Harold Thomas Manners-Sutton, a man who liked to think of himself as level-headed and reasonable, wanted to punch his friend to knock some sense into him. The man had no idea what sort of problem the ladies were having—as Miss Phoebe hadn’t shared it yet with him—and suddenly he wanted to marry Wally’s sister?

“What?” Miss Phoebe choked out the word, then coughed politely to cover her surprise at Reggie’s proposal.

Miss Francine came running in and skidded to a stop next to Reggie.

“Phoebe, I’m sorry, he asked why I shot him, and…” She turned to Reggie and slapped his arm.

“Agh!” Reggie winced.

“…I told him.” Miss Francine turned to Reggie. “Now stay still for one moment and let me snip this thread before it catches on something and rips that wound open.” Once that was done, Harry watched as Miss Francine poked the needle through her apron then sat next to her cousin.

“Miss Phoebe,” Reggie said, “your brother saved my hide on more than one occasion. The least I could do to repay him is to help his sisters.” God, what a lout Reggie was. That isn’t how a man proposes marriage to a lady. The poor thing would forever know he married her to rescue her, and not because he wanted her. For all that Reginald was the son of a nobleman, he could be rather simple at times.

Harry noticed that Miss Phoebe wouldn’t look at Reginald’s face, staring instead at the polished black riding boots he wore. Likely the young lady was embarrassed because his ill-mannered friend wore no shirt. Harry was about to remind him of that when Reggie started blathering on again. Paying no attention to his words, Harry went into the room next door to fetch Reggie’s bloodied shirt, which at least would cover him and hopefully allow the lady to regain her composure.

Harry handed it to Reggie.

“On his deathbed,” Reggie said, “Wally asked that we—Harry, and myself—see to your safe settling, whether that’s a marriage to someone, or seeing you in a position that you’re happy in. But he would haunt me until I died if we allowed that moneylender to force you and your sister into a brothel. No, the obvious solution would be to marry me. And I will take you to Bermuda where we can have a good life.”

Miss Phoebe gave her cousin a look of disappointment, then leveled her gaze at Reggie. “I can handle this without—"

Miss Francine, upset that her cousin is brought so low, and by her own father, defended her action. “Your father—may he burn in hell for what he’s done—sold you and your sister to a money monger,” Miss Francine said. “He borrowed a thousand pounds, and when he knew he couldn’t repay that money, he sold you both. And I hate him even more for that.”

Reggie managed to pull the shirt over his head without reopening his wound, as Harry watched the women. His mind whirled with what his friend had just proposed. Marriage. And to Wally’s sister.

Reggie would make some lady a wonderful husband one day, he supposed. But to Miss Phoebe? If anyone married Wally’s sister it should be him. He was the one unable to save her brother’s life.

Harry had remembered the older of the two sisters as being a quiet child with dark eyes and a pretty, cherubic face. When she stood from her position hiding behind the counter, he’d recognized Wally's sister immediately, and had only a fraction of a moment to think that she’d blossomed quite beautifully.

Then Miss Francine shot Reggie, and he had to save his last remaining friend from dying.

He had to admit he felt an attraction to Miss Phoebe himself. The lady was beautiful in a very desirable way. Her long dark waves hung down her back, and her petite frame possessed the curves and breasts just enough to keep him happy. She was a bit on the reserved side, and that suited him perfectly. Harry had never envisioned a chatty or forward woman as his wife. He rather liked the idea of coming home from a day of treating patients to a biddable wife who had his slippers by the door, his favorite pipe cleaned, and a glass of port or brandy in his hand before he eased his tired frame into his favorite chair.

Miss Phoebe filled all of Harry’s requirements for a bride quite nicely. She was not the type of girl Harry had imagined Reggie ever marrying. In the past, Reggie had always gone for the lively girls, the ones who skirted the edge of impudence. His friend was throwing himself on the sword for chivalry’s sake. Not that Harry himself wouldn’t have said or done the same to save Wally’s sisters. Reggie just beat him to the punch.

Miss Phoebe rose from the settee and grabbed the shawl hanging on the hook by the back door. He stood, intending to follow her if she left the building.

“You can’t leave Phoebe,” Francine cried out before he could reach Phoebe. “That man said he had the shop watched day and night. He said they would follow us. If they did that they might snatch you up and take you away from us. Lydie and I might never find you then.”

Miss Francine was terrified for her cousin as she begged her not to go. “Phoebe, please don’t leave.”

Harry put his hand on her arm, and she turned to face them. She’d gone pale again. She had to be feeling overwhelmed. This was likely a great deal of information that she had to process just since their arrival.

He motioned for Reggie and Francine to leave the room, then gently took Phoebe’s hand and led her back to the settee. He took the straight-backed chair and placed it in front of her and sat, their knees almost touching.

Harry wanted to know exactly what their situation was, and he wasn’t going to let Reggie marry Phoebe at all. It wouldn’t feel right to Harry, after all he was the one who’d been unable to save her brother, and he knew Reggie would never make Miss Phoebe as good a husband as he could. Reggie needed woman with more sense of adventure and liveliness.

“Miss Grenard, we are here to help. I’m not asking if we may, I’m telling you that I am going to see to this.”

