She shook her head. She had no great fondness for brandy, for she’d tried it once in Julius’s study. The stuff was bitter and had burned itself all the way down her throat into her stomach and she hadn’t enjoyed it in the least.
“There is something I would like to consult you about.”
That stopped Evie in her tracks. “Consult? About what?”
He gestured for her to sit on the mustard yellow leathersofa. “Please, Miss Honeywell. Make yourself comfortable, then we shall talk.”
She sat upright at the edge of the sofa, folding her hands in her lap. “Well?”
He sat across from her in an armchair, swirled the brandy in his glass, and stared at it thoughtfully. “I was wondering, Miss Honeywell, whether I might interview you regarding your employer.”
Employer? Who on earth was he talking ab—oh.
She ran her tongue over her dry lips. “You mean Lady Evangeline.”
He took a swig from his glass and a slight smile played about his lips. “Indeed.”
“What is it you want to know?”
“You must know her rather well after having been her companion for how long, again?”
“Uh. Two years.”
He nodded. “Two years. That is sufficient time for you to have grown to know her more intimately.”
She thought it over, then shrugged. “If you say so.”
“What is she like?”
That question took her aback. What was she like? What on earth should she say to that?
“You have seen her every day these past two weeks. What an odd question to ask.”
“Lady Evie has been sick most of that time.”
That was true.
“She is…nice?” That seemed to be a perfectly sensible, safe thing to say.
“Come, come, Miss Honeywell. Surely you can come up with a better description of Lady Evangeline’s disposition? What kind of person is she? What are her likes, dislikes?”
How very clever of him, to interrogate the companion for information about herself.
She could spin him a yarn and tell him all sorts of untruths about herself. Or she could end the matter once and for all and simply…tell him the truth.
She felt his inscrutable gaze on her face.
She opened her lips.
He raised his eyebrow.
“She is…she is…a kind and gentle soul,” she blurted out. “Meek and submissive.”
Now his second eyebrow shot up. “Meek and submissive? Did you not tell me at one point that she’d intended to run away because she did not fancy this engagement? That does not strike me as being particularly submissive.”
“Ahahahaha. Yes. She is normally meek and submissive to…to her brother only, but not to anyone else. Which would, of course, be the reason why she’s decided to run away.”
What fustian, in every sense.
