It was possible Phoebe had just helped an immoral, albeit handsome, criminal. But good gracious, that man was intriguing.
On the carriage ride back to town, the Misses Layton had initially congratulated themselves in a burst of high spirits over the successful archery party. But for the latter half of the trip, they lapsed in silence and dozed with exhaustion, and Phoebe was left to her own thoughts.
Her curious interaction with Mr. Coulton-Jones was at the forefront, but the archery party had only postponed her inevitable ruminating over her new, dire situation.
Now that she had had time for the shock to fade, Phoebe felt as if she had been completely routed, like an ill-equipped army that fell helplessly before Emperor Napoleon. Only now could she think of all the things she could have said, all the arguments she could have made in her defense.
But could she have spoken with any semblance of calm in the face of Mrs. Lambert with her perfectly beautiful face and her hateful smile?
As the carriage neared her home, her heart felt quashed by a heavy stone of dread. She couldn’t return to her father’s indifference and an army of servants who knew about her banishment and likely tittered about her misfortune.
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