“I don’t know how you can.” She glanced at the stairs leading up to where Miss Lydia had gone, likely nervous her younger sister might overhear their discussion. She lowered her voice to just above a whisper, until it was difficult for him to hear what she said. “My father owed a ruthless moneylender an enormous sum. They have come to collect. So, unless you can loan me the money—over one thousand, five hundred pounds—to pay the man the amount my father owed him, there is nothing you can do.”

Harry could pay the man. His brother-in-law, the duke of Caversham, had taken Harry’s money and invested it well these past four years. That sum was going to allow Harry to live in Edinburgh comfortably while he finished his study of medicine.

Though he had no firsthand knowledge of it, from what he remembered hearing, the surviving family was responsible for the amount owed by the deceased to the moneylender if that money lender held a written I-O-U with the signature of the borrower and a revenue stamp. It made the most sense right then, that the first thing he needed to do was see a solicitor to get a legal definition of what type of debts a child was responsible for, and how the lender was allowed to extract payment. Only after he understood what Miss Phoebe’s, and the money lender’s, legal recourse was could he figure out a plan.

Miss Phoebe sat with her hands clasped together in her lap, her head hanging in a dejected manner with wisps of her brown waves falling forward onto her face. She looked broken in spirit and terrified at the same time. She held her own hands so tightly that her knuckles were white. A growing anger made him want to plant a fist into the money-monger’s face. That they would frighten and intimidate a young misses such as Phoebe and Francine made him want to take out this anger on the man’s bulldogs as well. And he could easily get Reggie, a veritable ox of a man, to join him in this sport.

“Did you see the statement of account?” Harry asked.

She shook her head without even lifting her gaze. “He had a piece of paper with him. He held it up for me to see but would not allow me to hold it or bring it closer. All I could see clearly was the total amount.”

“What exactly did the man say, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“That my father left London the night before the note was due because he knew he couldn’t pay it.” She looked past him, toward the stairwell. “The man said that my father sold me and Lydia to their employer if he was unable to pay the amount owed on that date. He also mentioned putting us to work in a brothel.” Silent tears began to roll down her cheeks, her voice was so strained and raw with her emotions that he could barely hear her. “Lydia is a child still. She’s just twelve years old.”

He struggled not to curse. Harry was angry, but not at the ladies, so any display of the emotion would surely upset Miss Phoebe. Plan. He needed a plan. First thing was to pay a visit with the local law enforcement official or magistrate. Then he was going to pay a visit to the man who’d come into the shop. That scum was never going to cross their threshold again.

With as composed a voice as he could manage, Harry attempted to explain to Miss Phoebe what he remembered of this type of debt. “I’m not a solicitor or barrister. I’m just a sawbones in his majesty’s service. But I do think we need to contact someone who might have some knowledge in this area.”

“Do you think it’s possible that the men will leave us alone?” Miss Phoebe asked.

“I am not certain,” Harry said. “We might have to travel to London to see the I.O.U. You may need to verify whether your father’s signature is truly on that piece of paper.”

“My father couldn’t read, and didn’t know how to sign his name, Mama took care of the records and monies for the business. But his mark was distinctive because he broke his hand in a fight when he was younger and couldn’t hold a pen properly. His X didn’t look like an X. I would recognize it anywhere.”

Harry sat up a little straighter. This might be good news, he wasn’t sure. “Would you be willing to swear this before a judge?”

“Of course,” she said, Phoebe’s eyes widened with a ladylike excitement. “Why? Do you know one?”

“I know people who may know,” he said. Cav would know a judge, Harry was certain of it. He needed to get them to London, both to see the original and see if Cav knew of someone who might help them.

Harry called for Reggie, then gave Phoebe a wink hoping to cheer her somewhat. Then they both heard Reggie tell Francine to lock the door in a voice that Harry knew was reserved for his sailors. Harry shook his head, and Phoebe held back her laughter. “He will never learn,” Harry whispered to Phoebe through a grin. One day his friend will understand that one does not order a lady. To do so would only draw her ire.

And as if exactly on cue, the young lady did exactly what Harry thought she might.

“No,” Miss Francine said flatly, as though daring him to go against her. “We are still open for business.”

Reggie muttered something indiscernible as he re-entered through the gingham curtain used to partition shop from the back room. Miss Francine entered behind Reggie and sat next to Miss Phoebe again. Reggie stood to Harry’s left, across from Francine.

“I have an idea,” Harry said, “But we need to get to London quickly, before my sister and brother-in-law retire to the country.”

“Why would they leave town now, the sea—” Reginald began, only to be cutoff by Harry.

“Because my sister is carrying a child,” Harry said, thankfully preventing Reggie from accidentally mentioning anything about his brother-in-law’s status. “And she would rather be at their country home and not in London for the birth.” He wasn’t lying, he just didn’t want to get the ladies’ hopes up if they discovered his brother-in-law was a very rich duke, and an influential businessman. But it wasn’t Cav’s place to take care of this problem. Harry could do it himself. He just needed a little guidance from his brother-in-law as to how.

“Do you think we should call Lydie down?” Miss Francine asked.

“She’s only twelve,” Miss Phoebe replied as she leveled her expressive brown-eyed gaze on him. “I don’t think she needs to know the details. Do you?” Phoebe asked.

“She’s still a child,” Francine said, “she has no idea of the type of horror that that man has in mind for you both.”

