Page 17 of An Alleged Rogue

The housekeeper. Why ever would she ask such a thing of the housekeeper? “Do you not have a maid who could assist you?”

“We have a kitchen maid, Peggy, who helps Cook in the mornings and Mrs. Foster in the afternoons. But she has no more experience with styling hair than I do.”

Phoebe fought to keep her bewilderment from manifesting itself. “You manage Dunsbourne Manor with minimal staff, then?”

“Thompson, Mrs. Foster, Cook, and Peggy work in the house, and Oliver and Henry are outside. Oliver is the groom. Henry works in the garden and the orchard. We will likely hire extra workers for the apple harvest, but my brother and I live very quiet lives, and we find that our current staff meet our needs very well.” Her face fell. “With the exception of hair styling, perhaps.”

There were no footmen or housemaids in the house. The baron employed no valet, and his sister had no lady’s maid. What was it that Marianne had said? The baron had dismissed the staff upon his father’s death. It appeared at least that much of her friend’s story was true. Phoebe took an unsteady breath.

“The next time you are to attend a social function, you must send word to me. I will loan you Lucy long enough for her to work her magic. Believe me, your hair will be magnificent when she is finished with you.”

“You . . . you would do that?”

“Of course.” Phoebe did not know how many simple pleasures Lord Dunsbourne had withheld from his sister, but this was one thing Phoebe could change. “Sharing is one of the joys of friendship.”

“We are to be friends?” Miss Norton’s smile lit her face.

“That is certainly my hope.”

“It is my hope also.” She lowered her eyes shyly. “Would you call me Emily?”

“Gladly,” Phoebe said. “As long as you will call me Phoebe.”

Emily nodded, and with a smile, Phoebe set another magazine on her knee. “And now, my new friend, we must focus on exactly what kind of gown Miss Selfridge is to make for you.”

Chapter 6

Adam walked out of the cart shed and rolled his shoulders. They ached. Relocating forty barrels from the manor’s wine cellar in one afternoon had taken its toll, but having the barrels stacked along the wall of the cart shed meant he was one step closer to filling them with cider. And that was a good feeling. If he could guarantee a couple weeks of warm sunshine, the apples would be ready to harvest right on schedule.

He stood aside as his groom led Molly back toward the stable. “Same time tomorrow, Oliver.”

“Very good, m’ lord.”

Satisfied with his day’s work, Adam started toward the front of the house. His mud-caked boots would need a good scrubbing. He grimaced. The dirt was not limited to his footwear, and he would need to hurry if he wished to bathe before dinner. Quickening his pace, he turned the corner only to come to an immediate and abrupt halt. Blast it all! The Hadfords’ coach was parked in front of the house, and standing beside it were Emily and her guest.

Why on earth was Miss Hadford still here? It was exceptionally late in the day for a social call; he had assumed she would be long gone by now. He took a tentative step back. Retreating was by far the best option, particularly as it appeared she was making ready to leave. He took another step. But then Emily looked up and spotted him.

“Adam!” she called.

Miss Hadford turned. From this distance, her expression was impossible to decipher, but her appearance was as perfect as his was grubby. With a resigned sigh, he brushed his hands down his dusty jacket and stepped forward.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said, inclining his head politely as he reached them.

Miss Hadford curtsied. “Good afternoon, Lord Dunsbourne.”

Emily simply stared at him. “Whatever have you been doing?”

“Working,” he said, clenching his dirty fingers as he repressed the urge to run them through his tangled hair.

She wrinkled her nose. “You seem muckier than usual.”

Leave it to Emily to offer her brutally honest appraisal in front of Miss Hadford. Somewhat to his surprise, however, the mortification he would have experienced in the past was absent. Instead, he felt an odd sense of pride in his appalling state of dress.

“That is likely because the work was more rigorous than usual.” He dared a glance at Miss Hadford.

She was studying him curiously. “Forgive me for being so bold, my lord, but exactly what kind of work were you doing?”

“The details would comprise a rather extensive list.”