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“Was that a rather odd sort of compliment that extended to both Miss Norton and me?” Phoebe asked.

Her father’s eyes twinkled. “Take it as you will, my dear.”

She shifted in her chair. “When Miss Webb and Miss Chapman first saw Lord Dunsbourne at the Palmers’ gathering, they shared with me information regarding the baron’s past—some of which was most alarming. At the time, I considered the information to be credible, given that both ladies have known the family their entire lives.” She paused, wondering how much she should say. “Some of their allegations regarded the baron’s poor treatment of his sister. And I confess, when Miss Norton invited me to Dunsbourne Manor to help her select new gowns, my first thought was that perhaps I might be the means of freeing her from the baron’s tyrannical rule. Now, however, I am not so sure that she wishes anything different than the situation in which she finds herself. She seems quite happy at home.”

“Have you formed a different opinion of the baron also?”

Phoebe shrugged helplessly. “I saw him for a short time after Miss Norton’s appointment with the seamstress. He seemed perfectly agreeable. Certainly not the oppressor that Miss Webb and Miss Chapman painted him to be.” She leaned forward in her seat. “But perhaps that is a façade he employs for all guests. Perhaps he truly is keeping Miss Norton indoors against her will. There have been hints of it. But how am I to know for sure? And how do I determine the way I should act?”

Her father steepled his fingers. “What does your heart tell you, Phoebe?”

She squirmed. She did not wish to listen to her heart. Not when it had betrayed her so soundly when she’d placed her hand on Lord Dunsbourne’s arm. And especially not when her head was echoing Marianne’s and Georgiana’s accusations so loudly.

“That there may be more good in him than I previously believed,” she finally admitted.

Her father nodded. “You asked for my impression of the baron, so I shall give it. Notwithstanding the fact that he is a titled young man, he affected no airs or graces. He maintained polite conversation with old and new acquaintances alike. His manner was polite but wary—until he began speaking of his cider production. At that point, he allowed his passion for the project to show.”

“Which is why you offered to purchase a barrel,” Phoebe guessed.

He nodded. “There are two things I have learned during the many years I have been doing business. First, if there is no passion for a new venture, it is instantly sunk, and second, if you expect the best of others, it usually pays dividends. People may let you down occasionally, but they are equally likely to rise to whatever level of trust you place in them.

“I may not have the answers you seek with regard to Miss Norton or her brother, Phoebe, but with thoughtful and careful consideration, I would surmise that you will find them on your own soon enough.”

Chapter 10

A ball. Adam’s stomach sank. A small dinner party had been trying enough for Emily. However would she manage a ball? He lowered the Webbs’ invitation to his desk as another alarming thought struck. Did Emily even know how to dance? He had left all facets of his sister’s education to Miss Glover, but she had never once requested the services of a dance instructor. Did that mean that she had taught Emily the rudimentary steps herself, or were his sister’s skills completely lacking in that vital area? He released a frustrated breath. The cost of neglecting his sister was catching up to him at an alarming rate.

For one long minute, Adam considered discarding the invitation. It was by far the easiest course to take. But the uncomfortable pricking of his conscience would not be silenced. He had committed to this path, and he would see it through. With the invitation in hand, he rose to his feet and walked out of the study in search of his sister.

He found her in the drawing room with Miss Glover. As per usual, the older lady was knitting. Emily had a large pile of books on the end table at her side, but her attention was currently focused on a knitting project of her own. If the long and horribly uneven length of blue knit wool hanging off her needles was any indication, he was to be gifted another homemade scarf in the near future. The last one had been brown and had been so long, he had been forced to wrap it around his neck three times to save it from touching his knees. Perhaps that one could be passed along to Henry when he was required to wear the blue one.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said.

Both women looked up.

“Adam.” Emily hurriedly tucked her knitting out of sight behind a cushion and reached for a piece of paper lying on top of the nearby pile of books. “I received a letter today.”

Noting that she wished to keep the knitting project a surprise, he raised the card in his hand. “How extraordinary! So did I.”

“That is a daily occurrence for you and, therefore, not worth mentioning. I hardly ever hear from anyone.”

Adam acknowledged the fact with a regretful shrug. It was something else he hoped would change as his sister’s list of acquaintances and friends grew.

“Very well, then. Who wrote to you today?” he said.

“Miss Selfridge. She says my gowns are close to completion. She wishes to make an appointment to come for a final fitting.”

“That is good news. Particularly in light of the invitation we just received.” He handed Emily the card and let her read it.

“The Webbs are hosting a ball.” She looked up at him with alarm in her eyes. “And they have invited us both?”

“Yes.”

“But I cannot. I mean, I . . .” She studied the card again. “Will there be dancing?”

He chuckled. “Dancing is remarkably common at a ball.”

Her face paled, and the misgivings Adam had experienced in the study returned with full force.