Harry dropped his gaze, giving the impression of providing a moment of privacy for the ladies’ emotions. He’d always tried to make sex satisfying for the women he’d been with before. While he wasn’t the rogue Reggie was, he’d had his fair share of women, and never would have called the sex act ’a horror.’ In fact, the more he learned about a woman’s body, the more he enjoyed pleasuring them.

He met Phoebe’s gaze. God, she’d blossomed into a beautiful young woman from the gangling teen she’d been the last time he’d seen her before today. Her carriage and manners were that of a gently-reared lady, likely the benefit of her mother’s upbringing as the daughter of a Presbyterian minister with some connection to landed gentry. Her nose was surely that of her mother, because Harry remembered Grenard as having a wide bridge on a somewhat large nose. Phoebe’s nose was adorably narrow, with a slightly upturned tip. From what he could see, the only thing she inherited from her father was his dark hair and eyes.

Her mid-back length dark waves made his fingers itch to run through it, and she had sparkling brown eyes that he could get lost in. Her breasts—while not large—were of a very respectable size and, heaven help him, but he wanted to bare them to his hands and mouth. His cock stirred, and he needed to get back to the topic before his body betrayed him. He tried to remember what the last question was.

Reggie spoke. “She’s too young, leave her upstairs.”

“I agree,” he said. And when he looked at her, he tried, without saying the words, to promise Phoebe he would take care of this for her.

Harry looked at Reginald. “I need to see the policing agent for this district. I want to make him aware that there are men here who mean to harm you ladies, and press him to provide protection while I go to London.”

“The man that came into the shop said he’s already spoken to our constable, Mr. Blankenship”

He thought about it. Because he needed to see if the bulldog had the original I.O.U., Harry wanted to find him, and doing so with the constable at his side would guarantee the bulldog’s cooperation.

“Then we visit Mr. Blankenship, because I’d like to see this bulldog, and the document he waved in front of you. If it’s the original I.O.U., and has your father’s mark on it, that will settle the fact that the debt needs paying.

“If it does not have your father’s mark, or is a copy of an original, then we go to London to find the moneylender. If he has the original, we need to see it. That is a very large sum of money.”

Reggie paced a length behind him. Then made a sound. “Harry, if I’m not mistaken, a valid debt, especially of that amount, should also have a revenue stamp. Right?”

“Aye,” Harry replied. Not someone who gambled anything more than a few shillings at a time, and even then only with good friends, Harry hadn’t remembered that little legality until a few minutes ago when talking to Miss Phoebe.

“With the mark,” Reggie said, “but not the stamp, the debt could still be collected if a court finds in the moneylender’s favor.” His friend stopped behind him. “But, Harry, without Grenard’s mark and without the revenue stamp, the man could be just making it up out of thin air.”

“Then we go to London?” Phoebe asked, glancing back to the stairwell behind her to make sure Lydia was still upstairs.

“Well first I need to see the bulldog’s copy, or what I assume is a copy, of the I.O.U, the tally sheet, or contract to make payment. I’d like to question him, too, if I can.” He placed his hands over her folded ones which rested on her lap. The intent was to reassure her, and when their eyes met, he whispered, “especially as the forfeit is so great.”

“Yes, Phoebe,” Miss Francine said softly, “we are in this together,” Miss Francine added. “I will never let him take you from us.”

“You will have no say in the matter, unfortunately. If a court orders me to… to go to his—,” Phoebe couldn’t even finish her sentence because she was so bothered by the possible outcome for her. “I can never let them take Lydia. She must stay here to help you until… until I return.”

“You’re speaking as though the jailer is about to take you into custody,” Reggie said. “We won’t let that happen to you, Miss Phoebe. Have faith in us.”

They began to discuss the logistics of what needed to happen next. The ladies needed protection from the moneylender’s men who were already watching the shop. It was impossible for Harry and Reggie to remain in the building with them at night, but they would work out a schedule to make certain the ladies were protected.

“What about the back door,” Miss Francine said, pointing at the small door on the far wall.

“We shall keep that locked until we have this situation resolved,” Miss Phoebe said with a forced cheerfulness that Harry sensed she didn’t really feel.

He went to the door, studied the lock and frame. This wasn’t going to keep a child out if he kicked it in the right place. “Reg, help me barricade this door before I leave,” Harry said, “and then if you would, stay out front, within earshot of the front door.” He returned his attention to Phoebe. “I will go pay a visit to your policing agent. A constable, right?”

“Well, he likes to think of himself a constable,” Francine said. “Mr. Blankenship was appointed by the magistrate in Newcastle to preserve the peace in a few of the villages in this end of the county.”

“Does he have authority to arrest?”

Both ladies nodded.

“But to jail anyone, he would take them to Sunderland,” Francine said.

“How would I find him?” Harry asked Francine, who seemed to know more about the local area.

Once he learned the direction of Mr. Blankenship, he and Reggie walked out of the shop and onto the brick footpath. He glanced around looking left toward the church spire of the only church which stood at the edge of the village, then right toward the village green, across the road to the a dry goods store where two men stood talking to each other and both looking his way. He made eye contact with a large, rough-looking bloke whose scarred brow hung over his eyes. His squarish face hadn’t been on the winning end of a fight in many years. The man was dressed in the cast offs of an overly foppish peacock. Because he was so gaudily-dressed for a tiny village such as this, Harry took it as a sign he didn’t belong. This was the man most likely sent to intimidate or snatch Phoebe and her sister. He wasn’t merely placed as a guard to watch the ladies. Harry casually leaned against the door frame of the girls’ shop, and spoke to Reggie, while keeping an eye on the two across the road.

