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“What was that?” Phoebe placed one hand to her chest, attempting to calm the maelstrom of emotions swirling within.

“A fish,” he said. He rose to his feet, a hint of regret behind the smile he offered her. “There were none in my boots, but it seems that they wish to make their presence felt after all.”

A fish. Phoebe had never liked the things very much—in the water or on a plate—but after what the unseen minnows and dratted trout had put her emotions through today, she would forever consign them to the same unfavorable position as mushrooms.

Lord Dunsbourne bent over to retrieve her gloves and handed them to her.

“I fear I have been gone from the cart shed too long,” he said. “Do you intend to stay here a little while, or may I assist you to your feet?”

“I should return to the orchard,” she said, fumbling to tie the ribbons beneath her chin before putting on her gloves. “Emily will be wondering what has become of me.”

He extended his arm, and she placed her hand in his. His strong fingers—that had been so gentle moments ago—curved around hers.

Keeping her gaze on their clasped hands, she rose to stand beside him.

“I wish you well with the milling,” she said.

He released her hand and stepped away. “Good day, Miss Hadford.”

She attempted a genuine smile. It was for the best that they had been interrupted. It was even better that her gloves had almost masked the tenderness of this last touch. Perhaps if she repeated those words enough, she might actually believe them.

Chapter 22

It was Phoebe’s final day in the Dunsbourne orchard. Weston had dropped the last apple from the tree, and everyone standing below had cheered. The picking was over, and it was cause for celebration. Phoebe watched Henry wheel the barrow toward the tump for the final time, and she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Thank you, Phoebe.” Emily wrapped her arms around her.

“It was my pleasure. I will miss being here with all of you.”

“I will miss it too,” Emily said. “Although, I may stay in bed until noon tomorrow.”

Phoebe laughed. “I shall think of you from beneath my own covers.”

“Do you wish to come back to the house before you return home?”

There were still a couple of hours left to the afternoon, but Phoebe knew her mother would be watching for her appearance. She had said nothing about Phoebe’s outburst regarding Mr. Derrick Webb’s character since the evening it had happened, but Phoebe felt her mother observing her all the more closely now. As much as she hated to see her regular visits to Dunsbourne orchards end, having her days free would give her the opportunity to smooth things over with her mother.

“Thank you, but no. I shall walk over to the cart shed to tell Oliver I will be taking Aria earlier than usual.”

“Very well.” Emily squeezed her once more before releasing her. “But promise that you will come and visit again very soon.”

Phoebe smiled. “I will.”

“I shall also look forward to seeing you, Miss Hadford.” Miss Glover’s voice was calm and measured, but her positive comment nearly shook the ground beneath Phoebe’s feet.

“Thank you, Miss Glover,” Phoebe managed.

The older lady smiled. The expression had become more and more common over the last few days, and Phoebe’s heart warmed. Miss Glover would likely never see her as a close friend, but she was no longer an enemy—and that was sufficient for now.

“I’ll watch for you in the village, Miss Hadford,” Weston called. He hung from the lowest branch of the apple tree, then dropped to the ground.

“If I see the limbs of the horse chestnut on the green shaking the next time I am there, I shall know who is gathering conkers up in the tree,” she said.

Weston chuckled. “The best ones are always at the top.”

“You watch yerself boy.” Henry arrived back from the tump in time to hear Weston’s last comment. “Them horse chestnuts are a fair bit taller than these apple trees.”

“It’s all right, Uncle Henry. I’ll be careful.”