Lady in Demand(5)

“Will you not answer the question?”

Wincing at the shrill tone, Phoebe looked around the retiring room. Apart from Lady Croxley and her two minions, there was only one other lady present. Miss Wooller, who, like Phoebe, was having her first season. They had never actually conversed, only exchanged the occasional head nod or smile.

“No,” Phoebe said, returning her gaze to the woman before her, holding her ground she stared calmly back at Lady Croxley. She was really quite pretty. Correction, she would be quite pretty were it not for the sour expression she wore permanently on her face. Blonde hair, pale skin and green eyes, Phoebe had never really stood this close to her before, mainly because they had clashed from their first meeting.

“No?” Lady Croxley lifted one elegant eyebrow. “Would you care to elaborate, or was my question to complex?”

Her two puppets dutifully giggled.

“No, I have not run out of dance partners, and as I am at present in the women’s retiring room,” Phoebe emphasized the word women’s. “I fail to see how you could come to the conclusion that I have, as surely it would take a very persistent and indeed foolish man to follow me in here.”

Lady Croxley screeched which made her look like a child throwing a tantrum.

“You are an ill-bred creature with nothing but your looks to recommend you!”

Phoebe had a temper. She also very rarely showed restraint. However, in this instance she found some. ‘Breathe and then speak,’ Livvy always told her.

“You are, of course, entitled to your opinion, Lady Croxley.”

“No true gentleman will ever offer for a trollop like you, whereas I shall be a viscountess before the season is over.”

As viscounts were not overly abundant this season, and two of the three currently in London Phoebe knew were over sixty, she could only guess the lady was referring to Lord Levermarch.

“I find your manners both offensive and unjust, Lady Croxley. I will also point out that it is you that are shrieking and behaving in a manner unbefitting a lady. Therefore, perhaps the title of trollop should be offered to you instead.”

Surprised that Miss Wooller had decided to enter the fray, Phoebe turned to watch her approach. Usually she was found on the edges of the ballroom, sitting quietly.

“Shut up, Wooller!” Lady Croxley shrieked. “You shouldn’t even be in this room, let alone at this ball. You stink of trade, and all the money in the world will never make you appealing!”

“That is quite enough, Lady Croxley. Your argument is with me, not Miss Wooller,” Phoebe said with a calm that was rapidly deserting her.

“How dare you speak to me in that manner! Why, I’ll have you know that my father is disgusted that Miss Wooller—”

Sometimes actions spoke louder than words, and this was one of those sometimes, Phoebe decided as she watched Lady Croxley open her mouth to launch another attack on Miss Wooller. Swinging her hand, Phoebe slapped one pale cheek. The noise echoed around the small room and everyone but she and Miss Wooller gasped.

“Now, you listen to me you spoilt, pampered witch. Neither Miss Wooller nor I have any further wish to converse with you or your minions; therefore, you will take yourself out of this room, or I will make the other cheek match that one,” Phoebe said, glaring at Lady Croxley who was clutching her face and staring at her like she had two heads and five eyes. “And if I hear one more word about either myself or Miss Wooller out of your poisonous mouth, I will have to tell the Duke and Duchess of Rossetter about your less than stellar behavior.”

“You’ll be sorry you did that!” Lady Croxley cried.

“I’m only sorry I didn’t clench my fingers into a fist,” Phoebe muttered as the three women scurried across the room and out the door without saying another word, slamming it behind them.

“Do you think she will remain silent?”

“I have grave doubts; however, it is her word against mine and I do have a duke and duchess and a couple of lords up my sleeve should I need them,” Phoebe drawled as she once again looked at Miss Wooller.

Her black hair was piled high and pinned in place with a single diamond clip that exposed the slender line of her neck and enhanced the delicate curve of her jaw and cheekbones, she had the beautiful pale skin of a porcelain doll and looked as though she would blow away in a puff of wind.

“The problem is I do stink of trade, and equally horrifying is that I don’t care a fig about that fact.”

“I’m not sure I follow?” Phoebe said as she accompanied Miss Wooller back to her seat and took the one next to her.

“My father was in trade before he received his title and I’m afraid one never quite loses the taint,” she said by way of explanation.