Page 28 of Make Mine a Marquess

Phoebe frowned. “How? The village isn’t that large.”

“My guess is she comes and goes as needed.” Anne’s nimble fingers plaited her hair and wrapped it in a coronet at her nape and began to secure it with hairpins. “As soon as I’m done, you should hurry along, miss, or you’ll be late for the ladies’ gathering in the blue drawing room. I saw the footman deliver sheaths of foolscap and inkwells.”

“It sounds quite dreadful, but after what you’ve told me, I do believe I have someone to write to. I can introduce myself to Sarah Smith and explain how I’d like to help. Clothes. Food. Shoes. I’m sure all are needed.”

Anne gave her a worried look. “You must be careful, Miss Dawson. You don’t know what you’ll find. If you’d like me to accompany you when—”

A knock sounded on the door. Anne set the extra pins on her dressing table. “Who could that be?”

Phoebe stood from her dressing table as Anne opened the door to find Lord Willard outside. “May I speak with Miss Dawson?”

Anne quietly slipped away and made a pretense of sorting dresses in Phoebe’s wardrobe.

Phoebe went to the door. “Hello, my lord.” He was dressed in a meticulously tailored peacock jacket with a matching checked waistcoat. His hair was pomaded.

“Phoebe, my dear. We have seen little of each other since arriving in the country. I’ve been busy with arranging an array of entertainment.”

“I understand.” She did. Sort of. But now that Lord Landon had come home, it was no longer the baron’s place to see to anything regarding the estate. The marquess was lord of the manor.

A tumble of confused thoughts troubled her at once. She wasn’t disappointed at Willard’s absence. She hadn’t given him much thought. Rather, she kept thinking of her early morning ride with Landon.

And of their shared kiss.

Damnation! She had to stop thinking of him.

“I understand the ladies are busy today. Perhaps you could spare an hour to walk tomorrow afternoon?” he asked.

The outdoors was always a draw. She needed to shove aside all thoughts of the marquess and think only of the baron. “A walk would be lovely.”

“Splendid. As for this afternoon, I believe the ladies have a letter writing activity. I hope you enjoy the time.”

If he only knew how she dreaded it and would much rather be outside. But why appear ungracious?

After he departed, Phoebe returned to the dressing table for Anne to finish with her hair. Riding always caused the locks to come loose. Anne smoothed the wayward strands and secured them with pins.

Phoebe pushed back her chair when she was ready and reached for her fan. It was another warm day and if the ladies were going to be stuck in a room writing, she needed to be prepared.

A raised voice outside her room caught her attention.

“Has Lord Willard returned?” Phoebe opened the door to see the baron speaking with the elderly housekeeper, Mrs. Robinson.

“I instructed that my friends be served.” Willard faced the servant. “Malvern and Roxborough have waited for hot water for their baths for far too long.”

Mrs. Robinson’s current expression was one of distress. The elderly housekeeper’s steel-gray hair was pinned in a bun at her nape, and she had deep wrinkles around her eyes and lips.

“My apologies, my lord. The servants are busy serving all the guests. Perhaps if we had hired more help, as I suggested in anticipation for the house party, we would be better—”

“Nonsense. You need to work harder. I expect my friends to be seen to immediately.”

Sourness settled in Phoebe’s stomach. She was repulsed by Willard’s arrogant manner and especially the way he spoke to Mrs. Robinson. Clearly, the housekeeper was doing her best. Without thought, Phoebe left her room and hurried toward the pair.

“Good day, Mrs. Robinson,” Phoebe said. “I could not help but overhear. My mother and I do not need hot water each morning.”

Willard’s expression changed in a flash at Phoebe’s appearance. Gone was the haughtiness but he looked down at her as if she was a small child who needed correction. “No need to concern yourself with the servants, Miss Dawson. Everything is managed. When we have our own household, I’m certain you will be an excellent chatelain.” He turned back to the elderly housekeeper. “Meanwhile, Mrs. Robinson needs to get back to handle all the guests.”

“Yes, my lord.” A dismayed expression crossed the housekeeper’s face before she bobbed a quick curtsy, then shuffled down the hall.

Willard offered Phoebe his arm. “I assume you are on your way to meet the ladies. I shall escort you to them.”