The second man was much younger and looked to be a typical ruffian from the bowels of London.

“Don’t turn around yet,” Harry said, “but I think the aged peacock behind you is one of the ones sent to intimidate the girls. The younger man he’s talking to, doesn’t look like he belongs in the country either. So he’s an accomplice.”

Reggie turned around to get a look at the men.

Harry muttered under his breath. “You don’t follow orders do you?” Harry chastised. “I said not to turn around, and what do you do?” Harry pushed off from the doorjamb, and moved to block Reggie from staring across the road. “How did you make Lieutenant?”

“Instinct and brain.” Then Reggie made an observation that slipped by Harry. “If I’m not mistaken, the old peacock has two pistols,” Reggie said. “There’s a bulge under his left arm that is not symmetrical to the right, and there’s likely another in his waistband on the right.” He turned back to Harry. “I have my pistol inside, and I’ll get that ancient thing from Francine and try to reload that what wounded my hide.”

“You mean your pride,” Harry said.

“Only because it was a girl that shot me.” Reggie’s voice was filled with humiliating remorse, that in other circumstances might be funny. “And a little one at that.”

“Thank God that wasn’t lower or over to the left a little,” Harry said. “You wouldn’t be here right now.”

“She did apologize profusely when she was sewing me up,” Reggie grinned.

“I’m surprised you weren’t yelling the timbers down for miles.”

“In truth, it did hurt like hell,” Reggie replied, “but I was not going to let her think that I was soft.”

“I’m going back to the posting house to wash the blood off me first, or else the constable might think I’ve hidden a body somewhere,” Harry said.

“I’ll take a seat at the tavern,” Reggie pointed across the road and down a bit. “I should be able to see the door of this shop from a table at one of the front windows. If not, I’ll do what that bloke’s doing, and hold a post up.”

“Be careful.” Harry looked up and down the main street that ran through the tiny village of Cleadon, being close to the noon hour it was quiet and virtually empty of residents. “I will return shortly, and let you know what I discover.”

Thirty minutes later he entered the small office near the posting house where he and Reggie were staying. After introducing himself to Blankenship, a pleasant man, he explained the situation, and let the other man know that he and his friend were here to protect and help the ladies, sisters of their deceased friend, an officer in the King’s navy.

The constable seemed helpful enough and did tell Harry about the rough looking bounder from London.

“He said he’s working for a moneylender in London,” Harry said. “And I’m not doubting the father of the girls likely owed the man money. But, sir, I will pay the debt before he put those two misses into a brothel—which is what that man threatened.” Harry shook his head in disgust. “Miss Lydia is still a child.”

“Aye. My wife was friends with the widow, Mrs. Walters. The lasses are all verra nice girls, never cause a lick o’trouble. They even sing in the choir with my wife.”

Harry agreed. “Well, sir, the man you spoke with earlier threatened to steal the ladies off the street if the ladies so much as left their shop.”

Mr. Blankenship agreed with what Harry said, telling him it was, indeed, disconcerting. “But,” the man added, “he does have an itemized list of the loans with dates, and unfortunately the law says a family is legally bound to repay.”

“Miss Grenard said she saw the list, but he never showed her what was on it. He simply read from it to her and put it back into his pocket,” Harry said. When Blankenship didn’t reply, Harry asked, “Do you know if the list he had bore the borrower’s signature?”

“I don’t remember,” the other man replied.

“As constable, could you ask him to show you the list again? That would help me decide which course to take. If he does have a mark, we’ll need Miss Grenard to verify that it is her father’s. If he does not then I’ll have to ask my brother-in-law what recourse we have to make the man leave the ladies in peace.”

Harry and Mr. Blankenship walked back toward the center of the village, and Blankenship told him that the man leaning against the post across from the girls’ shop was the man they needed to see.

That man also had two pistols in his possession, and Harry mentioned this to Blankenship as they neared the post from which the debt collector kept an eye on the ladies’ shop. Phoebe’s description was very apt, he told himself as they approached the moneylender’s bulldog.

“Sir, I’d like to see that list again, if ye don’t mind,” the constable said.

“What for?” The bulldog-faced collector looked at the two of them through narrow-slitted eyes. Harry’s immediate dislike for the man who threatened Phoebe with life in a brothel to repay her father’s debt was something he had to control, or else he’d be the one behind bars.

“Because,” Harry said, the tone of his voice more aggressive than he liked, “I would like to check and see if there is a signature from the girls’ father and a revenue stamp.”

“There’s no mark on this sheet,” the man said, unfolding the page and handing it to Mr. Blankenship. “I was told by Mr. Donovan that Grenard’s mark is on the original which is in his possession in his office.”

Harry and the constable both studied the page, then handed it back to the debt collector. “I would like to see the original document, to verify that you truly have her father’s signature.”

“It’s not a signature,” the collector said. “It’s a mark.”

When Harry heard him say this, his heart sank. It’s exactly what Miss Grenard had said. He turned away from the man, and cast his glance across the road to the shop, where Phoebe was looking through the front window at Harry, Blankenship and the money monger’s man. He and Phoebe needed to see the original, there was no doubt about it. And, the safest thing to do was to bring Phoebe and Lydia with he and Reggie to London.

