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Nicholas Wilmott

Freddie leaned back in his chair and read the missive from start to finish. It was short but to the point. It would do very well. He pressed a piece of blotting paper to the drying ink and withdrew his sealing wax. The letter must go out in today’s post. Only then could he consider the first phase of his grand scheme complete.

Chapter 7

Phoebe felt sick. It had been a mistake to eat luncheon before returning to Dunsbourne Manor. Her nervousness over the possibility of seeing Lord Dunsbourne again had been bad enough. Combining her mounting anxiety with a bumpy ride down pitted country roads in the carriage had been a grievous error in judgment. She should have ridden Aria. Or better yet, she should have sent a note to say she was indisposed.

She leaned her head back against the carriage cushions and closed her eyes. No. She could not have done that. No matter how disreputable or ill-mannered her brother might be, Emily was lovely. Her sweetness was a refreshing change from the cattiness Phoebe often encountered among her peers, and Emily’s total disregard for social climbing reminded Phoebe of her sister, Jane. Phoebe managed a rueful smile. The truth was, now that Jane was married, Phoebe needed a good friend just as much as Emily did.

The carriage slowed, and Phoebe opened her eyes to see the front portico of Dunsbourne Manor appear through her window. She took an uneven breath.

“Are you well, miss?” Lucy asked from the seat across from her.

“My stomach is a little unsettled,” Phoebe said. “I expect that once I am out of the carriage, the fresh air will help.” It was a reasonable hope. And one that promised positive results—as long as being outdoors did not also mean that she encountered a certain baron posing as a farmer.

Her cheeks flushed as she remembered Lord Dunsbourne’s brusque response to her question about his work. Had he considered her interest impertinent? Or was there a reason he’d been unwilling to share exactly what he’d been doing? He clearly had no interest in conversing with her. That was fine. She set her gloved hands calmly on her knee. If she saw him again, she would simply ignore him.

Dunsbourne Manor’s front door and the Hadfords’ carriage door opened in unison. The driver helped Phoebe alight as Emily ran down the steps to meet her.

“You are come!” Emily cried.

Despite her stomach’s uneasiness, Phoebe laughed. “Well, that is a warm welcome indeed.”

Emily smiled and slipped her arm through Phoebe’s. “I was hoping you would arrive before Miss Selfridge because I thought you might enjoy seeing Mother’s gowns. They are dated in design but are still quite beautiful.”

“I would love to see them.”

“Come along then,” Emily said, drawing her into the house. “Miss Selfridge prides herself upon being prompt, so she will likely be here any minute.”

Pausing long enough to hand her bonnet and gloves to Thompson at the door, Phoebe accompanied Emily up the stairs. Her view as she climbed only enhanced her first impression of the vast entry hall. The polished banister rail and paintings on display were stunning, and she marveled that so large and open a space could be made to feel so welcoming with little more than natural light and freshly cut flowers.

“This way,” Emily said when they reached the landing. She turned right, guiding Phoebe and Lucy down a passageway and stopping outside a dark oak door. “This was my mother’s bedchamber.” She turned the handle and pushed open the door. “I asked Mrs. Foster if she would set the prettiest gowns out in here.”

Phoebe felt as though she were walking into a rose garden. The furnishings were elegant, the upholstery pale pink and cream. Pink flowers peeked out among the faded greenery on the wallpaper, and the mirror above the dressing table was adorned with silver roses.

A heavy swag of cream-and-pink-striped fabric hung from the top of the four-poster bed and matched the bedspread below. Half a dozen ball gowns lay on the bed. The styles and colors differed, but each one was as stunning as the next.

Phoebe stepped closer and ran her fingers across a shimmering turquoise silk ball gown. “They are beautiful.”

Emily nodded. “The turquoise one is my favorite.” She pointed at a familiar gown on the other side of the bed. “Miss Glover insisted that the floral one with the cream lace suited my coloring better, so that is the one Miss Selfridge altered for the Palmers’ dinner.”

Phoebe studied Emily in the afternoon light. The cream color would, indeed, complement her dark hair and dark eyes, but so would every other color currently on display. Indeed, Emily was as beautiful as her brother was handsome. Phoebe’s fingers stilled on the yellowed lace. Heaven help her. Where had that thought come from? She would do well to remember the baron’s disreputable past and unpleasant disposition before considering his dark-brown eyes, firm jaw, and broad shoulders.

She cleared her throat. “I think the turquoise color would look lovely on you. If that is your favorite, perhaps it could be made over into something new.”

Emily eyed the gown skeptically. “The last time we tried that, it did not turn out well.”

“I think if we give Miss Selfridge some specific instructions—like taking out the fabric used to cover the wide panniers—we might find a rather wonderful new gown hidden beneath all this silk.”

Hope flared in Emily’s eyes. “And that would be less expensive than a new gown, would it not?”

“Most assuredly. The fabric is already here.”

“I should like that. Until the apple harvest is over . . .” She paused and began again. “My brother is insisting upon new gowns, but I would prefer to keep the cost down wherever possible.”

Phoebe eyed the remaining gowns on the bed with a critical eye. Emily would be surprised to know how much money Phoebe’s knowledge of fabrics and styles had saved her father over the years. She offered her friend an encouraging smile. “Have no fear, Emily; it can be done.” This was a challenge she was fully prepared to win. Emily would get her new gowns, and Lord Dunsbourne would be pleasantly surprised by the seamstress’s final bill.

“Miss Selfridge is here to see you, Miss Norton.”