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Emily’s joyful spin stuttered to a stop, and her smile faltered. “Truly?”
Phoebe realized her mistake instantly. She stepped forward and took her young friend’s hands in hers, squeezing them tightly. “That is nothing to fear, my dear—especially as your brother will be nearby, keeping watch over you.” She felt Emily’s fingers relax slightly. “It is simply that when a young lady feels beautiful, it is easier for her to hold her head up high. Her confidence shines and attracts the gaze of others.” Miss Glover’s expression was becoming even more stormy, but Phoebe pushed on. “I would not have you think that I am advocating having pride in one’s appearance. Rather, that we strive to push past our own insecurities so that we might help others feel at ease. Sometimes a new gown can enable a lady to find that kind of courage.”
“Surely you can know nothing of feeling unsure,” Emily said.
Phoebe laughed lightly and lowered her voice to a whisper. “If you believe that is true, my lavender gown must have done the trick at the Palmers’ dinner. I was battling all manner of insecurities over meeting a local baron and his sister for the first time.”
Emily blinked. “You cannot possibly mean me?”
Phoebe laughed again. This time, her merriment filled the room and caused Emily’s puzzled expression to soften to a smile.
“But of course. Those of us born to untitled families can be quite intimidated by those of the nobility.” She smiled at Emily’s look of astonishment. “You must believe me.”
“Well, whether or not it took bravery, I am terribly glad you chose to speak to Adam and me that evening.”
Phoebe squeezed Emily’s hands once more and then released them. “As am I.”
She stepped back a pace to allow Miss Selfridge and her pincushion access to Emily’s dress. One or two tucks in the bodice and another half inch on the hem was all it would take to have the gown ready for the Webbs’ ball.
Phoebe could not help but believe that Emily’s mother would have been pleased by the way her gown had been made over to fit her daughter and embrace today’s fashion. She hoped the same could be said for Emily’s brother. She clasped her hands together, pushing aside the vision of Lord Dunsbourne’s stern but handsome face. It would not do to tell her friend that, if anything, her anxiety over meeting the baron was higher now than it had been at the Palmers’ or that wearing her favorite chintz gown today was having no affect whatsoever on calming those nerves.
She had not expected to receive another invitation to visit the manor so soon. It had been only two days since Mr. Webb had sat in the drawing room at Charwell Park reiterating his unfavorable opinion of the baron, two days since her father had suggested that she make up her own mind regarding the gentleman. Unfortunately, two days was obviously not long enough. Her feelings on the subject of Lord Dunsbourne remained as conflicted as ever.
“That should do it, Miss Norton.” Miss Selfridge stepped back to eye the gown’s hem from a distance. “I shall have both gowns ready for you by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Thank you, Miss Selfridge. Would you be good enough to have them sent to the house?”
“Yes, miss.”
The seamstress began helping Emily out of the gown, and Phoebe took a seat across from Miss Glover to wait for her. The elderly lady’s knitting needles clacked noisily, but her eyes remained focused on her charge. Perhaps it was Miss Glover, rather than Lord Dunsbourne, who held Emily hostage. The unexpected thought took Phoebe by surprise, and she studied the lady’s grim expression more carefully. That she did not approve of Emily’s new gowns was obvious. As was her disapprobation of Phoebe. But why was that?
“Where did you spend your formative years, Miss Glover?”
The only sign that the older lady had heard her was a slight hitch in the rhythmic clicking of the knitting needles.
“A small town in Exeter,” she said, her gaze remaining on Emily.
Phoebe kept her expression placid. Miss Glover’s job may have been to teach Miss Norton correct etiquette, but it appeared that she did not adhere to those principles herself. Either that, or she did not consider herself a servant in this house.
“A long way from Berkshire, to be sure. You must miss not being so close to the sea.”
“Not at all. Dunsbourne Manor is my home now. I am fully content here.”
Having grown up near the coast in Yorkshire, Phoebe defied anyone who had once lived beside the sea to claim that they never wished to be at the shore again. Miss Glover must desire to establish the fixed nature of her position in this house in no uncertain terms.
“I am ready.” Emily, dressed in a simple blue day dress once more, approached Phoebe. “Miss Selfridge has said that she will see herself out. If you are still willing to be my dance instructor, shall we reconvene in the ballroom now?”
“In the ballroom? Oh my. This is serious instruction, indeed.”
Emily’s face fell. “Would you rather do it somewhere else?”
Phoebe stood and tucked her arm through Emily’s. She must do better at remembering how sheltered her new friend had been up until now. “The ballroom would have the perfect floor space, but is there a pianoforte there?”
Emily wrinkled her brow in thought. “I do not go into the room often, but I think not.”
“I find that it is easier for me to learn the steps when I practice to music.” Phoebe picked up the small bundle of sheet music she had placed on the side table when she’d entered the bedchamber. “I brought some with me. If we play these tunes on the pianoforte, it will not sound exactly like the music of a small orchestra, but I believe it will do well enough to help you find your place in the dances.”
“There is a pianoforte in the drawing room. We could begin there.”
