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Freddie read the message quickly but studied the script deliberately. Tidy, even letters. The lines were well spaced, the style consistent throughout, and the signature at the bottom revealed the gentleman’s artistic flair. Excitement bubbled in Freddie’s chest. Den Haan’s handwriting would be extraordinarily easy to counterfeit, and his grasp of the English language was remarkably good. Freddie would not need to use broken English to make his letter look as though a foreign hand had penned it.

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes glinting at the thought of what lay ahead. Den Haan would likely remain blissfully unaware of this new undertaking, but the Dutchman was about to make Freddie Payne an obscenely large amount of money.

Chapter 14

Phoebe watched a robin hop into the birdbath outside the drawing room window. The small bird flapped its wings wildly, sending water droplets airborne before it fluttered back onto the birdbath’s rim and fluffed out its feathers with a happy trill. Phoebe sighed, her shoulders slumping. The sun was shining. The birds were singing.

And she was miserable.

“Much more moping and you will ruin your posture forever,” her mother said, looking up from her stitching. “Honestly, Phoebe, the ball was four days ago. You are undoubtedly the only person still worrying about Lord Dunsbourne’s hasty departure. If he or his sister were seriously ill, someone at the house would have sent for a doctor by now, and we would have received word about it from someone.”

“I am sure you are right, Mother.” That was the nature of gossip, was it not? It spread with or without the knowledge of those whose names were being bandied about.

Phoebe closed her eyes against the painful thought but was unable to erase the vision of Lord Dunsbourne’s face from her mind’s eye. She wished she could see him as he had been in his orchard, with his dark hair blowing in the wind and his eyes bright with enthusiasm for his work. Instead, she was haunted by the gutted expression she’d seen on his face when she’d told him the offenses others had laid at his feet.

“Of course I am right.” Her mother patted the spot beside her on the sofa. “Come sit beside me and work on your stitchery. It will do you good to have something to show for your time this afternoon.”

Her mother was right. She had accomplished virtually nothing since returning home from the ball. The initial stir over the baron and his sister leaving the ball as unexpectedly as they had come had quickly turned to idle speculation over Lord Dunsbourne’s tyrannical rule over Emily. Phoebe’s dismay over the gentleman’s response to her revelation had quickly turned to indignation as she’d seen the rumors multiply and spread around the ballroom. By the time she’d slipped under the covers of her bed that night, despair over what those thoughtless tongues had done—that evening and in the past—had overwhelmed her. There was no doubt in her mind anymore. No matter what Society alleged, Lord Dunsbourne was not the blackguard he was purported to be.

She walked away from the window. Her mother was correct in one aspect: she needed to do something to conquer her feeling of helplessness. She could not erase the damage done in the past, but perhaps she could make a difference for the future. Lord Dunsbourne might never wish to see her again, but she did not believe Emily would feel the same. Even if she could not visit, there were other ways to be in contact and to show support.

“May I use the carriage, Mother?”

Her mother gave her a startled look. “Where do you intend to go?”

“To the village. Rather than stitch, I shall write some long-overdue letters. An outing—if only to the post office—will be a welcome thing.”

“I agree.” Her mother relaxed. A trip of that nature was innocuous enough. “Take Lucy with you. It will be good for you to have some fresh air.”

Now that she had some direction, it did not take Phoebe long to write a letter to Emily. She also wrote a brief note to Jane, promising her another longer letter soon, and then she joined Lucy in the main hall, where she claimed her bonnet, gloves, and shawl from Gresham. The carriage was already waiting outside, and within an hour of having made her decision, they were on their way.

It was under three miles to the village of High Brodmore. The country road was lined with tangled hedgerows, and in the pastures beyond, cows and horses grazed lazily in the sunshine. As the carriage rolled past, Phoebe allowed the peace inherent in the pastoral scenery to calm her troubled heart.

The driver pulled up to the village green and jumped down to help Lucy and Phoebe alight.

“Thank you, Sam,” Phoebe said. “We will not be long.”

“Very good, miss.”

With her letters in hand, she crossed the road to the post office and entered the small shop with Lucy beside her.

Mrs. Purvis, the postmistress, recognized her at once. “Good day, Miss Hadford. How may I help you?”

“I have two letters, Mrs. Purvis,” Phoebe said. “One local, one overseas.”

She handed the postmistress the envelopes and withdrew a few coins from her reticule.

“I shall see that they go out first thing tomorrow morning, miss.”

“Splendid.” Offering Mrs. Purvis a nod of thanks, Phoebe turned to go. “Good afternoon to you.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Hadford.”

The doorbell jingled, and Phoebe stepped outside. A few doors down, another bell sounded. She glanced that way to see Marianne Webb exiting the milliner’s shop. Phoebe’s pulse quickened. She had not spoken to Marianne since she’d introduced Emily to Lady Bloxley. Admittedly, whenever Marianne had not been on the dance floor, she had been in the company of Georgiana Chapman, and Georgiana was not one to countenance opposition.

Unsure of how she would be received now that they were alone, aside from Lucy, she walked toward her. “Good day, Marianne.”

Marianne swung around, her hand on her chest. “Phoebe! You gave me such a start!”