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She sniffed. “I am most grateful and look forward to being of service as long as I am needed.”
With a chagrined smile, Adam rose to his feet. “I daresay you never imagined apple picking would be added to your list of duties, but you have been magnificent in your efforts in that regard also.”
Miss Glover’s chin wobbled, and Adam decided it was past time that he returned to the cart shed.
“Good day, Miss Glover.”
“Good day, my lord,” she replied.
Adam made it as far as the door and then turned back to face her. “I wish I could claim credit for any thoughtfulness on my part—overdue though it is—but you should know that it is Miss Hadford who brought this matter to my attention. No matter your earlier reservations about the lady, we are both the beneficiaries of her sensitivity.”
Miss Glover’s red-rimmed eyes widened. She nodded mutely, and Adam walked out of the room.
Chapter 21
By noon, Nicholas Wilmott no longer existed. Freddie Payne was at Old Ryland’s Green, but he was fully unrecognizable. The trickster had aged over twenty years in the last hour. A thick application of white lead powder to his face and vermilion rouge to his cheeks had created a pasty complexion that caked in the small lines around his eyes and mouth. A little extra white powder on his eyebrows had them matching the white wig he now wore, and a beauty patch conveniently hid his rather distinctive smallpox scar on his right cheek.
He wore an eye patch over his left eye. It was the best he could do to conceal his distinctive gray eyes, and it had the benefit of engendering sympathy among those who assumed he had lost an eye fighting for England. His red coat was a size too large, which gave him the appearance of being rather more portly than he really was. This illusion was underscored by the cumbersome gait he affected and the smart walking stick he carried with him. Indeed, his transformation from Freddie Payne to Edward Trevors was as remarkable as it was complete.
He paused at the corner of the park to consult his pocket watch. Two minutes before noon. He could not have timed his arrival more perfectly. Now he had only to hope that Hadford would be equally prompt.
Freddie began his walk, following the path that cut across the grass toward the far side of the green. Mature trees dotted the area, their leaves starting to brown and fall. Several yards away, two gentlemen rode their horses across the leaf-strewn grass, the dried foliage crunching slightly beneath the horses’ hooves. A lady and gentleman walked by, her hand on his arm. Neither of them paid any attention to Freddie. So much the better.
Pausing to supposedly admire the view, Freddie glanced over his shoulder. Other than the couple who had just passed by, the path was empty. Frowning, he looked the other way. A carriage had just pulled up to the opposite corner of the green. He watched as a footman jumped down to open the door, his pulse quickening the moment he recognized the gentleman alighting from within. Hadford put on his hat and turned to say something to the footman before starting down the path toward Freddie.
Gripping the handle of his walking stick, Freddie ambled forward. His red coat stood out amongst the greenery, and he knew Hadford had likely spotted him the moment he’d set foot on the path. It would not be long before he reached him. Hoping the gentleman would take the lead if Freddie offered him a conversation starter, he stopped to admire the sculpture of King George standing on a tall pedestal.
He sensed Hadford step up beside him but did not look his way.
“A decent likeness, would you not say?” Hadford said.
The gentleman had taken the bait. A little small talk about the statue and then they could move on to other more important things.
“I would, indeed.” Freddie pitched his voice a little lower than normal. “Although, I do not suppose the king imagined so many pigeons standing on his head when he commissioned the work.”
Hadford chuckled, and Freddie smothered a gloating smile. The gentleman had already lowered his guard. It was time for an introduction.
“Edward Trevors,” he said.
Hadford inclined his head. “Reginald Hadford. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Freddie furrowed his brow. He could feel the caking powder on his forehead crack. “I say, I don’t suppose you’re the Hadford who owns all the cargo being unloaded off the ship that came in from the West Indies this week, are you?”
Hadford lifted his eyebrows. “Indeed, I am.”
“Well now, that is a coincidence. I was just talking to a fellow about you.” Freddie scratched his wig. “The name escapes me at present, but he offered a very positive impression of your business acumen.”
“Nice of you to say so.” Hadford paused. “Are you a businessman yourself?”
“I am. Although I favor working with our European neighbors rather than the West Indies. Bruges and Paris most recently; Amsterdam for many years.”
“Fascinating. I have a few connections in Amsterdam myself.” He shifted his feet uneasily. “I do not suppose you would care to discuss your experience with Dutch exports over the years, would you? It might be helpful to have another Englishman’s perspective on some of the new tariffs being introduced.”
“Capital idea. There’s no point in all of us fighting the same battles, is there?”
“Not at all.” Hadford’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “I return to Charwell Park in Berkshire tomorrow. It’s rather a distance, I realize, but would you consider joining me there? For dinner, perhaps?”
A nursemaid walked by pushing a perambulator. The baby cried, and the pigeons sitting on the former monarch’s shoulder took off in a flurry of feathers. Freddie watched them go, enjoying the increasing tension clearly visible on Hadford’s face.
