He chuckled, as if she’d told a joke. “My dear Miss Hale, a husband leads. A wife follows. That is the order of things. You’ll see. My mother will explain.”
Phoebe pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth to keep from saying something impolite.
Across the room, Braxton’s jaw tightened. He set the letters down with more force than necessary.
“I also prefer a quiet, agreeable wife,” Mr. Pringle continued. “No arguing. No disagreeing in public. My wife is to be decorative and pleasant. Smiling is encouraged, of course. It reflects well on my business.”
Phoebe could feel her smile cracking at the edges. She was glad when George rose, ambled over, and sat beside her chair. The dog stared at Mr. Pringle with deep, canine suspicion.
Mr. Pringle’s nose wrinkled. “Does the dog have to be here?”
“He’s fine,” Phoebe said.
“If he’s yours, he’ll not be allowed in my house,” Mr. Pringle announced. “Animals belong outside. Or nowhere.”
George sneezed on his trouser leg.
Mr. Pringle recoiled, dabbing frantically with a handkerchief. “Shoo! You horrid creature.”
Phoebe’s eyes flashed. “He’s very sweet.”
Braxton set the letters aside and walked toward them with slow, measured steps. George’s hind end began to wag, thumping against Phoebe’s skirt.
“Everything all right here?” Braxton asked mildly.
Phoebe felt something in her chest unclench at the sound of his voice. “Perfectly fine.”
Mr. Pringle gave Braxton a once-over and dismissed him. “We are in the middle of a conversation, sir.”
Braxton’s gaze remained friendly, but something behind it cooled. “I can see that.”
George edged closer to Braxton, pressing his head against the rancher’s leg. Braxton scratched behind the dog’s ears. “Just makin’ sure Miss Hale don’t need anything.”
“I assure you,” Mr. Pringle said, “I am more than capable of seeing to my future wife’s needs.”
Phoebe’s head snapped toward him. “Future…?”
“We shall sort out the finer points soon enough.” He waved a dismissive hand. “The Merriweather’s will arrange the details. I have already informed my mother she may expect you for the holiday, Miss Hale. She is making plans.”
Phoebe’s stomach dropped. “Holiday?”
“At our home, naturally,” he said. “It’s important you begin training as soon as possible.”
Braxton’s eyes darkened. “Now see here…” he began. “The lady hasn’t…”
Phoebe cut in before he said something that would start a fight. “Mr. Pringle, I appreciate your… enthusiasm… but I have not agreed to anything.”
He blinked. “Haven’t you?”
“No,” she said, more firmly this time. “We’re only talking.”
“I assumed the sisters’ recommendation carried more weight,” he said, sitting straighter. “They did promise you were ready for a match.”
Phoebe’s cheeks burned.
Across the room, Augusta, Margaret, and Josie all tried to look innocent and failed spectacularly.
“Mr. Pringle,” Phoebe said carefully, “I think we should take some time. To get better acquainted.”
