Swept Away. Candace Camp

tell his wife, the pastor and all the gossips in the county. He would be a laughingstock. I think he saw my point.”

      Phoebe giggled. “I am sure he did. But I don’t think that would necessarily work with a man like Stonehaven.”

      “Perhaps not. However, I can carry Selby’s detonator with me,” Julia said, naming the small pocket-size pistol in her brother’s collection. “I would think that a man’s ardor decreases dramatically when he’s staring down the barrel of a firearm.”

      “Julia!” Phoebe looked shocked, but could not keep from bursting into laughter.

      At that moment they were interrupted by the tumultuous entrance of a six-year-old boy.

      “Mama! Mama! Oh, Auntie, there you are. I was looking everywhere for you. Look what I got!” He held out one grubby hand, palm up, to reveal a prize he knew would be far more appreciated by his aunt than his loving, but strangely squeamish, mother.

      “A caterpillar!” Julia cried, echoed somewhat less enthusiastically by Phoebe, and bent down to look at the prize in the boy’s hand. “Wonderful, Gilbert! You didn’t squash it a bit, either.”

      Gilbert nodded proudly. “I know. I ’membered what you said, how the green juice was like blood to him, so I didn’t squeeze him.”

      “Good lad.”

      “Could I keep him?” He looked over at his mother. “Please?”

      Phoebe smiled at the boy. Sturdily built, he had an angelic face, with her own light blue eyes and sweet smile, but Selby’s strong chin and jaw. A cloud of bright red-gold curls added to the illusion of a cherub. Phoebe, while she might not share her son’s fondness for worms, snakes and caterpillars, rarely could deny him anything.

      “Of course you can, sweetheart. Just make sure to put him in a container, though, or he might frighten the maids.”

      “Get Nurse to find a jar for you,” Julia instructed. “And remember, put holes in the top, and a twig and some leaves inside for him.”

      Gilbert nodded and bounced out of the room to show his prize to his nurse. Phoebe looked after him with a sigh, her eyes filling with tears. Gilbert, only three years old when his father died, could not even remember Selby. “If only Selby had lived to see him grow up.”

      Her wistful words hardened Julia’s resolve. “And he would have lived to see him—if Stonehaven had not hounded him to death. Phoebe, I have to make Stonehaven reveal the truth, don’t you see?”

      Phoebe nodded. “I know.”

      “If I do nothing, Gilbert will always have to live under the shadow of the scandal. He’ll hear the whispers. People will turn away from him, refuse to meet him or issue him an invitation.” She paused, not adding, “The way they have us.” But Phoebe knew that truth as well as she.

      The scandal surrounding Selby and his death had sealed Julia and Phoebe off from “polite society.” Phoebe no longer went to London for the Season. Julia, who had not yet made her debut, had accepted that she never would. The blot on the family name was too great. Even in the small circle of their country acquaintances, there had been those who had cut them. Wherever they went, even church, they saw people whispering and staring. When they had moved to the Armiger London house a few weeks ago, more than one Society matron had looked the other way when she saw them. The memory of the ton was very long.

      “No,” Phoebe whispered fiercely. Normally sweet-tempered, a threat to her beloved child was enough to turn her into a fiery avenger. “That cannot happen to Gilbert. We must not let it.” She looked up into her sister-in-law’s vivid blue eyes, and her jaw hardened with determination. “You are right. I was being weak. Of course we must continue to try to prove Selby’s innocence. You do what you must. Whatever it takes.”

      Julia grinned. “I knew you would stand firm, Phoebe.” For all her gentle nature and her worries about impropriety, Phoebe alone out of everyone they knew had believed as firmly as Julia herself that Selby was innocent of the accusations and had been as determined to prove it.

      Phoebe gave her a quick smile and picked up her sewing again. Then she stopped and looked up questioningly. “But, Julie, dear…how are you going to meet Lord Stonehaven? We don’t go out in Society. Indeed, I am sure that we would not be received even if we tried.”

      “No. That is a problem.” Julia did not deem it necessary to tell Phoebe that the kind of woman that she planned to be for Lord Stonehaven would not be one he would meet at Society fetes. It was better if Phoebe did not know quite all the details. “But I’ve been thinking—I believe I can get help from Cousin Geoffrey.”

      “Geoffrey Pemberton?” Phoebe’s face cleared, and she smiled. “That’s good. He is a most elegant gentleman, so courteous. I am sure he will know just what to do.”

      “No doubt.” Julia did not tell her that she was not seeking her cousin’s advice in the matter, merely his aid in executing her own scheme. She knew exactly how she intended to meet and interest Stonehaven. It was unfortunate that it required the help of some willing male. She was sure that Phoebe would have been alarmed to know that she was seeking out her cousin’s help because he was the least shockable gentleman she knew, and also the laziest. If she kept after him long enough, Geoffrey would eventually give in rather than expend the effort of arguing.

      “But, Julia, don’t you think that Lord Stonehaven will be suspicious of your motives, no matter how he meets you? I mean, your being Selby’s sister.”

      Julia smiled in a way that Phoebe found a little blood-chilling and said, “Ah, but, you see, I am not going to be me.”

      

      Julia found her cousin alone in his apartments later that afternoon. She had wisely waited until after three to give him time to awaken, eat and get properly dressed for the day, all three occupations that required a great deal of time. When his man ushered Julia into the drawing room, bowing and intoning her name, Cousin Geoffrey looked up at her with a startled stare that reminded her forcibly of a doe spotting a hunter.

      “Cousin Julia!” he exclaimed, rising politely and casting a quick, nervous glance around. “What are you doing here?”

      “No way to escape, Cuz,” Julia responded cheerfully, coming forward to offer her hand. “Please, sit down. Surely we needn’t stand on ceremony.”

      “No. No, of course not. Escape, indeed!” He offered a faint laugh. “As if I did not enjoy your visits to the utmost.”

      Julia chuckled. “Don’t lie to me, Cousin. I remember quite well when you told me that you found my visits wearing in the extreme.”

      Her cousin smiled languidly. He was a nice-looking man—a trifle plumpish around the waist, but he hid it well with waistcoats, and he boasted a nice turn of leg. Being related to them on their mother’s side, he had escaped the red hair that plagued the Armigers. Selby had often despaired of his bright carrottop hair and easily burned white skin, but Geoffrey’s hair was brown, as were his eyes, and he had a most charming smile. He dressed in the height of fashion, but never to the extremes, for he said that he found keeping up with the latest fads much too taxing. His taste was elegant, as Phoebe had said. His furnishings, like his clothes, were exquisite; his wines were always the best; and if there was a cook better than his, he would not rest until he had hunted him down—in his own lazy fashion, of course—and lured him away from his present employer. Being endowed with enough money to satisfy his expensive tastes and to ensure that he would never have to exert himself, he was a content man.

      “My dearest Julia, you know that I am quite fond of you….”

      “In your own way,” she interjected, smiling.

      “Yes, of course. While it is true that I am a little—shall we say, wary?—of these odd paroxysms of energy that seize you at times, in general you are one of my preferred relatives.”

      “Given the way you feel about most of your relatives, I am not