. At least she wasn’t the only one who was bursting to round on the pompous Brookhaven. Then Tessa placed an apparently affectionate hand on Deirdre’s shoulder—and squeezed until her knuckles turned white with effort.
    Although it had to have been extremely painful, Deirdre never twitched. She only maintained her vapid smile while patting Tessa’s hand with daughterly affection.
    Phoebe was distracted from her own predicament for a moment by the way Deirdre had taken the painful abuse with such casual familiarity. It seemed all was not as perfect between the two as Phoebe had thought. Perhaps it was better to have a father like the vicar after all.
    And now you can wed a man just like him and never, ever be allowed to grow to womanhood. From vicar’s perfect daughter to duke’s perfect wife with nary a moment of relief between.
    Except for one thing—she wasn’t perfect. How was she going to explain that on her wedding night? The vicar
would be no help there, for he believed she’d been deserted before she’d been deflowered—and Phoebe had never had the nerve to correct that impression.
    The marquis was speaking. Phoebe pulled her wandering attention back with an effort.
    “Upon reflection, I have decided that it will not be efficient to continue to visit here.”
    He was planning to make himself scarce until the wedding? How … relieving.
    “Instead, I should like to invite your entire party to move to Brook House for the coming fortnight. Lady Tessa, you will be able to assist Miss Millbury with the arrangements with the help of my excellent staff—”
    So he’d noticed the lackluster service. Phoebe couldn’t blame the poor folk burdened with working for Tessa. One had to be paid a decent wage, and on time, to enjoy one’s employment.
    Still it was a kind offer—even if it clearly originated in his own desire for convenience. Phoebe opened her mouth