Clarington cast her a suspicious glance. "It's settled, my dear. You and Wylde will be married at the end of the Season."

Phoebe's stomach lurched, but she managed to keep her expression serene. "I see. Well, then, if that is all, I shall return to my room. I am not feeling very well."

Gabriel's black brows drew together in a severe line. "Phoebe, are you all right?"

"I believe I have a slight headache, my lord." She turned and walked back out of the room.

Shortly before dawn the next morning Phoebe dressed in her best traveling gown and tossed two large bags out her bedroom window. Then she threw a rope composed of knotted bedsheets over the sill.

She descended via the makeshift rope into the garden, collected her two bags, and walked around the front of the big house.

She mingled with saloop vendors and milk carriers in the early morning London traffic. At that hour the streets were teeming with country folk and their wagons full of market produce. No one paid much attention to her.

By seven o'clock Phoebe had boarded the stage that would take her into the heart of Sussex. Squashed between a plump woman in a gray turban and an odoriferous country squire who was swigging gin from a bottle, she had plenty of time to reflect on her fate.

Gabriel called on every ounce of self-control he possessed to deal with the rage that threatened to consume him. He could not believe Phoebe had run from him like this.

Clarington and his family sat in funereal silence, their eyes following Gabriel as he paced back and forth across the drawing room.

It was nearly ten o'clock. No one had missed Phoebe until an hour ago, when her maid had gone to her room with her tea. Gabriel had received the cryptic summons shortly thereafter. When he had arrived at the Clarington town house, he had found the entire clan gathered here in the drawing room to deliver the news that Phoebe had fled.

"Look on the bright side," Lydia suggested. "As far as we know, she ran off by herself. There does not appear to be another man involved here."

"As far as we know," Anthony said morosely.

Gabriel shot him a furious glance. The last thing he wanted to do this morning was entertain the possibility that Phoebe had run off with another man. Matters were bad enough as it was. "You believe she's on her way to Sussex?"

"There was a note," Meredith said quietly. "She said she would be spending some time with an aunt in Sussex."

"It could have been a clever ruse," Lydia offered. "She might want us to think she has gone in one direction while in truth she has dashed off to somewhere else entirely."

"No." Meredith held herself very still. Her eyes never left Gabriel. "She knew we would worry, so she told us where she was going in hopes that we would not fret."

"Not fret?" Clarington turned red. "Not fret? The chit takes off before dawn without a word to anyone and she doesn't want us to fret? What in God's name does she expect us to do?"

Lydia put a hand on his arm. "Calm yourself, my dear. All will be well. Phoebe is quite capable of taking care of herself."

"Oh, is she, now?" Claringron gave his wife a scathing look. "And tell me, how will she take care of her reputation after news of this incident gets out, pray tell? I would not blame Wylde for calling off the marriage."

Meredith gasped. "Papa, you must not say that."

"Why not?" Anthony muttered. "What man in his right mind wants a wife who is going to cause him this kind of trouble?"

"Phoebe is frightened." Meredith leaped to her feet and faced Gabriel and the others. "Don't you understand? She ran away because she was being pushed into this marriage without so much as a by-your-leave. No one even bothered to ask her opinion."

Clarington scowled. "She likes Wylde. Leastways, I thought she did. What the devil is the matter with that creature? She makes no sense at all."

Meredith lifted her chin. "I'll tell you what the matter is. She discovered that her entire future was being settled by you and Wylde, Papa. She felt like a horse that was being sold to the highest bidder."

Gabriel's jaw tightened.

"Nonsense," Clarington said.

"It's the truth," Meredith said. "I know exactly how she felt because I felt precisely the same way eight years ago. The difference between Phoebe and me was that I asked someone to assist me in my escape. Phoebe, being Phoebe, arranged her own escape all by herself."

"What in hell does she even want to escape?" Anthony demanded. "Papa is right. She likes Wylde."

Meredith stamped her foot in exasperation. "Really? And how does Wylde feel about her?"

Gabriel frowned. "Phoebe knows how I feel about her."

"Is that so?" Meredith rounded on him. "You have declared your affections for her, then, sir? You have told her you love her?"

"For God's sake, Meredith," Gabriel muttered. "That is none of your business."

"Ah-hah. So you have not. Pray, sir, do you love her?"

Gabriel was suddenly very conscious of the others watching him intently. "Phoebe and I understand each other."

"I doubt that," Meredith said. "I'll wager you have the same sort of understanding between you that Trowbridge and I had eight years ago. Which amounts to nothing at all."

Gabriel was incensed. "That's not true."

Meredith narrowed her eyes in a most un-Meredith fashion. "You have as good as admitted that you have not told Phoebe that you love her. What did you expect her to do when she found herself on the brink of marriage?"

"She's not a green girl," Gabriel said through his teeth. "She had no business running off like this."

Meredith lifted her chin disdainfully. "If you ask me, she was practically obliged to run off. She had no reason to think you would behave any differently if she stayed and meekly agreed to all the plans you and Papa made for her. Phoebe is very strong-minded."

"Too headstrong by far," Gabriel said.

"You should have talked to her first about this marriage," Meredith said. "You should have told her of your feelings."

Lydia sighed. "Somehow I cannot believe any good will come of this strange notion that men and women should talk to each other about such intimate matters. Everyone knows men are not much good at that sort of thing. They get frustrated and irritable when they attempt such complicated discussions. Something to do with their brains, no doubt."

"No doubt, madam." Gabriel had had enough. He faced Phoebe's family. "Very well, then, as you appear to have lost my fiancée on the very day the notices are due to hit the papers, I must be on my way."

Anthony got to his feet. "What do you intend to do?"

"What do you think I'm going to do? Go after her, of course. She is not going to escape this easily." Gabriel started toward the door.

"Wait. I'll come with you," Anthony said.

"No, you will not. I have secured a special license. Phoebe and I shall deal with this matter alone."

"You're going to marry her?" Meredith looked alarmed. "Wylde, hold a moment. There is something I must say to you."

"What?" Gabriel was already at the door. He was seething with impatience.

Meredith gave him a pleading look. "You will be kind to her when you catch up to her, will you not? Please try to comprehend her feelings. I know she seems a bit impulsive, but the truth is, she is a creature of very delicate sensibilities. She needs understanding."

"She needs a strong hand applied to her backside," Gabriel said. He went out the door.

But Meredith's parting words haunted him as he made hurried preparations for leaving town. He remembered the look on Phoebe's face yesterday afternoon when Clarington had finally summoned her to the library to hear that her future had been settled. She had been much too distant and far too calm.