“Miss Winfield hasn’t agreed to anything yet,” Heath reminded her. “Now that I have permission, I must only wait for the perfect moment to ask for her hand.”
Lady Roundtree arched her brows. “Is that all?”
Very well, it was notall. It was just one step toward the right path. Heath ran a hand through his hair.
Before he and Miss Winfield could pursue a courtship, he would need to take her—and her chair-bound chaperone—to meet his family. Trepidation crawled down his neck.
Heath’s jaw tightened. Meeting Miss Winfield would either convince his family of their compatibility… or prove once and for all that love would never be more important than one’s duty.
He straightened. “Do you have plans for the afternoon?”
“I’ll cancel them.” Lady Roundtree put down her teacup. “What do you have in mind?”
A yip and the patter of tiny paws sounded from the corridor.
Captain Pugboat sailed into the parlor, his wrinkled belly sliding on the freshly waxed floor. In a trice, he collided with the center carpet. Rather than right himself, he rolled with his paws toward the ceiling and twisted his spine merrily from side to side as if scratching his back on the baroness’s Axminster carpet had been his plan all along.
Miss Winfield entered the room at a more sedate pace. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Heath.
His heart skipped. He hoped she could not detect his inner battle on his face.
“Ring for our coats and bonnets,” Lady Roundtree said.
Miss Winfield blinked. “Where are we going?”
The baroness sent raised eyebrows toward Heath.
He bowed to Miss Winfield in greeting. “To call upon my family, if you would be so kind.”
“Of course,” she said hesitantly.
Splendid. After Heath had sent a private word to his youngest sister warning of their possible arrival, Bryony’s immediate reply had insisted she and the others cared far more for his happiness than any incidental damage to the family’s reputation.
That was all well and good, but Heath’s sisters did not rule the Grenville household. He had no wish to hurt Mother. And he could not disappoint Father.
When they arrived at the Grenville town house, all three sisters loomed over the butler’s shoulder. Even Camellia, who no longer lived at home, must have rushed across Mayfair in her husband’s fastest conveyance so as not to miss the moment.
“Where’s Mother?” Heath whispered to his siblings.
“In the parlor preparing tea for Lady Roundtree.”
“I love tea.” The baroness brightened. “Wheel me in.”
Heath shooed his sisters out of the way to make room for Miss Winfield and the entourage of footmen required to lift Lady Roundtree’s wheeled chair up the steps and into the house.
“I had meant to perform introductions in a parlor like civilized people rather than crowded about the front stoop like heathens,” he began with a darkling glance at his sisters.
They smiled back at him angelically.
“But since we are all here,” he continued, “Hoydens, it is my distinct privilege and absolute pleasure to present Miss Eleanora Winfield. Miss Winfield, it is my dubious honor to introduce you to the three most mule-headed, intelligent, and embarrassingly nosy sisters a brother could ever have.” He gestured at each in turn, starting with Camellia. “Lady Wainwright, Miss Dahlia Grenville, and Miss Bryony Grenville.”
Miss Winfield dipped an immediate curtsey as her cheeks flushed rosy pink. “How do you do?”
“What is better, a waltz or a minuet?” Dahlia fired back in lieu of reply.
Clearly discombobulated, Miss Winfield stammered, “Waltz?”
“Ratafia or sherry?” Bryony demanded.