He turned back to the constable. “That will be all for now, Mr. Blankenship. The ladies and I will discuss this finding and decide how to proceed from here.”

“If you need m’help, doctor,” Blankenship said, “y’knows where te find me.”

“Aye, sir, I do. Thank you.” Doffing an invisible hat to both men, he crossed back over to the shop.

As he crossed the road, he started thinking. Harry couldn’t allow Reggie to marry Phoebe. That is, not unless she wished to marry the numbskull, even though he was a lieutenant. No, Harry would do it himself. And pay the moneylender also, if it came to that. He’d do it because he owed this to Wally, and he couldn’t allow Wally’s sisters to wind up in workhouse, much less a whorehouse. He just couldn’t. Harry would protect her, and that included marrying her if need be. And he’d do it because he was attracted to her and had a strong feeling there was a chance that they could have a happy relationship.

That wouldn’t be the case with Reggie. Miss Phoebe wasn’t his type. Miss Francine, very likely was. Reggie was gregarious and boisterous. He loved bold, independent ladies. If he married Miss Phoebe without being attracted to the lady, he’d wind up breaking her heart, and probably his own. Harry knew his friend well. Reggie also preferred the blonde and blue eyed, traditional English roses much more than he did the sultry dark-haired lasses.

All this considered, Harry believed that if he needed to, he could be happy married to Miss Phoebe. There was something about her that reminded him of his mother and sister. She was well-spoken, somewhat educated, and well-read. She appeared the reserved, quiet type. And he was a man who would appreciate that.

Harry was the polar opposite of his best friend. He was bookish where Reggie was outgoing. He had worked hard to overcome his shyness when he went away to university, Reggie pulled everyone into a conversation. Harry would rather have stayed in most nights, Reggie was the man planning their next outing.

Satisfied with his decision, he arrived at the shop door and entered. The bell jangled and Miss Phoebe came from the back room. The look on her face was terrified, yet hopeful.

“Was there a mark?” she asked tentatively.

He shook his head. “He said the list he had was a copy of the original which is in London in Mr. Donovan’s possession.”

She nodded her understanding. “So what’s next?”

“We go to London.” He looked around for Miss Francine and Miss Lydia. “We should probably discuss the details with your cousin and sister.”

“What about Mr. Burnham? Shouldn’t he be party to the discussion?”

Harry felt a lead ball sink in his gut when she mentioned Reggie. He hoped his face didn’t show any sign of disappointment. He didn’t want Miss Phoebe to think he was infatuated with her. If she was interested in Reginald, he would make her a good husband. Without meaning to, Reggie would break Miss Phoebe’s heart eventually. His good friend needed a woman with a certain sense of adventure, one that he didn’t think Miss Phoebe had.

“Yes, and if he was keeping a close eye on the door, he watched me walk in. I expect he will be coming in at any moment.”

Miss Phoebe acknowledged what he said with a slight tip of her head, then went to the alcove where Reggie was stitched earlier. He followed her, and watched as she unfolded a handful of gauzy white fabric and laid the already cut fabric out. She removed a spool of thread from a pocket in her apron, and reached behind her for a pincushion.

“What is this you’re making?” he asked, making small talk until Reggie arrived.

“A May Queen dress for a young lady at church. I told the mother she could have the dress next week.”

He watched as she snipped a length of white thread, placed it between her lips and ran it through to the end, then held the needle up to the light and pushed the thread through successfully at the first try.

“Where are Miss Francine and Miss Lydia?”

“Making dinner,” she replied. Her brown waves fell over her shoulder and setting the needle down, she reached around with one arm and grasped the long mass of hair with a hand and pulled it over to the other side where she tied it in a ribbon. His palms began to itch. Harry wanted to run his fingers through it, to see if it was as soft as it looked, but he didn’t. To do so would be incredibly improper.

“Francie and I would like to invite you both for dinner,” Miss Phoebe said as she matched the notches in the fabric on the table so one layer fit and matched perfectly to another.

“That would be nice, and I’m sure Reggie wouldn’t mind if I accepted on his behalf as well.”

She tilted her head and gave him a smile. “Good.” She returned to her task. “We are having chicken with vegetables, and a fresh loaf of bread,” she continued. “It is Francie’s week to cook and mine to clean.”

Miss Phoebe had a way about her that enticed him. The way she carried herself, the way she walked… Harry couldn’t put a finger on it, but had acknowledged it, if only to himself, when he walked to the constable’s office. And when she smiled, tipping her head and tucking her chin just a fraction, in that peculiar way she had—curious or shy, he couldn’t tell. Whatever it was about Miss Phoebe Grenard, it endeared her to him. The vulnerability he glimpsed in her eyes made him want to protect her.

Harry shook his head. It was crazy when he thought about it. Miss Phoebe was his best friend’s—his deceased friend’s—little sister. He’d seen her maybe a handful of times in the entire eight or nine years he’d known Wally, from university until his death. When Wally realized he was very ill, and likely not going to recover, he’d asked both him and Reggie to make certain his sisters were happily situated. They both had promised Wally they would see to the girls, and now…

And now he was about to take a trip to London with a lady he was growing more attracted to by the hour. How on earth was he going to manage this?

