swiftly down the stairs to join her sister. “I overslept,” she said. She’d finally drifted off to sleep at dawn. No wonder she had slept long past her usual rising time.
“You never sleep in,” Olivia said, her green eyes filled with concern.
There was no point in increasing her sister’s anxiety by confessing how distracted and distressed she’d been all night, so she merely ignored the comment. “I am hungry,” she lied. “Will you join me and at least have a cup of tea?”
Before Olivia could respond, the library doors opened and Edgemont lumbered through them, still in his tailcoat, which was thoroughly wrinkled now. Unshaven, he looked entirely disreputable. “Good morning,” he boomed, then blinked at them.
Alexandra was so filled with outrage that she did not answer—she didn’t trust herself to speak. Not yet, anyway. She marched past him to the kitchen, Olivia on her heels.
But Edgemont followed. “How rude!” he exclaimed. “What’s wrong with you today?”
Alexandra went to the stove and used a match to light a burner, her hands shaking. She pumped water into the teakettle and set it on the burner.
“Are you angry?” He winced and rubbed his temples. “Was it a good evening? I can’t seem to recall most of it.”
Alexandra whirled. “No, it was not a good evening, as you were falling down drunk!”
He drew himself upright. “I won’t have you speaking to me in such a manner.”
She inhaled. She never lost her temper, never shouted, but she’d just shouted at him. She had just insulted her own father. She fought for calm. “Why not? You humiliated yourself in front of everyone at Harrington House.” She spoke quietly now. “Do you even know how you got home last night?”
He was puzzled. “No, I do not.”
“The Duke of Clarewood carried you across the ballroom, Father. Yes, you were that foxed. And then Randolph and Alexi de Warenne took you outside. I believe young Randolph de Warenne escorted you home.”
Edgemont paled. Then he straightened. “A man has his rights, and I have every right to my gin. You’re exaggerating—I recall it all now.” He paused, breathing hard, and looked at Olivia. “Prepare my breakfast,” he said.
Olivia walked past him to do just that, her mouth pursed.
The kettle began to sing. Alexandra turned slowly, though she felt like whirling in anger, and took the kettle from the fire and calmly set it on the counter, when she felt like smashing it down. She had Clarewood on her mind again. Bloody hell, she thought.
She also never cursed, not even in her thoughts.
“How is the squire today?” Edgemont asked carefully, apparently having come to his full senses.
“I wouldn’t know.” She poured two cups of tea for herself and Olivia. “Would you like a cup, Father?”
“Yes.”
She poured his tea and faced him. “He will surely call things off now, and it will be your fault. Your drinking has to stop. It is disgraceful, and we can’t afford it.”
Edgemont stared at her, and she stared back as she handed him the cup and saucer. Without a word, he went from the kitchen to the dining table and sat down.
Alexandra looked at Olivia. They both knew that he would not change.
“W E HAVE CALLERS ,” Corey said. “Or rather, we have a caller.”
Alexandra had just finished her toast and jam. Corey was standing at the kitchen window, and Alexandra got up to see who could possibly be calling before noon. As the dark carriage got closer, she realized it belonged to the squire.
She tensed. He’d brought them home last night, but it had been late, everyone had been tired, and the conversation had been perfunctory. Corey had even fallen asleep on the way, and the squire had encouraged Alexandra to do so, as well. She hadn’t, but she’d pretended to doze, to avoid speaking to him. Now she wondered if he was sending a note breaking things off. Or would he come in person to do so? A note would be kinder. On the other hand, he
“You never sleep in,” Olivia said, her green eyes filled with concern.
There was no point in increasing her sister’s anxiety by confessing how distracted and distressed she’d been all night, so she merely ignored the comment. “I am hungry,” she lied. “Will you join me and at least have a cup of tea?”
Before Olivia could respond, the library doors opened and Edgemont lumbered through them, still in his tailcoat, which was thoroughly wrinkled now. Unshaven, he looked entirely disreputable. “Good morning,” he boomed, then blinked at them.
Alexandra was so filled with outrage that she did not answer—she didn’t trust herself to speak. Not yet, anyway. She marched past him to the kitchen, Olivia on her heels.
But Edgemont followed. “How rude!” he exclaimed. “What’s wrong with you today?”
Alexandra went to the stove and used a match to light a burner, her hands shaking. She pumped water into the teakettle and set it on the burner.
“Are you angry?” He winced and rubbed his temples. “Was it a good evening? I can’t seem to recall most of it.”
Alexandra whirled. “No, it was not a good evening, as you were falling down drunk!”
He drew himself upright. “I won’t have you speaking to me in such a manner.”
She inhaled. She never lost her temper, never shouted, but she’d just shouted at him. She had just insulted her own father. She fought for calm. “Why not? You humiliated yourself in front of everyone at Harrington House.” She spoke quietly now. “Do you even know how you got home last night?”
He was puzzled. “No, I do not.”
“The Duke of Clarewood carried you across the ballroom, Father. Yes, you were that foxed. And then Randolph and Alexi de Warenne took you outside. I believe young Randolph de Warenne escorted you home.”
Edgemont paled. Then he straightened. “A man has his rights, and I have every right to my gin. You’re exaggerating—I recall it all now.” He paused, breathing hard, and looked at Olivia. “Prepare my breakfast,” he said.
Olivia walked past him to do just that, her mouth pursed.
The kettle began to sing. Alexandra turned slowly, though she felt like whirling in anger, and took the kettle from the fire and calmly set it on the counter, when she felt like smashing it down. She had Clarewood on her mind again. Bloody hell, she thought.
She also never cursed, not even in her thoughts.
“How is the squire today?” Edgemont asked carefully, apparently having come to his full senses.
“I wouldn’t know.” She poured two cups of tea for herself and Olivia. “Would you like a cup, Father?”
“Yes.”
She poured his tea and faced him. “He will surely call things off now, and it will be your fault. Your drinking has to stop. It is disgraceful, and we can’t afford it.”
Edgemont stared at her, and she stared back as she handed him the cup and saucer. Without a word, he went from the kitchen to the dining table and sat down.
Alexandra looked at Olivia. They both knew that he would not change.
“W E HAVE CALLERS ,” Corey said. “Or rather, we have a caller.”
Alexandra had just finished her toast and jam. Corey was standing at the kitchen window, and Alexandra got up to see who could possibly be calling before noon. As the dark carriage got closer, she realized it belonged to the squire.
She tensed. He’d brought them home last night, but it had been late, everyone had been tired, and the conversation had been perfunctory. Corey had even fallen asleep on the way, and the squire had encouraged Alexandra to do so, as well. She hadn’t, but she’d pretended to doze, to avoid speaking to him. Now she wondered if he was sending a note breaking things off. Or would he come in person to do so? A note would be kinder. On the other hand, he
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