Page 44 of An Alleged Rogue

“Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you.”

Marianne shifted uncomfortably. “My head must have been in the clouds. I did not see you there.”

“Are you buying a new bonnet?”

“A bonnet?” She frowned. “Oh. No.” She cleared her throat. “I was looking at ribbons.”

“I see.” Phoebe’s comment was more polite than true. She had never known Marianne to enter the milliner’s shop without purchasing something.

“Derrick wished to take his new curricle for a spin, and taking me to the shop gave him the excuse he needed to harness Father’s bays.” The words came out in a rush, and after she’d said them, she glanced anxiously up and down the road. “He said he would just drive around the village a couple of times and then come back for me.”

Phoebe experienced a wave of pity for the young lady. Would she ever have the courage to act upon her own beliefs and wishes rather than constantly bowing to Georgiana’s and Mr. Webb’s strong wills?

“When did Mr. Webb acquire a curricle?”

“Two days ago. Apparently, one of his old school chums was down on his luck, so Derrick offered to take it off his hands.”

It seemed too considerate an act for the self-centered gentleman that Phoebe knew.

“Losing his curricle must have been a severe blow for the poor fellow.”

Marianne shrugged. “Derrick says his friend deserved it for playing his hand so foolishly.”

“Your brother won the curricle in a card game?”

Phoebe’s indignation must have been evident in her voice because Marianne instantly looked anxious again.

“You must not tell anyone. If word were to get back to my father, there is no telling what he might do.” The clatter of rapidly moving hooves drew Marianne’s attention to the other side of the village green. “You see. Here comes Derrick now.”

Phoebe had mere seconds to gather whatever self-control she could muster or risk unleashing her mounting fury on Mr. Webb. When she considered that he’d had the audacity to disparage Lord Dunsbourne for doing something he himself participated in so fully . . . She could not think on it now. Not when the despicable gentleman was reining the horses to a stop before her.

“Well met, Miss Hadford,” he called. “May I take you for a turn around the green?”

“I thank you for the offer, sir, but I must be heading home.”

“Let me take you there. Marianne will not mind waiting a few more minutes, and your driver can take your maid back in the carriage.”

Quite apart from the fact that Phoebe would not have Marianne stand on the pavement and wait on her account, Mr. Webb’s suggestion made her skin crawl. She would rather sit on the village green’s bench beside a snake than be with him in the close confines of a curricle.

“Thank you, but no.” She took a step back. “Good day, Marianne. I hope to see you again soon.”

Without another word to Mr. Webb, Phoebe turned and walked away. For a full ten seconds, the sound of Lucy’s and her footsteps were the only things that broke the deafening silence. Then one of the horses snorted, and Mr. Webb cursed.

“How long do you intend to keep me waiting, Marianne? Get in.”

“Come along, Lucy,” Phoebe whispered. “I should like to be safely inside our carriage before Mr. Webb drives by.”

Her loyal maid picked up her pace, and together they hurried across the road. Sam had the carriage door open when they reached it and was assisting Phoebe up the step when the curricle tore past, spitting gravel from beneath its wheels as it sped around the green.

Adam ran his sleeve across his forehead. He was grateful for the sunshine, but the afternoon heat made his work particularly fatiguing.

“That should do it, m’ lord.” Henry stood beside the large mound of apples with his hands on his hips. “I reckon that’s enough fer another tump.”

Adam nodded. “I agree. Cover them with straw, Henry. We’ve made a good start.”

“Aye. Things will move a lot faster when the lads from the village arrive.” Henry raised a pitchfork full of straw from the nearby barrow and tossed it over the apples on the ground. “I told ’em they’d be needed in the orchard on Friday. I reckon by then we’ll need to harvest the rest of the Blenheim Oranges and the King of the Pippins.”

“Agreed,” Adam said. “The Genet Moyles can stay on the trees a little longer if need be. They hold on well, even when they’re ripe.”