Harry hadn’t figured out exactly who would go, and who would stay. He needed only Miss Phoebe, but for propriety’s sake, bringing her sister would be more appropriate. Except that would leave Miss Francine without any accompaniment if Reggie stayed behind to protect her. And, even if he brought Lydia with him and Phoebe, he couldn’t very well say Miss Lydia was a chaperone, could he? She was just twelve.

He also needed to see if there was a boat leaving for London within the next few days. That would be preferable and much faster than the overland route. And, as naval officers they could travel on any ship in his majesty’s fleet. It was, in fact, how they arrived in Tyneside this very morning.

The bell rang behind them and Reggie entered the shop. Harry sent Miss Phoebe to get Miss Francine and Miss Lydia from upstairs, then went to the front door of the shop, lowered the curtain and locked the door. When the three ladies returned to the fitting room, he was checking Reggie’s back wound for any bleeding. Harry lowered his friend’s shirt.

“What have you learned, doctor?” Miss Phoebe asked.

Harry told everyone what the constable said, and what he saw on the piece of paper the moneylender’s collector had folded in his pocket. “There is no mark on the copy here. The bully said that the original is in his employer’s possession and it does have your father’s mark on it. And,” Harry added, “the man was clear that it was your father’s mark and not a signature.”

Miss Phoebe’s face was a barometer of her emotions, and the worry on her brow twisted his heart, making him want to kill her father for doing this to her. What kind of man did this to his daughter?

“What do I do now?” Phoebe asked.

Before she had an opportunity to fret about it further, he hurried to reassure her that all would work out just fine. “We go to London to see the original. And you must come, because only you will know if the mark is your father’s.” He exchanged glances with Reggie, then Miss Francine, and Miss Lydia, looking for agreement in his decision. “I also think we should leave soon, so as to put this to rest as quickly as possible.”

“I have Imogen’s dress to finish. I promised her mother she could have it next week. And will Lydia and Francine be safe here? Are they going to be prisoners in the shop and apartment because of the guards that… man placed on our shop? He said—” Harry placed a finger under her chin and gently forced her to meet his gaze. Her brow was furrowed with upset, and it wasn’t going to be easy to make those worries disappear.

“I can finish Imogen’s dress,” Miss Francine said behind him. “And I will be fine here with Lydia.” She then turned to Reggie. “It is not necessary that you remain behind.”

It was obvious Miss Phoebe was only marginally pacified with her cousin completing the dress she promised to a customer. No, there was something else there… maybe a concern for her sister? For her cousin?

“He cannot snatch you off the street if you are not here, can he?” Harry nodded, believing that Miss Francine and Wally’s youngest sibling were safe enough. “I will make certain the constable knows about—”

“And I’ll stay and protect the ladies,” Reggie said. “I will not leave them unguarded. Miss Francine said the one constable protects the entire half of the county. Just one man.”

“Cleadon is a small, quiet little village,” Miss Francine said. “Nothing of any seriousness happens here, and I’ve lived here all my life. Why, the worst thing that I can think of was when Mrs. Belkin’s sow escaped her pen and destroyed a planted field belonging to Squire Farlow.”

Harry was wondering if there was other family in the area that might take in the ladies for a few days. It would be good to have others to help protect them. Especially after he moved on to Edinburgh and his medical studies, and Reggie went back to Bermuda to oversee construction of the naval facilities.

“Is my understanding correct that you live here, upstairs?” When Miss Francine nodded, he continued, “Is there other family in this area with which you can stay?”

The two older misses shook their heads.

“No, we are what remains of our families,” Miss Francine said. “Our mothers were sisters, and our grandparents and mothers are both deceased. My father died when I was very young. He worked on a keel, transporting coal down river. That’s when mama moved back here to live with her parents, our maternal grandparents.”

“Our father never knew his family,” Miss Phoebe said. “He was an orphan, I once heard him say he was part Roma. He was sent to work in the mines when he turned ten. At fifteen he quit the mines and started working at a tavern as a dishwasher, then a cook. After he married mama, he took them to London.”

“So there is no one to protect you when we leave?” Reggie asked.

“I can protect myself,” Miss Francine said. “I managed to shoot you didn’t I?” Her arched golden brow was likely intended to let the opponent know she’d won. But Miss Francine didn’t know Reggie the way Harry did. He took it as a sort of challenge.

“You did,” Reggie said assuredly, “and that is my fault because I wasn’t expecting such treachery from a child.”

If a glare could freeze a man, Reggie would have been rendered a statue of ice. And, Harry, while amused at their interplay, needed to get back to making plans.

“Miss Phoebe, how soon can you be ready to leave?” he asked her.

“Francie, are you certain you can finish the dress on time?”

“Of course,” Miss Francine replied. “It’s not as though we have so much work that we’re turning people away.”

“How will we go, and how long will we be gone?” Miss Phoebe asked.

“The fastest way is by boat,” Harry said. “I can get us passage on a Naval vessel—if there is one south bound—and we can be in London in thirty-six to forty-eight hours. By mail coach, it will take a week or more, especially at this time of year with the ground thawing and the constant drizzle.”

A long silence passed between the five of them. Harry knew that either taking Lydia along or leaving her here, would leave one lady alone in the company of a young man. The best possible scenario would be to find someone for Miss Francine to visit for a few weeks, or to come visit her until Phoebe returned.

