Page 8 of An Alleged Rogue

“Because he gambled away all his family’s money,” Marianne said breathlessly. “And the shock of discovering that the family’s ruin lay in his own son’s hands caused the elder Lord Dunsbourne’s death.”

Phoebe swallowed. “Truly?”

Marianne nodded. “I was only fourteen at the time, but even I remember the tragedy surrounding Lord Dunsbourne’s passing. Everyone in the village was talking about it. The young Lord Dunsbourne had been home for only a few weeks when it happened.”

“Where was he before then?” Phoebe asked.

“In London, of course. Where else would he have been able to lose an entire fortune?”

“He lost everything?” If Phoebe’s memory was correct, Lord Dunsbourne was a baron. His stately home had been pointed out to her in the distance on one of her rides through the countryside. The house was beautifully situated, nestled in the hollow of Berkshire’s rolling hills and surrounded by large groves of trees. “Does he not own Dunsbourne Manor?”

“He lives there still. But he dismissed almost all the staff after his father’s death, and he has not allowed his sister out since then,” Georgiana said.

Marianne nodded. “Can you imagine? She has been a prisoner in her own home all this time.”

Phoebe could not imagine it at all. “Surely friends and neighbors have stopped by the house on occasion. And the vicar would take a particular interest in Lord Dunsbourne and his sister after the passing of their father.”

“Perhaps. At first,” Georgiana said. “But when every effort at reaching out is rebuffed, people stop trying.”

“Not everyone,” Phoebe said. “It appears that the Palmers extended them an invitation to be here tonight.”

“And they actually accepted.” Marianne was still staring.

Phoebe shifted to the right, hoping for a better view of the infamous baron. She caught sight of his profile—a strong jaw and narrow nose—before he turned his head to respond to something her father said. Her father. What was she thinking? If she wanted to know more about their nefarious neighbor, she had only to cross the room to join her parents and receive an introduction.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, sliding her arm out from Georgiana’s. “I believe I shall go and make the baron’s acquaintance.”

“You plan to speak with him?” Marianne’s voice was little more than a squeak.

“Of course.” Phoebe was not sure if her motivation was simple curiosity or the desire to do something daring. Either way, the prospect of meeting someone with such a colorful past seemed rather thrilling. “He cannot be all bad, or the colonel and his wife would not have invited him here.”

“Well, he is most certainly not all good,” Georgiana huffed.

“He is exceptionally handsome.” Marianne had yet to lower her eyes from the man.

“Really, Marianne.” This time Georgiana took Marianne’s arm and gave it a firm tug. “You must look away, and we shall discuss something else entirely.”

With a sigh, Marianne faced her companion. “Very well. As long as it is not flowers.”

Suppressing a smile, Phoebe left the two young ladies to come up with a fresh topic of conversation and crossed the room to join her parents.

Her mother saw her coming. “Phoebe, my dear, come and meet Lord Dunsbourne and his sister.”

Her father stepped aside, and Phoebe dropped into a small curtsy before raising her head for her first clear look at the baron. He was tall and broad shouldered. His wig hid his natural hair, but based on the dark color of his eyebrows and eyes, she surmised that it, too, was dark. His clothing, although well cut, showed wear, and the lace at his sleeves was limp.

“Lord Dunsbourne,” she said politely.

“Miss Hadford.” He inclined his head. His voice was deep and pleasant. “May I present my sister, Miss Emily Norton.”

The young woman at his side appeared very dainty when compared to the baron. She was slightly built and at least three inches shorter than Phoebe. Her dark curls were pinned to her head in a lopsided pouf, and her floral gown was elegant in the extreme. The lace at her neck and sleeves was yellowed, and the panniers at her sides were the widest Phoebe had ever seen.

Phoebe curtsied a second time. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Norton.”

“And I you, Miss Hadford.” The young lady’s curtsy was stiff, but given the frame she must have under her gown, it was a wonder she could move at all.

“Miss Norton was just telling us how much she enjoys reading,” her mother said.

“That is an excellent activity when you are trapped inside the house.” The words spilled out before Phoebe had thought them through, and she barely restrained herself from clapping her hand over her mouth. Not daring to look at the baron, she fumbled her way forward. “With September already upon us, I daresay it will not be long before we are all homebound due to inclement weather.”