Page 83 of The Rogue’s Countess

Springing to her feet, Phoebe ran to the chifforobe and pulled out the first-day dress she touched. It was almost a quarter after the hour as she hurried down the steps and out the front door. She quickly hailed a nearby hack and provided the driver with her destination. The hack seemed to proceed at a snail’s pace, and Phoebe breathed a sigh of relief when the vehicle finally reached Victoria Gardens.

Phoebe quickly paid the driver then hurried along the garden pathways toward the fountain. Seeing the spired stone structure that covered the Buxton fountain, she hurried as fast as she could without someone taking notice of her fast pace. As she reached the fountain, her heart sank when she saw no one near the structure. Phoebe slowly came to a halt as disappointment sped through her. He wasn’t here. Had something terrible happened to him?

“Bonjour, my lady.” The quiet greeting made her draw in a quick breath as she turned around to see a stranger standing in front of her. Disappointment made her sigh at the fact the man wasn’t her friend.

“Bonjour, monsieur,” she murmured with a polite nod. About to turn away, Phoebe stopped as the man chuckled.

“It appears my disguise is far more effective than I’d hoped.”

“Lawrence,” Phoebe exclaimed as she darted forward to throw her arms around him. As she clung to her friend, tears formed in her eyes. Lawrence gently pushed her back from him to stare down at her.

“I’ve missed you, my pet,” he said in a reserved voice before he pulled her arm through his, and they walked toward a park bench that faced the Thames.

“Why are you here? You’ve taken a great risk returning to England—London especially. What if you’re recognized?”

“When my dearest friend doesn’t recognize me, then I think it’s unlikely I have any real fear of discovery if I limit my visits to places where no one knows me well.” A small wry smile tipped one corner of his mouth as he eyed her somberly.

“It is a very clever disguise, but why did you come back?” Her friend winced as a look of sorrow darkened his features.

“My father died last week.” The grief in his voice tore at Phoebe’s heart as she caught his hand in hers.

“Oh, Lawrence, I’m so sorry.” At her soft exclamation of sympathy, Lawrence shook his head.

“I was with him at the end and was at least able to say goodbye. He was an exceptional man, and I’ll miss him very much.”

“I know you will. I only wish things had been different for you. It had to have been difficult with Coombs determined to ruin you and Anthony.”

“Actually, Coombs did us a favor. He forced us to make a choice between remaining in England or being together without fear in France.”

“But the man was wrong to do what he did. I can’t imagine how hard the whole affair was for you.” She squeezed his hand in sympathy, but Lawrence shook his head.

“The only truly difficult thing has been my inability to see Father more often. Although I admit that telling him the truth before Coombs did was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But ironically, he already suspected the truth,” Lawrence said with a sad smile. “When I told him about Anthony and me, he said he’d always known, but that I was his son, and it didn’t change how much he loved me.”

“I’m so glad, but these past five years…” Phoebe’s voice trailed off as her friend winced in pain. With a shake of his head, he patted her hand.

“I have actually managed to visit him two or three times a year since I left for the continent, but this is the first time I’ve been to London since I left England. I needed to speak with the family’s solicitors to make financial arrangements for the estate until my cousin is old enough to take on the responsibility.”

“I wish I’d known when you were in England, I would have found a way to come to Ashtead for a visit.”

“Perhaps if you hadn’t stopped writing to me, you would have known.” The disappointment and chastisement in her friend’s voice made her bow her head to look at her hands that were clutching her purse tightly.

“I…things were so bad when Alfred…I knew you wouldn’t have hesitated to come help.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have. I would have come and taken you to the continent to live with Anthony and me.”

“I wasn’t about to risk your safety.” Phoebe shook her head fiercely. “There was far too much attention centered on me after Alfred died. Someone would have notified the police.”

“Oh, my pet, do you really think me that dull-witted?” Lawrence sighed. “I suppose I was, but I’ve changed a great deal, Phoebe. Anthony and I are quite happy living quietly in the country. We have friends who visit regularly, and the rest of the time we spend simply enjoying life and each other.”

“I’m so glad, Lawrence,” Phoebe said softly as she grasped his hand and squeezed it. “You deserve happiness.”

“And you? The last communication I had from you indicated you were going away. I assumed you meant America. I wrote back, only to have my letter returned with a terse note that your whereabouts were unknown.” Lawrence frowned. “But what I’ve heard since I arrived in London two days ago has troubled me deeply. I cannot tell you how disappointed—and angry—I am that you didn’t trust me to help.”

“You had enough worries of your own. I couldn’t thrust mine on top of yours.”

“Don’t be absurd,” her friend snapped. “From what I’ve gleaned from the gossip that’s been relayed to me, Helstone’s heir tossed you out on the street, and you resorted to working in a seamstress’s shop.”

“I needed to live, Lawrence.”