Page 84 of Seductive Reprise
“Well?”
“You’re quite desperate,” Florence said, one eyebrow raised as she cut her pheasant across the table. “I enjoy it immensely.”
Yusef swallowed his retort, waiting.
Of course, neither Florence nor her miserable husband, Sir David, deigned to respond to his inquiry. Instead Florence continued to cut dainty bites of her supper, and Sir David lazed back in his chair, absentmindedly swirling his wine before taking a large swig.
It was Margaret, small and soft-spoken, who piped up with the answer he sought.
“She arrived this evening.”
Yusef’s heart leapt in his chest at his youngest sister’s words. As a youth, he used to find her ingratiating manner suspect. Now he felt a bit of guilt at having always dismissed her out of hand. Compared to Florence’s bitter evasiveness, Margaret was a dratted luminary. They were a portrait in opposites, sharing only the same light hair color. Whereas Florence favored her and Margaret’s mother, Margaret favored their father in buildand manner, short and bland. Now that he considered it, Yusef wondered that she was still unwed at her age. What was it? Three and twenty? With her sweet nature, she’d make an exceptional wife for some puffed-up viscount with second-hand opinions and an outsized idea of his own importance.
“Not long ago. We haven’t met with her yet—that was Florence’s suggestion.” Margaret punctuated the report with a pleasant smile and a nod towards her sister.
He took a deep breath, his relief overwhelming. “Good. I’m glad you refrained from interviewing her.”
“Why? Other than that she’s likely exhausted from her journey.” Margaret held her fork and knife over her plate and tilted her head, thinking.
“Of course we didn’t,” Florence sniffed. “You think we’re absolute dunderheads, don’t you?” She scoffed and raised her eyes heavenward. “What would I have done if she recognized us? If she turned tail and fled back to her shabby little inn? Is that what you’re so shaken up about? That she’ll leave once she discovers our…relation?” Florence spat out the last word, not wanting to share blood with him any more than Yusef did.
And the possibility of Rose fleeing once more was, of course, what he was worried about, but Yusef didn’t care to discuss it. He sighed and reached for his water goblet. “I take it she’ll join us for breakfast tomorrow, then?”
“Yes, before our sitting. No doubt it shall take hours.” Florence made an expression of disgust.
“You’ve been painted before, though,” Margaret pointed out. “You managed well enough on that occasion. Perhaps Davey could read to us?”
No one acknowledged her suggestion.
“I say, what do you reckon she’ll do when she finds out this is all Palgrave’s…” Sir David waved his hand about, searching for the word with the most insulting connotation. “Oh, I don’t know—ploy, intrigue, stratagem. You know. That he tricked the poor hen into hiking all the way out here?”
Florence looked to Yusef, smirking, and tossed the question to him.
Yusef set his goblet down, allowing his hand to rest casually on the table alongside it. He waited, and considered Sir David. Now that Yusef had made an offer of marriage, he found himself curious about the genesis of others’ matches. How had Sir David met his sister to begin with? How had he proposed? And more importantly, how in the world had his sister evenconsideredthe man’s suit? He was a baronet, barely worthy of note for the daughter of a duke. And of course, he was positively insufferable. More so than Florence, even. Perhaps that was the appeal for both of them.
Finally, Yusef spoke. “If you recall, Sir David—”
“Davey,” he interrupted.
“Sir David,” Yusef continued, “I did not summon her here. That was your wife. As far as Miss Verdier is concerned, this could all be a happy accident.”
Sir David, unfazed by Yusef’s icy tone, lumbered on. “And what about when my wife makes a clean breast of it, and admits that it was you who begged her assistance?”
“There will be no need. I shall speak with Miss Verdier myself,” Yusef said, not wanting to converse with Sir David one moment longer than necessary, even if it meant surrendering the promise of several excellently executed insults.
“You are an odd duck, aren’t you, Palgrave?” Sir David said with a baffled grin. Yusef could almost see the rusted cogs of his mind creaking to life, trying to make sense of the enigma that was a man determined. Something he’d be unfamiliar with, no doubt. He wondered if the man had ever wanted anything in his entire miserable life, for he certainly treated Florence with the same blithe regard as one might a valet. Or a dog.
“All this for a woman,” Sir David added with a squint. He plucked his wine from the table. “Last time I checked there were plenty of those to go around.” He chortled at what he seemed to consider a joke, then took a massive swig.
Yusef leveled a cold stare upon Sir David until he looked away, coughing as he swallowed.
Only then did Yusef finish his meal.
After dinner he eschewed any company, uninterested in tedious conversation with Sir David and even less interested in a second act of the stilted charade that the meal had been. Although, he considered as he strolled down the hall to his small and drafty room, the past days had somehow not been the travesty he’d expected.Margaret had been pleasant, and once more he wondered if his memory had been altogether blinded when it came to her. She tended to happily fade into the background, something he now noted and found cunning in its own way. And Florence… well, there was no nascent fraternal bond between them, but perhaps they might yet find a way to tolerate each other. It was an interesting thought.
But then he recalled the existence of her husband, and was immediately disgusted with himself for even considering spending a single voluntary minute in the company of Sir David Clewer.
At that point he halted, realizing he had likely passed by Rose’s chamber by now.
