At that moment, she heard a crashing through the underbrush from the direction she’d come, and a man’s voice called out, “Miss Sauber?”

“Mr. Vernon?”

He appeared through the trees and spotted her, but his attention was immediately caught by her scruffily-clad companion. Distaste flitted across his face at Mr. Coulton-Jones’s appearance. “Are you … Is this man …” However, he was breathing so heavily that he could not finish his sentences, and he finally gave up and sank his hands into his knees and panted.

“I had not expected you to follow me, Mr. Vernon.”

“Miss Sauber … you are … dashed fast,” Mr. Vernon wheezed.

Considering she had been hampered by her corset, Phoebe didn’t think she had run quite that quickly. She had to wonder at Mr. Vernon’s stamina. When she had seen him in fashionable places like Hyde Park, he rode at a sedate pace like everyone else. She had never had the opportunity to ride with him in the country, so she did not know if he liked exercise or not.

Mr. Coulton-Jones, on the other hand, moved like an athlete despite his ill-fitting coat. But he had such a casual way of holding himself, it gave the impression he was rather indolent. Phoebe didn’t know why, but she suspected he purposefully wanted to give that impression.

Mr. Vernon finally managed to catch his breath and look up. Belatedly he asked, “Is this man … distressing you … in any way, Miss Sauber?” Mr. Vernon would normally be delighted to meet with Mr. Coulton-Jones, who was from an ancient family and also heir to his uncle’s baronetcy, but his costume had successfully hidden his identity.

Mr. Coulton-Jones responded in the country accent he had affected earlier. “I came to see what all the commotion was about.”

But Phoebe realized that his reply would not explain why she had remained chatting with a scruffy stranger in the middle of the woods. “Yes, and I recognized him as Mr. Purdue, an acquaintance from my home village.” The real Mr. Purdue was the starchy curate who was forever admonishing Phoebe to allow her tenants to starve rather than hunting game from her father’s woods for them. Having his name attached to another man’s disreputable appearance would annoy him to no end.

— Excerpt from Lady Wynwood’s Spies, volume 1: Archer by Camille Elliot