Not My Idea (A Gentleman of Misfortune Book One (Rough Draft))

Chapter Seven

There was a chorus of "to the future" but I couldn't bring myself to join in. To do so would indicate I agreed with what my father had said, and I most definitely was not. I had different plans for my future.

The Ramseys were beaming and nodding in agreement. Phoebe refused to meet my gaze, and the stare Miles aimed at me was filled with betrayal. Miss Darkin frowned at her friend, though her aunt appeared to be oblivious.

I had no doubt my expression held exasperation. Phoebe had been emphatic about having no desire to marry me. Why hadn't she made that clear to her parents already? Why let either side remain hopeful for a situation that wouldn't happen.

"I cannot think of a connection that would be more beneficial for everyone involved," Rosamund said from where she presided as hostess. I focused on her, unsurprised by her apparent delight in the whole thing. Why was she so anxious to see me leave?

"I must say, I believe his time away has given Luke steadiness of character," Mrs. Ramsey said to Father. "It's wonderful to see. You must be proud of him."

Whatever Father said in response was lost to me. Miss Darkin caught my eye and raised her glass. "May I take wine with you?" she asked. Automatically, I raised my glass in return and took a sip as she did. The age-old way of expressing friendship did nothing to appease my anger. She offered a sympathetic smile before turning to attend to what Mr. Ramsey was saying.

I couldn't follow any of the conversations that went throughout dinner. Any questions Mrs. Ramsey asked of me, I responded without hearing what was said or know what I answered. Miles glowered at me from across the table and Phoebe didn't say a word to me.

What was going on?

****

If Mr. Ramsey assumed it was because I wished to be by Phoebe's side that I was anxious to leave the table after dinner, he would have been correct. But it wasn't a romantic inclination that prompted me to follow a straight line to her and take her arm. I wanted to hear the truth and then strangle her.

"You are hurting my arm, you brute," Phoebe said as I pushed her to the pianoforte. "Lucas Bywood, let me go!"

"Choose some music to play, and I will turn the pages for you," I said, loud enough to be heard. In a lower voice, I demanded, "What did you tell your parents, Phoebe? I thought we had agreed we would not suit each other as life companions. Or did I misunderstand when you said you didn't want to marry me this morning?"

Pulling free, she scowled at me. Her back was to the gathered company, so no one else saw her expression. It would have suggested a less than lover-like feeling for me if they had!

"I had no other choice. Now go glare at someone else."

I narrowed my eyes at her answer. "That has to be the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard." I set the music in front of her since she did not seem inclined to do so for herself. It would serve her right if she could not play whatever it was! "Why did you not tell them you have an attachment to Miles? Why did you have no choice?"

A glance at my friend confirmed Miles was still glaring at me. "There is no engagement between us! You don't understand what I have to endure."

"Be that as it may, the words 'I do not want to marry Lucas Bywood' are remarkably easy to say. You see? I just said them!"

Her foot connected with my ankle and I bit back a yelp of pain. "We cannot talk about this now, Lucas. Someone might overhear and then where would we be? Meet me tomorrow morning at the pond. We can talk then."

She placed her fingers on the ivory keys and began to play. Sourly, I noted she knew the song I had put before her and took a step back, grimacing as my ankle pained me. Having no desire to watch her as a lover might, I shifted my gaze to the rest of the party and searched for something to distract me from wanting to murder Phoebe.