“You never require an invitation to offer your opinions, sister,” Rowland snorted. “It has never once stopped you before.”
“If it is a boy,” Anna continued, ignoring him entirely, “You simply must consider Father's name. I know it is traditional, and dreadfully unoriginal, but I confess I should like very much to hear it spoken in this house again.”
Phoebe felt something soften and ache at once in her chest, the old grief rising gently in fond remembrance.
“I have thought of it,” she admitted. “Edward has not objected, though I also would like to name the child after his own parents, as well. Whether it is a boy or a girl, we do have a considerable amount of options. Though I have not yet decided for certain, there is time enough to settle it.”
“There is,” Anna agreed, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “Whatever you choose, they will be loved beyond measure. I intend to see to that personally.”
“As do I,” Rowland grinned.
They spent the remainder of the evening exactly as they once had – gathered close around the fire, trading stories and gentleteasing long past the hour any of them ought reasonably to have retired, reluctant to let the evening end.
The following morning after Phoebe had returned to her estate, an invitation for afternoon tea from the duchess of Ravencroft arrived for her. In the letter, Jane expressed deep relief to hear that she had recovered from the weakness that had taken hold of suddenly at the garden party.
The thoughtful show of concern flooded Phoebe with a fresh wave of gratitude for the friendship she had so unexpectedly gained. After a brief conversation with Edward who also had plans to go hunting with Thomas — and a few lingering kisses — Phoebe readied herself and set off to the Ravencroft estate.
Jane herself met her at the door, catching both of Phoebe's hands in hers before she had so much as crossed the threshold.
“Oh, goodness! You are here! And you are all right! Thank heavens. I must confess — I have thought of little else since that dreadful afternoon. I very nearly called on you myself, only Thomas insisted I would only be a bother while you recovered your strength.” She said with a sad expression as her gaze went over Phoebe several times as though she was accessing her condition.
“You would never have been a bother,” Phoebe gasped. “Though I do wish to apologize for being a bother to you. It must have given you quite a fright and I fear that I ruined your party.”
“Nonsense,” Jane waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Your health is worth more than an afternoon of seemingly endless conversations. Nothing was ruined and you were in no way a bother to me either.”
Jane led Phoebe further into the house, into a room that was positively filled with light. The furniture and decorations were all colored with soft pastels that gave the space a homely feeling and in the middle of the room was a table, set for tea. After a moment, Phoebe noticed that there were already two guests seated at the table.
“Phoebe, meet my dear and closest friends — Nora Millington, duchess of Ironwell, and Penelope Wightman, duchess of Westerdale. Ladies, this is Phoebe Barton, duchess of Montford, my recently acquired friend.” Jane introduced pleasantly as they took their seats.
The women were lovely, smiling kindly as Phoebe greeted them politely.
“Jane has a way of making friends remarkably easily and it doesn’t surprise me that she has taken another under her wing. I am only surprised it took us this long to meet,” Penelope remarked with a teasing smile.
“She has been very kind to me. I feel quite lucky to have met her,” Phoebe said with a smile of her own.
“I am sure,” Nora stated with a nod. “She makes everyone feel that way. “We have heard so much about you, because Janespeaks of little else these days but the Duchess of Montford and her remarkable husband's equally remarkable transformation.”
“I do hope some of what you heard was flattering,” Phoebe replied with a haunted look, and was rewarded with warm laughter from all three women.
“Only the parts concerning you,” Penelope assured. “Edward, I am afraid, we have all known far too long to be entirely diplomatic about.”
“I understand congratulations are in order,” Nora stated once the tea had been poured and the introductions properly settled. “Jane tells us you are expecting.”
Phoebe felt herself blush, still feeling somewhat strange over the prospect of becoming a mother even though she had been the one to offer the information in her letter to Jane.
“Yes. Early days yet, but – yes.”
“How wonderful. We are also expecting and my husband in his meticulous way of ensuring we are prepared for what is to come has taken it upon himself to create scenarios to asses our preparedness but I’m afraid we still have a long way to go,” Nora sighed as she rested a hand on her own much more noticeable stomach bump.
“I confess that does little to ease my nerves,” Phoebe admitted, and the other women laughed.
“It should not,” Penelope said, not unkindly. “But you will manage, as they both intend to, and you will have a husband who – from what I am given to understand – will scarcely let you out of his sight regardless.”
“He has become rather protective,” Phoebe admitted reluctantly, even though she knew it was much more than that.
“Rather protective,” Jane repeated, with a look of mild scrutiny. “You needed to have witnessed how he ran across the garden when you fainted. I was certain he had shoved aside a guest or two who had the misfortune of standing in his way. Thomas informed me that he had expressed to my husband that their hunting excursion should not take too long because he wished to be back soon enough to take you home himself.”
Phoebe laughed despite herself, torn between exasperation and fondness. “I shall have to speak with him about that.”