"Been my experience you don't always deal well with the whole truth."
"Papa, how can you say that?"
"It's true enough, Phoebe. You've always seen things in a different light, if you know what I mean."
"No, Papa, I do not know what you mean."
"You ain't always realistic, my dear, and that's a fact. Ever since you were a little girl, you've been different. You were never like the rest of us. I never really understood what you were about, if you must know the truth. You were always looking for adventure, always getting into scrapes."
"Papa, that's not true."
"As God is my witness, it is true." Clarington's eyes were grim. "Never knew quite what to do with you. Always terrified you'd get involved in a major catastrophe one day, no matter how I tried to protect you from your own reckless nature. You cannot blame a father for wanting to protect his daughter."
"I don't blame you, Papa. But sometimes I felt smothered by the rest of you. You were all so very clever."
"Clever, hah. That's a joke. The rest of us could hardly keep up with you." Clarington glowered at her. "I'll tell you something, Phoebe. As fond of you as I am, I'm damned glad that you're Wylde's responsibility now. It's his turn to try to pull in the reins, and he's welcome to the task. It's a relief to be able to stop worrying about you."
Phoebe looked down at her reticule in her lap. For some reason tears burned in her eyes. She blinked them away. "I'm sorry I've been such a problem for you all these years, Papa."
Clarington groaned. He went over to her and tugged her to her feet. "It was worth it, Phoebe." He hugged her with gruff affection. "Your Mama likes to say that you kept us all from turning into complete bores and maybe she's right. Life around you has always been interesting, I'll grant you that."
"Thank you, Papa. It's always nice to know one has a useful function." Phoebe dashed the tears from her eyes and smiled.
"Here, now, my girl, you're not going to cry or anything, are you? I ain't much good with crying females."
"No, Papa. I won't cry."
"Good." Clarington was clearly relieved. "Lord knows it hasn't always been easy and I may have made a few mistakes along the way. But I swear I only did what I thought I had to in order to keep you from coming to grief."
"I understand, Papa."
"Excellent," Clarington said. He patted her shoulder. "Excellent. Well, then. That's that, eh? No offense, my dear, but I'm rather glad you're Wylde's problem now."
"And he is definitely my problem." Phoebe retied her bonnet strings. "I must be off, Papa. Thank you for telling me what you know of the truth about the situation with Neil."
Clarington was alarmed. "See here, now, I told you the whole truth, not just bits and pieces."
"Good-bye, Papa." Phoebe paused at the door. "Oh, by the way, I am planning a wonderful house party at Devil's Mist at the end of the Season. I am anxious for you and Mama and everyone else to see my new home."
"We shall certainly be there," Clarington assured her swiftly. He hesitated. "Phoebe, you won't give Wylde any unnecessary trouble, will you? He's a good man, but I don't know how patient he'll be if you make life difficult for him. He's accustomed to issuing orders and having them obeyed. Give him time to get used to your ways."
"Do not concern yourself, Papa. I would not dream of giving Wylde any unnecessary trouble." Only the absolutely necessary amount, she added silently.
Phoebe was still mulling over the conversation in her father's study later that day when she alighted from the carriage in front of Green's Bookshop. George, the footman who had accompanied her on the shopping expedition, held the door open for her and her maid.
Phoebe glanced across the street as she was handed down from the vehicle. A small man in a green cap was watching her intently. When he saw her look at him, he jerked his eyes away from her and pretended to study the contents of a shop window.
"Betsy, do you know that man?" Phoebe asked as they started up the steps of the bookshop.
Betsy glanced at the small man and shook her head. "No, ma'am. Is somethirt' wrong?"
"I don't know," Phoebe said. "But I am almost certain I saw him earlier when we came out of the milliner's. I had the feeling he was watching me."
Betsy frowned. "Shall I tell George to run him off?"
Phoebe eyed the little man thoughtfully. "No, let's just wait and see if he is still about when we come out of Green's."
Phoebe went on up the steps and into the bookshop. She forgot all about the mysterious little man as Mr. Green came forward to greet her. The elderly bookshop owner was smiling in satisfaction.
"Welcome, welcome, Lady Wylde. I am delighted you have come so quickly. As I said in my note, I have the volume you requested."
"The precise copy?"
"I am certain of it. You may examine it at once."
"Wherever did you find it?" Phoebe asked.
"Through a contact in Yorkshire. Wait here and I shall fetch it."
Mr. Green disappeared into his back room and reappeared a moment later with an old volume bound in red Moroccan leather. Phoebe opened the book carefully and read the inscription on the flyleaf:
To my son Gabriel, on the occasion of his tenth birthday, in the hope that he will live by the honorable code of chivalry all of his life. John Edward Banner.
"Yes," Phoebe said as she reverently closed the copy of Malory's Morte d'Arthur. "This is the right book. I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Green."
"It was a pleasure," Green assured her. "I look forward to doing business with you again in the future."
The little man in the green cap was still about when Phoebe and her maid walked back out of the shop.
"He's still there, ma'am," Betsy hissed in a conspiratorial tone. "Standin' in front of the glass shop."
Phoebe glanced across the street. "So he is. I wonder what this is all about. I sense a mystery."
Betsy's eyes widened. "Perhaps he means to follow us home and murder us in our beds, ma'am."
"Perhaps he does," Phoebe said. "This has all the signs of a dangerous situation." She turned to the footman. "George, tell the coachman that I believe we are being followed by a thief who means to rob us. We must contrive to escape him in the traffic."
George stared at her. "A thief, ma'am?"
"Yes. Hurry along, now. We must be on our way. I want to make certain that little man is not able to pursue us."
"The streets are crowded, ma'am," George pointed out as he handed her up into the coach. "He can keep up with us easily enough on foot."
"Not if we are very clever." Phoebe thought quickly as she sat down. "Tell the coachman to turn left at the next street and then turn right and then left again. He is to continue such a pattern until we are certain there is no sign of that little man in the dark green hat."
"Yes, ma'am." Looking seriously alarmed, George closed the carriage door and vaulted up onto the seat beside the coachman.
A moment later the carriage lurched off at a brisk pace. Phoebe smiled at Betsy in satisfaction as the vehicle dodged a high-perch phaeton and swung to the left. "This ought to take care of the matter. Whoever he is, that man in the green hat will not be expecting us to turn into this street."
Betsy peered out the window. "No, ma'am, he certainly won't. I only hope he isn't quick enough to follow us."
"We shall soon be rid of him," Phoebe predicted. "Wylde will no doubt be extremely impressed by our brilliant handling of a potentially dangerous situation."
Chapter 17
"You lost her?" Gabriel stared at the little man in the green hat. "What the devil do you mean, you lost her? I'm paying you to keep an eye on her, Stinton."
"I'm aware of that, yer lordship." Stinton drew himself up and gave Gabriel an affronted look. "And I'm doin' me best. But ye didn't tell me her ladyship had a habit of dashin' in all directions. Beggin' yer pardon, but she's sorta unpredictable, ain't she?"