Her dealings with Lord Hardwood were explicitly calculated to win Allison’s freedom—nothing more.
In an attempt to calm the rebellious butterflies dancing in her belly, Priscilla reminded herself of his greedy motivations
He took two steps in her direction but then paused. “Ah, Allison. I will not force you.”
Dashed butterflies!
She clutched her hands at her midsection. “I’ll hold you to that. When is this house party?”
“It commences in three days. My grandmother is turning eighty, so the planned activities aren’t raucous ones. You will have free rein of my library, uninterrupted so that you can keep up with your schoolwork.”
She nodded, staring at his hands so she didn’t have to meet his gaze. How was it possible that even his wrists and fingers were beautiful? Oblong nails, buffed and clean--only a hint of curling hairs on his knuckles.
“And I promise not to keep you up too late,” he added. “You and your chaperone will be allowed to retire at a reasonable hour.”
“Where is your estate?”
“It is two days drive southeast of here. Hardwood Cliffhouse, as the name implies, is built on a section of cliffs facing the North Sea, just east of the Foxtail Valley.”
She doubted he could subdue the pride in his voice if he wanted to. “And your family? Will they be expecting another guest?”
“They will be happy to welcome you.” No doubt they were lovely as well—if they were anything like him, that was.
“What if they don’t like me? Can you tell me a little about them?” She needed to prepare herself for anything.
But she was also curious.
“You’re going to have to sit down for this,” he answered, drawing her to the smaller sofa in the room and then lowering himself to sit beside her. “Because I am a man of many, many sisters.”
The laughter dancing in his voice made her feel like laughing with him. He sounded as though he enjoyed his sisters. He sounded pleased to discuss them.
And this surprised her.
For many gentlemen, excluding her brothers, Priscilla knew that female siblings were nothing more than liabilities. She’d seen it enough amongst some of her student’s families.
“I always wanted sisters,” she expressed the sentiment before she could stop herself. Luckily, she caught herself before lamenting that she was the youngest of three brothers.
Because good gravy! Allison was an only child!
“I am the oldest,” he explained. “My father’s only son.” Did he sound bitter when he mentioned his father?
“And you are eight and twenty,” she said. What would he think if he knew he was only two years older than her actual age?
Priscilla inhaled to chase away the fluttering guilt gnawing at her. How was it possible he believed her to be only seven and ten?
“I’ll tell you my sister’s names, but be assured that I won’t expect you to remember them all.” He winked. And drat if that wink didn’t make her feel like giggling.
She had been beyond giggling for half a decade now!
“Eloise is nine and ten, and as the eldest, by far the most serious. She insists she doesn’t require a London season, but I’m determined to provide one for her.
“Then there is Isadora, who is the opposite in almost all things to Eloise. She takes a season for granted and will murder me in my sleep if I fail to provide one.”
“How old is Lady Isadora?”
“Ten and eight. Mary Grace is ten months younger, and Evie a year younger than Mary Grace.”
“Four sisters!”
