“And who is this?” came a voice from behind him.
He turned around. It was Eloise Bridgerton, sticking her nose into what was assuredly not her business, and this after arriving on his doorstep without even so much as a hint of warning.
“I beg your pardon,” he said to her, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice.
She ignored him and faced the twins. “And who might you be?” she asked.
“Who are you?” Oliver demanded.
Amanda’s eyes narrowed into slits.
Phillip allowed himself his first true grin of the morning and crossed his arms. Yes, let’s see how Miss Bridgerton handledthis.
“I am Miss Bridgerton,” she said.
“You’re not our new governess, are you?” Oliver asked, with suspicion bordering on venom.
“Heavens, no,” she replied. “What happened to your last governess?”
Phillip coughed. Loudly.
The twins took the hint. “Er, nothing,” Oliver said.
Miss Bridgerton didn’t look the least bit fooled by the air of innocence the twins were trying to convey, but she wisely did not choose to pursue the subject, and instead just said, “I am your guest.”
The twins pondered that for a moment, and then Amanda said, “We don’t want any guests.”
Followed by Oliver’s, “We don’tneedany guests.”
“Children!” Phillip interjected, not really wanting to take Miss Bridgerton’s side after she’d been so meddlesome, but really having no other choice. He couldn’t let his children be so rude.
The twins crossed their arms in unison and gave Miss Bridgerton the cut direct.
“That’s it,” Phillip boomed. “You will apologize to Miss Bridgerton at once.”
They stared at her mutinously.
“Now!” he roared.
“Sorry,” they mumbled, but no one could ever have mistaken them for meaning it.
“Back to your room, the both of you,” Phillip said sharply.
They marched off like a pair of proud soldiers, noses in the air. It would have been quite an impressive sight, if Amanda hadn’t turned around at the bottom of the stairs and stuck out her tongue.
“Amanda!” he bellowed, striding toward her.
She tore up the stairs with the speed of a fox.
Phillip held himself very still for several moments, his hands fisted and shaking at his sides. Just once—once!—he would like his children to behave and mind and not answer a question with a question and be polite to guests and not stick out their tongues, and—
Just once, he’d like to feel that he was a good father, that he knew what he was doing.
And not raise his voice. He hated when he raised his voice, hated the flash of terror he thought he saw in their eyes.
Hated the memories it brought back for him.
“Sir Phillip?”