“So we need to decide,” Harry said, “do we bring Miss Lydia with us, or does she remain with Miss Francine?”

Miss Lydia wrote on her slate with the chalk pencil she pulled from her pouch in the apron she wore. She showed it to Phoebe first, and then she tipped her head toward Harry—he supposed her way of asking permission. Miss Phoebe agreed, and Lydia turned the schoolhouse slate so that he and Reggie might read it. Can I go to London?

Harry ran a hand over his eyes and wondered if it wouldn’t be better to leave the child here. “Not that you wouldn’t be good company for your sister, but you might be happier here.”

This was true, she would be an appropriate companion for Miss Phoebe, even if not an actual chaperone.

But now his worry was for the reputation of Miss Francine. “Is there a lady friend here in the village you could stay with, or invite to come stay with you for a while?”

“No one that I would take from her family for an indefinite period.”

“I’ll stay here with her,” Reggie said, “and I can sleep on that settee in that back room.” Everyone in the room waited for Miss Francine to balk, but she didn’t. “You’ll be gone for what, two weeks,” Reggie added, “three at most?”

Harry nodded, then asked Miss Francine her thoughts. “You realize that staying here, as two unmarried young people, you open yourselves to criticism? You could be fodder for the local gossips at best. More likely you will be shunned completely, even to the extent of losing your clients.”

“Doctor,” Miss Francine said, “I appreciate your concern.” She scowled at Reggie, refusing his ‘invitation’ to stay with her. “But I will be just fine.”

Reggie gave her a deadly glare that Harry had seen more than a few times. It was that determined look in his gold-brown eyes that said he was settling for nothing less than his way. When Reggie saw whatever he was looking for in Miss Francine’s expression, he reiterated to Harry that he would be here with her the entire time, “I could always throw her over my shoulder and return to London with you. She couldn’t weigh more than a sack of oats.”

Miss Francine’s gaze narrowed with outrage. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“I would,” Reggie said through his test-me-if-you-dare grin, to Miss Francine. “Try me.”

“Oh, you… you… boar,” Miss Francine hissed at Reggie. “And I do mean the pig, not the normal knuckle-dragging barbarian I first thought of you.”

It seemed they were getting along about as well as Reggie got along with any reputable miss. He had no doubt that, before he returned from London, the two of them would be an item.

“Why, Miss Francine,” Reggie said in that pretentious tone of voice that he used when imitating a dandy, acting as if he was charmed that Miss Phoebe’s cousin seemed bothered by him. “We don’t know enough about each other for you to call me sweet names.” His friend’s wink and grin caused Miss Francine to disappear up the steps.

“Well, if you will excuse me, I am going to Sunderland to see if I can get Miss Phoebe and Miss Lydia a cabin on a boat bound for London.”

“I’m staying here,” Reggie said, “because dinner smells heavenly, whatever it is. Harold, did you know Miss Francine is a talented cook, as well as an excellent stitcher of wounds.”

“But where will you sleep,” Miss Phoebe asked Harry, worry again creasing her brow. “I mean, where will you sleep on the ship? Please tell me we won’t be keeping you from a bed, will we? Perhaps you should take the cabin, I cannot…”

“As a medical officer I will get a cabin gratis, you both may occupy that,” he said, to reassure her that she wouldn’t need to worry about funds for this trip. “I can sleep standing up, but I’m certain I can easily get an empty hammock for six hours.”

Miss Lydia wrote on her slate and showed it to her sister who read aloud, We have never been on a boat before. What if we get seasick?

“If that happens, then I’ll get you something to settle your stomach.” He grinned at Miss Lydia. “Have you ever had candied ginger?” When she shook her head, he said, “That usually helps, but if it doesn’t, then I’ll give you a stick of cinnamon or nutmeg.”

“See, Lydie?” Miss Phoebe said. “There is nothing to be afraid of.”

She wrote on the slate again and turned it only for her sister to see.

“That won’t happen,” she whispered to her sister, “I promise.”

“Miss Lydia,” Harry said, “If you fear the journey, then you could remain at home, and we will be back very quickly, three weeks, definitely four for certain.”

She wrote on the slate again. Must go. Want to see. When Harry had read that, she erased it and continued. Where it happened. Want to remember all.

“Fine, then. If you fear the journey, I could give you some laudanum to help you sleep through the sailing portion. But we should see first if it’s an issue. It isn’t for many people.”

Harry motioned for Reggie to come outside with him. Once on the footpath out of the way from the entrance to the ladies’ shop, he stopped.

“I won’t make it back before dark, but I’ll return to the inn. Keep in mind these are young ladies who, though they might not be of genteel birth, are Wally’s sisters, and cousin. He would kill you if you disgraced them.”

“Except he’s already dead,” Reggie pointed out.

“Then he’ll haunt you until you die a slow, painful death.”

“If I believed in ghosts.”

Harry whacked the back of his friend’s head. “You get my meaning. Don’t behave like a randy dog. Miss Francine is very pretty, as is Miss Phoebe, I expect you to treat them with respect.”

Reggie slapped his hand over his heart. In a dramatic tone he added, “You wound me, Harold. I was born a gentleman. If my two older brothers would do the honorable thing and die, I could be the next Viscount Goldshire.”

