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“At this hour?” Her mother was aghast. Calling on someone before breakfast was simply not done.

“She is expecting me,” Phoebe said, hoping that would be sufficient.

It was not.

“Ridiculous. You were at Dunsbourne Manor all day yesterday. Miss Norton cannot possibly need to see you again so soon.”

“We are working on a rather elaborate project together,” Phoebe said.

Her mother frowned. “I did not wish to bring this up—which is why I refrained from mentioning anything at dinner last night—but if you are intending to return to Dunsbourne Manor, I feel that I must.

“Mrs. Webb and Mrs. Gosden came to tea last afternoon, and they had a great deal to say about Lord Dunsbourne. None of it good.” She sniffed. “I chose to ignore Mr. Derrick Webb’s comments before the ball, but I have to say that he did not say anything that was not corroborated by both ladies yesterday.

“I commend you for reaching out to Miss Norton, but it must not come at the expense of your own reputation. Associating with Lord Dunsbourne and his sister is not in your best interest, Phoebe.”

Phoebe attempted to breathe calmly. She could not tell when the maligning gossip about the baron had come to feel so personal, but it had. She tightened her grip on her cloak. No good would come from upsetting her mother; she must consider her words carefully.

“I appreciate your concern, Mother, but it is unfounded. Father—whom, I daresay, has spent more time with Lord Dunsbourne in the last few weeks than either Mrs. Webb or Mrs. Gosden—told me that his impression of the gentleman was favorable.”

“You know as well as I that first impressions can be misleading. We really should defer to those who have known him longer—who are aware of his past exploits.”

Phoebe was quite sure that neither of those ladies knew anything at all about Lord Dunsbourne’s personal history, but she refrained from saying so. Instead, she tried a different tack. “Whatever you choose to believe regarding Lord Dunsbourne, it should not prevent me from extending a hand of fellowship to Miss Norton. She has been friendless in this neighborhood for far too long, and I have come to enjoy her company very much.”

Her mother pursed her lips. “I agree that she seems a pleasant little thing, but you cannot ignore the other young ladies of your acquaintance because of some mission of mercy you are attempting with Miss Norton.”

Phoebe sighed. “I am not ignoring them, Mother. Indeed, I spoke to Miss Webb in the village only a few days ago. I have given Miss Norton my word that I shall help her this week. I do not intend to break it. Afterward, however, I should be happy to socialize with any of the other ladies who wish to do so.”

Mrs. Hadford’s shoulders sagged. “Far be it for me to have you hurt Miss Norton’s feelings, but you must not continue like this past the end of the week. I will not allow your own reputation to be sullied because of time spent at Dunsbourne Manor.”

For now, it was the best Phoebe could do. Cognizant that the clock had not stopped for this unexpected encounter, she leaned forward and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Thank you, Mother. I shall return this afternoon.” She turned, and with her hand on the banister rail, she hurried down the stairs as fast as her screaming muscles would allow.

When Aria clattered into the yard outside the Dunsbourne Manor stables a mere twenty minutes later, Oliver appeared to help Phoebe dismount.

“Mornin’, Miss Hadford,” he said.

“Good morning, Oliver. I am glad to see you. I was afraid that you would already be in the cart shed by now.”

He shook his head. “Molly’s already there, but the baron has Miss Norton helpin’ with ’er until I’ve finished my mornin’ chores with the other ’orses.” He took Aria’s reins. “It won’t take me long to get this one settled and finish up over ’ere.”

“Are Henry and Weston in the orchard?”

“Yes, miss.”

“I shall head that direction, then. Would you tell Miss Norton that I have arrived when you go to relieve her?”

“Of course, miss.”

Hoping that the discomfort in her muscles would ease somewhat as she walked, Phoebe set off across the yard toward the distant trees. Henry’s tuneful whistle led her to the gardener, who was filling the barrow with apples from Miss Glover’s basket. Phoebe worked to hide her astonishment that the older lady was in the orchard so early.

“Good morning, Miss Glover,” Phoebe said.

“Miss Hadford,” she said, inclining her head without cracking a smile.

“Mornin’, Miss Hadford.” Henry was as cheery as Miss Glover was dour.

“Mornin’, Miss Hadford.” Weston’s echo came from within the branches of the large tree to her right.

Phoebe laughed and picked up a nearby basket. “I am as stiff as a poker today, Weston, so I am doubly glad you are the one up the tree.”