Page 36 of An Alleged Rogue

Emily would be here any moment. And she would not come alone. Phoebe paced across her bedchamber. She glanced out of the window before turning to complete her circuit back to the fireplace. Never before had a gentleman so fully rattled her defenses. It had been a week since she had danced with Lord Dunsbourne in the manor’s drawing room, and she could still feel the pressure of his fingers on hers.

Every movement of the allemande had passed in a blur, and when his eyes had met hers at its conclusion . . . She pressed her hand to her stomach at the memory. She had known she could not stay; she’d needed to gain control of her feelings. And yet, here she was, expecting the gentleman to arrive at Charwell Park within the next few minutes, and she was as unprepared to converse with him now as she had been then.

A rattle of hooves and rumble of wheels sounded outside, and Phoebe deviated back to the window. The Dunsbourne carriage was rolling down the drive toward the house. She took a deep breath. She had issued this invitation for Emily’s sake. To his credit, Lord Dunsbourne had allowed her to come, but the fact remained, this meeting before the ball was for Emily. If she could simply keep that truth foremost in her mind, surely she could ignore Lord Dunsbourne’s presence in the house.

She had thought long and hard upon her father’s counsel. Up until now, nothing the baron had said or done corroborated the vile rumors that surrounded him. But he had done nothing to obviate them either. And the fact remained that up until the Palmers’ dinner, he and Emily had rarely been seen. Why? Instinct told Phoebe that if she could discover that single truth, she might uncover a great deal about Lord Dunsbourne’s character. Her heart told her it was worth the effort; her head told her to leave well enough alone. She had a sinking feeling that by the end of the evening, she would be suffering from a severe ache in one of those two organs.

Voices reached her from the main hall. Having informed her parents of the baron’s plans to stop here on the way to the ball, Phoebe had instructed Mrs. Wilson to show Emily to Phoebe’s bedchamber while Gresham directed Lord Dunsbourne to her father’s study. Her father was not one to take hours preparing for an evening out, and Phoebe guessed he would be more than happy to converse with the baron over a glass of brandy while they waited for the ladies to ready themselves.

Phoebe’s mother, on the other hand, was usually in her chambers until the last possible minute. Initially, she had been aghast that Phoebe had issued an invitation at such an inconvenient time, and it had taken days of placating and persuading to have her concede that this could be considered an informal neighborly visit and that another more formal invitation to dinner could be issued in the near future. Seeing as the last discussion they had shared involved the state of her mother’s hair, Phoebe hoped she was now worrying more about her appearance at the ball than about social protocols when a baron came to call. Phoebe considered it unlikely that they would see her mother until it was time to go.

There was a knock on the door, and Lucy swiftly crossed the room to open it. Mrs. Wilson stood in the passageway with Emily beside her.

“Miss Norton is here to see you, Miss Hadford.”

“Wonderful.” Phoebe stepped forward, giving Emily a welcoming smile. “Oh, Emily, you look lovely. Your gown is just as beautiful as I remembered. Come in, and we shall set Lucy to work on your hair right away.”

Emily walked into the room and gazed around curiously. “Your bedchamber reflects your personality.”

Phoebe laughed. “Do I dare ask why?”

“It is bright and cheerful and encourages you to linger.” Emily gave a shy smile. “Just like you.”

Emily’s observation touched her. “I believe that is one of the nicest things anyone has said to me.”

“Then perhaps you need more friends too.”

“That may be true, but I do not think I shall find another so good as you.”

Phoebe led her to the chair positioned in front of the dressing table. It was impossible not to love Emily’s guileless nature. No matter what her brother may or may not have done, she was a gem.

Adam had forgotten how pleasant it could be to relax in a comfortable armchair and talk to another gentleman about matters completely unrelated to Freddie Payne, balancing ledger books, or harvesting apples. His conversation with Mr. Hadford had been interesting and enlightening. Adam knew little about the textile industry that appeared to be developing a firm foothold in Yorkshire; he knew even less about the burgeoning industry in Amsterdam.

“I would never recommend a gentleman place money into a new endeavor without serious and careful personal study of all the particulars.” Mr. Hadford set his glass on the nearby end table before continuing. “But I will say this, my lord. If and when the time comes that you wish to invest, the textile industry is worth your consideration. Den Haan in Amsterdam, in particular, appears to have a good head for business.”

Mr. Hadford could have no idea how close to the mark his comment had come. Surely Adam’s life would be very different if his father had only taken the time to thoroughly research Freddie Payne’s claims before handing over the Dunsbourne fortune.

“I appreciate the suggestion,” Adam said. “And fully concur with your counsel. Too often, gentlemen commit to investments based on little more than gossamer promises.”

“Exactly right, my lord, which is why this cider production of yours has me so intrigued. There’s no question of its existence. No waiting around for ships to come in. This is something I can see and taste for myself—and not more than a mile from my own doorstep, at that.”

“True enough. You are welcome to come and see what we are about. The mill is in place, and if the weather holds, we should be picking in earnest within the fortnight.”

Mr. Hadford rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I must return to London to attend to some business matters at the end of the week and do not know exactly how long I shall be gone. Would you countenance a visit before then? On Wednesday, perhaps?”

“I shall look forward to it,” Adam said, surprised by how much he meant it. He did not know Mr. Hadford well enough to make an informed decision on the man’s character, but so far, he liked what he saw.

“Capital.” Mr. Hadford withdrew a pocket watch and glanced at it. “I fear our peace and quiet is about to come to an end, my lord. It is time to enter the fray.”

Adam chuckled. “I shall not be the one to keep you, sir,” he said, coming to his feet.

Mr. Hadford sighed and rose more slowly. “More’s the pity, my lord. More’s the pity.”

Adam followed Mr. Hadford out of his study and into the main hall. Their footsteps echoed across the marble tile floor. The butler standing at the base of the elegant staircase inclined his head at their approach and then turned to face the top of the stairs and the sound of female voices.

Mrs. Hadford descended first. Dressed in a peach-colored gown, she was all feathers and lace.

She smiled at Mr. Hadford when he extended his arm to her and then dropped into a curtsy before Adam. “Welcome to Charwell Park, my lord. Forgive me for not greeting you when you first arrived.”