“I’m not certain how soon I can leave with Miss Phoebe, but I’m going to take the first southbound boat we can get on. There has to be one headed to London.”

“What if the mark is her father’s, and he indeed has sold his daughters to pay his debt?”

“The reason for my haste to town is that I’d like to speak to my brother-in-law before they decamp to his estate. He may know a barrister that might help us.”

“Us?” Reggie said.

“Miss Phoebe. And as I’m helping her, and she is Wally’s sister, with Wally having been our friend… Then yes, I mean us.”

“Good. We could use help of the influential sort, couldn’t we?”

“Aye, we could,” Harry replied. “Make my excuses for dinner, it does smell wonderful. But, I’ll find something in Sunderland. I’ll return tonight if I can, though I might have to wait until tomorrow to speak to someone.” Harry walked away saying, “If that happens I’ll be back tomorrow.” Then he headed for the posting inn where he rented a horse. The young lad asked him how far he was going and when he’d have him back.

“I’m headed to Sunderland, I’ll have him back tonight if possible.”

Once in Sunderland he found a ship headed south to Dover the next day. Since that was too soon for the ladies to be packed, and also involved a ride on the mail coach the rest of the way to London, he chose to take the boat after that one, leaving in two days—and this one going all the way to London.

After booking passage, he went to a tavern for a meal, wrote a letter to his sister, and posted it with the hope that it would arrive before he did. The southbound mail coach was due in the morning, very early.

“They switch drivers, put new horses to, and head right on out,” the man said. “They don’t wait around long, an’ I’ll see your letter gets right out wit’ ‘em, m’lord.”

Harry didn’t have the energy to correct the man. He was exhausted and still had to finish his return ride to Cleadon.

He’d awaked that morning to the sounds of the crew on the ship they’d arrived on furling sails to make the entrance into the river Tyne, where they’d docked at Temple’s yard for maintenance work to the boat.

He and Reggie had disembarked immediately, rented horses, ridden to Cleadon, taken a room at the only inn in the village, then gone straight to visit the ladies after luncheon. They were both exhausted, and even contemplated waiting until the morning to visit the ladies. But he was glad they’d gone to the shop when they did.

Yes, he was tired as he hadn’t slept well since leaving London. He couldn’t wait to get back to the inn and rest his head on that bed which looked clean and very comfortable. He finished the tasteless stew and collected the nag he’d hired. As he rode back to the village, his mind kept falling back to Miss Phoebe.

He would never allow her to be imprisoned in a brothel to pay her father’s debt. What bothered him was what the bulldog said—that her father had sold her to the moneylender. Harry didn’t think that was legal.

Surely His Grace knew of a barrister who might be able to help. He thought of the amount of money loaned to someone the likes of Wally’s stepfather, plus the usurious fee that had been tacked on. Likely the fee was placed because the moneylender had to send out his bulldog to find and retrieve the ladies.

Harry would pay the man if necessary, but he’d have to do so without Miss Phoebe learning of it. He suspected she was a bit proud, and would insist on repaying him. That was likely more money than their little shop would make in twenty years. He wouldn’t take that from her.

Harry had funds. He had earned prize share monies along with the rest of the crew for each vessel they captured, plus a small salary, most of which he sent to Caversham to invest for him. It turned out his sister’s husband knew how to turn a shilling into a pound by investing in several trading and shipping companies, not just his own, Aberdeen Trading. And while the monies were to help him live comfortably while he studied, he couldn’t think of a better way to use some of it than to help them get free from this villain. He would do everything possible to protect Miss Phoebe and Miss Lydia. Not just because they were Wally’s sisters, but because it was the gentlemanly thing to do. Not to mention he couldn’t deny that he was attracted to Miss Phoebe. Oh, was he ever.

He wanted her. Wanted her with a ferocity that he’d never felt before. Miss Phoebe was a naturally fresh-faced beauty, and her lips… God, they were full and wide, and he wanted more than anything to kiss them. They would taste like the mango fruit he enjoyed when he was in the Caribbean, this he knew, just by looking at them. The few times he’d caught her tongue moistening them it made his shaft stir.

But it was more than that. He was feeling things, strange things, things he’d never experienced before. And if it was coincidental, if this was an illness, Harry had never read about one with these symptoms.

His entire body was tense. There was an odd sensation of fluttering and tension in his chest. It was something that he couldn’t define. Thinking about her in this sexual way made him glad Miss Lydia was coming to London with them. A part of him didn’t trust himself not to kiss Miss Phoebe, to not hold her in an intimate manner, and to not whisper those words he knew would get him the satisfaction his cock desired. Because Harry wanted more, and he fairly sure he wanted it with her even though they’d just met earlier that afternoon.

He wanted to marry one day, though until now, he hadn’t believed that day was anytime soon. When he last saw his sister Amelia, she had been making plans for him to return to London the following year, when the spring season started. His sister thought he might find some of the young ladies quite lovely.

He grinned into the darkness of the path back to Cleadon. Wait until Amelia read the letter he just posted in Sunderland.

“I’m bringing a young miss to London,” Harry whispered in the dark, “and I hope you like her, Amelia.”

An hour and a half later, he lay on the inn’s not-too-uncomfortable bed, wondering if Miss Phoebe felt any attraction for him at all. It would make things so much easier for him if she did.