Page 25

Nonetheless, to be thorough, Robyn and Matilda had also not been home to callers.

Regretfully, that had not prevented Mrs. Verbena Wynecott from pounding upon the entrance door twice in the last fortnight, no doubt with her oversized ledger containing his and Matilda’s pre-selected volunteer duties for her annual Charity Garden and Fancy Fair.

Mrs. Wynecott would extol what an honor it was to serve while delicately implying the previous year’s donation was just a touch modest.

Last week, her loud objections to being turned away had carried upstairs. Robyn half feared the intrusive dame would shove past Bichard and march through the house until she cornered him or Matilda.

The woman bullied everyone, and not for the first time, Robyn wondered why Reverend Obadiah Goodfellow allowed Mrs. Wynecott to remain the charity’s patroness.

“I can hear you, Robyn.”

Georgine’s irony-filled voice jerked him back to the present.

Feeling very much like a lad in a skeleton suit caught with his fingers in the bonbon dish, he stopped mid-step, peeking over his shoulder.

She continued to read, or at least she remained bent over the book.

Regina giggled and twisted on the settee to grin and waggle her eyebrows at him.

That one was a walking vexation, by God.

How Georgine dealt with her antics and larks, he could not imagine. Matilda spent half her time contriving entertainment and outings for Regina, and the other half caring for Georgine.

Matilda sent him a sympathetic smile before returning to arranging the flowers she’d picked this morning. No fewer than three vases held treasures from the garden.

Matilda’s talent for growing things had developed beyond a mere hobby.

Robyn shifted his feet, and the floorboards squeaked.

“Oh, for pity’s sake.” Georgine sighed and laid the open book in her lap, spine up. She gave him an arch stare. “You’re worse than a caged panther, Robyn Fitzlloyd. Either join us or take yourself off, so I can read in peace.”

Rubbing his jaw, Robyn wandered into the drawing room.

For modesty, Georgine had draped one of Matilda’s wrappers, a pretty thing fashioned from printed cotton with a delicate pattern of pale blue sprigs scattered over a cream background and indigo vines edging the hem and cuffs, over her nightgown.

Her comfortable attire hid the bandages, and a sling held her arm in place, ensuring her shoulder did not move. Given her restricted ability, maneuvering into a gown proved impossible, probably for several weeks to come.

Matilda tilted one last purple dame’s rocket before stepping back to admire her handiwork. After giving a satisfied nod, she glanced at the inlaid brass mahogany clock atop the walnut fireplace mantel. “It’s almost tea time. Regina, why don’t you and I prepare the tray today? Every lady must know how, even if she has servants to wait upon her.”

Robyn was quite sure Georgine had taught Regina how to prepare tea. The invitation was more to keep the girl occupied than a need to learn the skill.

Regina hesitated, gazing at Robyn with something akin to adoration.

Good God.

He kept the shock from registering upon his face, but only just.

Had the chit become enamored of him?

She couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen.

Matilda must have noticed Regina’s rapt attention too, for she hurried to grasp the girl’s hand. “You may act as the hostess and help choose the dainties. I believe Mrs. Fennick baked jam tarts this morning.”

That did the trick.

Regina bounced to her feet.

“I’ve poured tea at home, of course, but only with Georgine and occasionally a visitor.” She sent Robyn a coy glance. “Never with a handsome gentleman in attendance.”