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She walked around the table and leaned down to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Forgive me for speaking my mind so forcefully, Mother. I daresay I should have been more considerate in the way in which I expressed my feelings, but at least you now know where I stand on the matter of Mr. Webb.” She took a step back. “If you will excuse me, I should like to retire to my rooms for the night.”

Her mother nodded mutely.

“Good night, Mother.” Phoebe walked out of the dining room. She crossed the main hall and started up the stairs. She hated leaving her mother in such a way, but it was preferable to staying and allowing the conversation to degenerate further. It was best that her mother be given some time to consider Phoebe’s estimation of Mr. Webb—to view him in a new light—before they spoke of him again.

Forcing all thoughts of the man from her mind, Phoebe entered her bedchamber. Lucy was there. She had the bed covers turned down, the fire banked, and the curtains drawn. It was the most wonderful sight in the world.

“Oh, Lucy, what would I do without you?” Phoebe asked.

Lucy smiled. “After all that time in the orchard, I guessed you’d be ready for bed right away.”

Phoebe did not need to tell her maid how right she was. She simply allowed Lucy to help her undress and brush out her hair before she crawled into bed.

“Will you be needing anything else, miss?” Lucy asked.

“No, thank you. You have done more than enough already.” Moving stiffly, Phoebe leaned over and blew out the candle on her bedside table.

“Good night, miss.”

“Good night, Lucy.”

By the light of the glowing embers of the fire, Lucy let herself out of the room and closed the door behind her. Phoebe lay back against her pillow and closed her eyes. Slowly, her fingers traced the scratch that ran across her palm, and a vision of Lord Dunsbourne filled her mind. He was in the cart shed, holding her hand, looking at her with such tenderness it made her throat ache.

She still did not know what had happened years before to cause the haunted look she sometimes saw in his eyes. She did not understand why he had removed himself from Society for so long. But of one thing she was convinced: he was an honorable man. And during that intimate moment they had shared in the cart shed, no matter his shadowy past, she had wanted Lord Dunsbourne to kiss her.

Chapter 20

At last. After ten days of stopping by White’s every afternoon and feigning interest in Bertrand’s boring monologues, Freddie’s persistence had finally paid off. Hadford was in the salon, and better yet, he was sitting with the viscount.

Tamping down his eagerness, Freddie crossed the room slowly. He greeted a few of the regulars with a nod or a brief word, but he did not stop until he reached his quarry.

“Good afternoon, my lord.” He inclined his head. “Mr. Hadford. Delighted to see you again.”

“There you are at last, Wilmott,” Bertrand said. “It’s about time. Take a seat. Take a seat.” He waved Freddie in the direction of his usual chair. “I have just been telling Hadford here that you were hoping to catch him before he returns to Berkshire.”

“Indeed,” Freddie said. “When do you return, sir?”

“The day after tomorrow.” Hadford crossed one leg over the other. “It has been a fortnight since I was home—although, in many respects, it feels longer.”

“Oh?” Freddie left the vague word hanging, wondering what else he could learn. To have Hadford’s business dealings go awry at this juncture would be the worst possible timing. As it was, he was going to have to speed up his timetable if he wished to ensnare the gentleman before he left town.

Hadford grunted. “Far too many hours spent down at the docks for my liking. But the goods I ordered are all accounted for and are exactly what I was hoping, so I have no real cause for complaint.”

Freddie relaxed. If all was well with Hadford’s business dealings, all was well with his bank account. It was time to make his move.

“You are most fortunate, then.” He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and withdrew his forged letter. “I remember the last time we spoke, you mentioned your association with den Haan. Have you heard from him recently?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

Freddie frowned. “He has been put in a tight spot. And by an Englishman, no less.” He waved the letter. “I received this a week ago, and since he mentioned you by name, I thought you should read it.”

Hadford sat forward on his chair. “Has something gone amiss with his factory expansion?”

“With his funding, more’s the pity.” Freddie handed Hadford the letter. “See what you can make of it.”

Hadford opened the letter and began to read. Freddie watched his eyes flit back and forth across the page. He knew exactly what each line said. He had crafted the correspondence himself.

Voorburgwal 95, Amsterdam