“This is all I have,” she said firmly.
“Good. I, er ...” He looked around again, this time a little desperately, which Eloise did not find flattering in the least. “Gunning!” he bellowed.
The butler appeared so quickly that he must have been eavesdropping. “Yes, sir?”
“We ... ah ... need to prepare a room for Miss Bridgerton.”
“I have already done so,” Gunning assured him.
Sir Phillip’s cheeks colored slightly. “Good,” he grunted. “She will be staying here for ...” He looked to her in askance.
“A fortnight,” she supplied, hoping that was about the right amount of time.
“A fortnight,” Sir Phillip reiterated as if the butler wouldn’t have heard her reply. “We will do everything in our power to make her comfortable, of course.”
“Of course,” the butler agreed.
“Good,” Sir Phillip said, still looking somewhat uncomfortable with the entire situation. Or if not uncomfortable, precisely, then perhaps weary, which might have been even worse.
Eloise was disappointed. She’d pictured him as a man of easy charm, rather like her brother Colin, who possessed a dashing smile and always knew what to say in any situation, awkward or otherwise.
Sir Phillip, on the other hand, looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else but where he was, which Eloise did not find encouraging, as his present surroundings included her. And what’s more, he was supposed to be making at least some effort to make her acquaintance and determine if she would make him an acceptable wife.
And his efforts had better be good ones indeed, because if it was true that first impressions were the most accurate, she rather doubted that she would determine thathewould make an acceptable husband.
She smiled at him through gritted teeth.
“Would you like to sit down?” he blurted out.
“That would be quite pleasing, thank you.”
He looked around with a blank expression on his face, giving Eloise the impression he barely knew his way around his own house. “Here,” he mumbled, motioning to a door at the end of the hall, “the drawing room.”
Gunning coughed.
Sir Phillip looked at him and scowled.
“Perhaps you intended to order refreshments, sir?” the butler asked solicitously.
“Er, yes, of course,” Sir Phillip replied, clearing his throat. “Of course. Er, perhaps ...”
“A tea tray, perhaps?” Gunning suggested. “With muffins?”
“Excellent,” Sir Phillip muttered.
“Or perhaps if Miss Bridgerton is hungry,” the butler continued, “I could have a more extensive breakfast prepared.”
Sir Phillip swung his gaze over to Eloise.
“Muffins will be lovely,” she said, even though shewashungry.
Eloise allowed Sir Phillip to take her arm and lead her to the drawing room, where she sat on a sofa covered in striped blue satin. The room was neat and clean, but the furnishings were shabby. The entire house had a vague neglected quality to it, as if the owner had run out of money, or perhaps just didn’t care.
Eloise tended to think that it was the latter. She supposed it was possible that Sir Phillip was short of funds, but the grounds had been magnificent, and she had seen enough of his greenhouse as she was driving in to realize that it was in excellent condition. Given that Sir Phillip was a botanist, that might explain the great care given to the exterior while the interior was left to fade.
Clearly, he needed a wife.
She folded her hands in her lap, then watched as he took a seat across from her, folding his large frame into a chair that had obviously been designed for one much smaller than he.
