she was expecting. And surely she could soon obtain another
position. Being a companion to an elderly lady would be a far more suitable occupation than chaperon to his sisterâs wilful niece.
Phoebe was taking it well, he had to admit. She was smiling, talking quietly to Sally about the places they had been to during the past week, and ignoring the sullen responses. She avoided looking at him, however, and he felt a sudden twinge of remorse. He had enjoyed her company in Yorkshire, where she had seemed a sensible, well-educated girl, open and straightforward, employing none of the usual feminine tricks towards him, tricks which irritated him intensely. He admitted to himself he would have enjoyed more of her company, but she was quite unsuitable as a chaperon, and he wondered briefly if his sister had been subject to a mental aberration.
When Beatrice rose to leave the dining-room, Zachary held open the door for the ladies, while the butler placed a decanter of port on the table for him. Beatrice gave him a weary look as she passed. Sally glared at him and muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath. Phoebe, her head held high, walked past quickly without glancing in his direction, but he frowned when he realized she was holding her skirts to one side, as though fearing contamination should they come into contact with him.
He downed one glass of port swiftly, and poured a second. Tilting his chair he sipped at this, wondering whether there were any suitable women amongst his acquaintance who might be induced to chaperon Sally. No one came immediately to mind. If they were married they would be unable to leave their husbands and families. The widows he knew were mostly occupied with their children, and in a few cases, supervising the running of the estates left to them. One or two middle-aged spinsters, such as the sisters of an indigent peer whose land marched with his, living in straitened
circumstances, might have welcomed the opportunity, as well as the salary, of a respectable occupation which enabled them to mingle with the ton . There was one ancient aunt, living alone in Kensington, but he doubted his ability to persuade her to leave her fireside and her cats during the winter. He regretted his impetuous words earlier, and wondered whether he might with dignity change his mind about not employing a spinster.
Setting down his almost full glass he decided to confront the ladies at once. As he went slowly up the stairs to the drawing-room, the door opened suddenly and Phoebe ran out. She didnât see him, but ran swiftly up the next flight, holding up her skirts and revealing shapely ankles.
What the devil had got into the girl, he wondered irritably? She had not, in Yorkshire, struck him as hysterical or prone to tantrums, but it looked as though the prospect of not being permitted to go to Brussels had finally overset her, however stoical she had appeared during dinner.
Shrugging, he went on into the drawing-room, to find his sister laid prone on a sopha, Sally fanning her with a copy of The Ladiesâ Magazine , and Annie standing behind the sopha wringing her hands and burbling something about burnt feathers.
âBeatrice! Whatâs happened?â he demanded, striding across to her.
âShe fainted, and itâs all your fault for being so obnoxious!â Sally said. âCouldnât you see she isnât well, and not in a condition to bear your bullying?â
At that moment Phoebe came back into the room.
âMy lord, please stand back, she needs air,â she said briskly, pushing Sally gently out of the way as she knelt beside Beatrice. She held a small bottle under the ladyâs nose, and whatever it was seemed effective, for his sister opened her eyes and grimaced at the smell.
âOh, do take it away,â she said faintly. âI hate the stuff and will be quite well in a moment.â
âYou have been unwell for days,â Phoebe retorted. âYou are
position. Being a companion to an elderly lady would be a far more suitable occupation than chaperon to his sisterâs wilful niece.
Phoebe was taking it well, he had to admit. She was smiling, talking quietly to Sally about the places they had been to during the past week, and ignoring the sullen responses. She avoided looking at him, however, and he felt a sudden twinge of remorse. He had enjoyed her company in Yorkshire, where she had seemed a sensible, well-educated girl, open and straightforward, employing none of the usual feminine tricks towards him, tricks which irritated him intensely. He admitted to himself he would have enjoyed more of her company, but she was quite unsuitable as a chaperon, and he wondered briefly if his sister had been subject to a mental aberration.
When Beatrice rose to leave the dining-room, Zachary held open the door for the ladies, while the butler placed a decanter of port on the table for him. Beatrice gave him a weary look as she passed. Sally glared at him and muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath. Phoebe, her head held high, walked past quickly without glancing in his direction, but he frowned when he realized she was holding her skirts to one side, as though fearing contamination should they come into contact with him.
He downed one glass of port swiftly, and poured a second. Tilting his chair he sipped at this, wondering whether there were any suitable women amongst his acquaintance who might be induced to chaperon Sally. No one came immediately to mind. If they were married they would be unable to leave their husbands and families. The widows he knew were mostly occupied with their children, and in a few cases, supervising the running of the estates left to them. One or two middle-aged spinsters, such as the sisters of an indigent peer whose land marched with his, living in straitened
circumstances, might have welcomed the opportunity, as well as the salary, of a respectable occupation which enabled them to mingle with the ton . There was one ancient aunt, living alone in Kensington, but he doubted his ability to persuade her to leave her fireside and her cats during the winter. He regretted his impetuous words earlier, and wondered whether he might with dignity change his mind about not employing a spinster.
Setting down his almost full glass he decided to confront the ladies at once. As he went slowly up the stairs to the drawing-room, the door opened suddenly and Phoebe ran out. She didnât see him, but ran swiftly up the next flight, holding up her skirts and revealing shapely ankles.
What the devil had got into the girl, he wondered irritably? She had not, in Yorkshire, struck him as hysterical or prone to tantrums, but it looked as though the prospect of not being permitted to go to Brussels had finally overset her, however stoical she had appeared during dinner.
Shrugging, he went on into the drawing-room, to find his sister laid prone on a sopha, Sally fanning her with a copy of The Ladiesâ Magazine , and Annie standing behind the sopha wringing her hands and burbling something about burnt feathers.
âBeatrice! Whatâs happened?â he demanded, striding across to her.
âShe fainted, and itâs all your fault for being so obnoxious!â Sally said. âCouldnât you see she isnât well, and not in a condition to bear your bullying?â
At that moment Phoebe came back into the room.
âMy lord, please stand back, she needs air,â she said briskly, pushing Sally gently out of the way as she knelt beside Beatrice. She held a small bottle under the ladyâs nose, and whatever it was seemed effective, for his sister opened her eyes and grimaced at the smell.
âOh, do take it away,â she said faintly. âI hate the stuff and will be quite well in a moment.â
âYou have been unwell for days,â Phoebe retorted. âYou are
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