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“Not at all,” Phoebe said, even as butterflies started dancing in her stomach. No matter the situation, it seemed that she was never fully prepared to see Lord Dunsbourne.

“Thank you, miss. I shall gather some victuals right away.”

Cook disappeared, and Emily glanced at Miss Glover. The older lady was dozing in the chair closest to the fire.

“I think perhaps it is best if we let Miss Glover rest,” Emily said.

Phoebe nodded, hoping her relief was not too evident. Emily had told her that Miss Glover usually took a nap in the afternoon, but it had taken a while for the elderly lady to succumb to sleep today. She had obviously wished to stay alert to keep a firm eye on Phoebe and Emily; her disapproval of their friendship was as palpable as it was perplexing.

Emily rose and beckoned Phoebe to follow. They walked quietly out of the room and into the vast main hall. The entrance to the beautiful home was empty, and Phoebe was reminded once again of the lack of servants at the manor. No wonder Emily had volunteered to do a job better suited for a footman.

They did not have to wait long before Cook arrived carrying a basket in each hand.

“I put in enough for Henry and Oliver—and the boys, too, if they came without,” Cook said.

Emily took the baskets from her and passed one to Phoebe. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful.”

“Well, we can’t have his Lordship losing his strength now, can we? Not when he needs it the most.”

“True. And I am sure Henry and Oliver require nourishment just as much.”

“I daresay,” Cook said. “But I haven’t been watchin’ out for them since they were knee-high.” She pointed to the basket Emily held. “There’s some of the baron’s favorite biscuits in that one. Make sure he knows.”

Phoebe bit her lip to hide her smile. Although Miss Glover may be prickly, Cook was all but mothering Lord Dunsbourne.

“I will tell him,” Emily said.

Cook hurried back to the kitchen, and Emily and Phoebe donned their bonnets and headed outside with the food baskets. They exited the manor through the front door and followed the path to the back of the house and the orchard.

The grinding of the apple mill filled the air, and by unspoken agreement, the two young ladies headed toward the cart shed. They saw no one until they reached the entrance. There, they stopped. The light was dimmer inside, but the open doors let in sufficient light to see the plow horse plodding around the circular mill. Oliver stood nearby, monitoring Molly and the apples in the trough. Across from him, Lord Dunsbourne was turning the wheel of a large apple press.

The baron had discarded his jacket and cravat; they lay across the top of a barrel in the corner. His shirt was stained, and his boots were caked with mud and straw. His hair fell loose across his forehead, and a streak of dirt marred his cheek. As Phoebe watched, he cranked the wheel one more time, grunting at the exertion and causing the muscles in his arms and across his broad shoulder to bulge. The butterflies in her stomach spun into a whirling dervish. She had long admired well-dressed gentlemen. Currently, Lord Dunsbourne was quite the opposite. And yet, no one had ever appeared so handsome.

Oliver saw them first.

“My lord,” he called over the sound of the mill.

Lord Dunsbourne looked up, and Oliver pointed to the doorway.

The baron released the wheel immediately. Brushing his hands on his breeches, he crossed the shed toward them. “Emily. Miss Hadford. What are you doing here?”

“We brought food,” Emily said, raising her basket so he could see. “Cook was worried about you.”

He ran his sleeve across his forehead. “What time is it?”

“Going on four o’clock.”

His shocked expression told all. He had not stopped long enough to check his pocket watch, let alone register that he might be hungry.

“We brought enough for Henry, Oliver, and the boys,” Emily said.

“Oliver,” the baron called. “Let Molly rest for a minute. Miss Norton and Miss Hadford have brought us something to eat.”

The grinding slowed to a halt, and the shed became unnaturally quiet. Oliver filled a bucket with water and offered it to Molly before joining them near the door. Phoebe pulled back the cloth covering on her basket to reveal cheese and a loaf of fresh bread cut into thick slices. She glanced at Emily’s basket. It contained half a dozen pork pies and a stack of the promised biscuits. Lord Dunsbourne reached for a pie. Oliver followed his example.

“Thank you, kindly, Miss Norton, Miss Hadford,” Oliver said with a nod.

“Cook is the one who deserves all the credit,” Emily said. “We are merely the couriers.” She paused. “Where are Henry and the boys?”