have healing properties. Look at Mr. Barriston.”
“A more wrinkled specimen I have yet to find.”
Meredee shook her finger at him. “And may you look so good when you reach the age of eighty and eight, sir.”
He laughed. “All right, I’ll grant you that Mr. Barriston is remarkable for his longevity.”
“And Mr. Dickinson, who was governor of the spa years ago, attained the age of one hundred and one.”
He shook his head. “You clearly know the history of the spa. And can you promise me that it will heal everyone who drinks of it?”
Her father’s face came to mind, and she felt her smile slipping. “I wish I could.”
He reached out his free hand and covered hers with it. “Forgive me. I should make better conversation.”
His touch focused her. How could she mourn the past when the present was so very sweet? “I find the conversation and the company quite satisfactory,” she replied.
He gave her hands a squeeze and released her, but she fancied she could still feel his grip, firm, gentle, encouraging. She held the sensation to her heart.
They dipped into Scarborough, and she could see the red-tiled roofs sloping down the hill, the golden stone tower of St. Mary’s and the outline of the castle on the headland.
Up ahead, the lone figure in the red coat was all too visible as he slipped deeper into town. Meredee’s heart jumped. The rest of the conversation, she feared, was far more stilted, and she could not relax until Chase had deposited her at the inn and driven for home.
Chapter Nine
“T ell me something,” Chase said to Phoebe as soon as they’d returned to the house and he’d had Beagan and the footmen deal with their accoutrements. “Why did you join us today?”
His sister, about to climb the stairs for her room, paused to look back at him wide-eyed. “Why, I wanted to see the North Bay, of course.”
Chase raised his brows. “Indeed. That would explain why you spent much of the time wandering into ravines and less in befriending Miss Price.”
Phoebe smiled. “She is a dear, isn’t she? I do hope you plan to offer for her soon.”
Chase shook his head. “Any plans I have for matrimony will have to wait until you are settled in that happy state.”
Phoebe’s smile only grew bigger, and she hurried back to his side where he stood in the marble-tiled entryway. “Oh, Chase, really? Then you’ve had second thoughts about Algernon?”
Chase rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Whitaker is not a topic of discussion in this house.”
“Oh!” Phoebe stamped her foot. “You are the most unreasonable, pigheaded man! I hope you enjoy eating dinner alone, for I shall not be joining you.” She dashed up the stairs, and Chase heard her door slam a few moments later.
“Why can’t my sister be more reasonable?” he grumbled to Trevor when his friend joined him for dinner in the cherub-ceilinged dining room. “Would you wish to marry a dandy like Whitaker?”
“Never,” Trevor returned, the sleeve of his navy coat dark against the table linens as he reached for another helping of veal. “The person I marry had better not need to shave in the mornings.”
“I wasn’t aware that Whitaker was old enough to shave.”
“A direct hit!” Trevor declared. “But just because you and I find Whitaker tiresome doesn’t mean Lady Phoebe will follow suit. Women have their own opinions in these matters.”
“So I’ve noticed. I suppose I should just be glad Whitaker is less dangerous than Delacorte. I doubt he’d have the stomach to kidnap her.” Chase tugged the edge of his linen shirt away from the insect bites that dotted his neck. They itched abominably, and he’d finally settled on his tobacco-colored banyan towear to dinner. The embroidered long coat was comfortable, and it allowed him to forgo a cravat.
“Your sister does seem to attract scoundrels,” Trevor agreed with an utter lack of concern over the matter. “You’re lucky she’s never shown interest in
“A more wrinkled specimen I have yet to find.”
Meredee shook her finger at him. “And may you look so good when you reach the age of eighty and eight, sir.”
He laughed. “All right, I’ll grant you that Mr. Barriston is remarkable for his longevity.”
“And Mr. Dickinson, who was governor of the spa years ago, attained the age of one hundred and one.”
He shook his head. “You clearly know the history of the spa. And can you promise me that it will heal everyone who drinks of it?”
Her father’s face came to mind, and she felt her smile slipping. “I wish I could.”
He reached out his free hand and covered hers with it. “Forgive me. I should make better conversation.”
His touch focused her. How could she mourn the past when the present was so very sweet? “I find the conversation and the company quite satisfactory,” she replied.
He gave her hands a squeeze and released her, but she fancied she could still feel his grip, firm, gentle, encouraging. She held the sensation to her heart.
They dipped into Scarborough, and she could see the red-tiled roofs sloping down the hill, the golden stone tower of St. Mary’s and the outline of the castle on the headland.
Up ahead, the lone figure in the red coat was all too visible as he slipped deeper into town. Meredee’s heart jumped. The rest of the conversation, she feared, was far more stilted, and she could not relax until Chase had deposited her at the inn and driven for home.
Chapter Nine
“T ell me something,” Chase said to Phoebe as soon as they’d returned to the house and he’d had Beagan and the footmen deal with their accoutrements. “Why did you join us today?”
His sister, about to climb the stairs for her room, paused to look back at him wide-eyed. “Why, I wanted to see the North Bay, of course.”
Chase raised his brows. “Indeed. That would explain why you spent much of the time wandering into ravines and less in befriending Miss Price.”
Phoebe smiled. “She is a dear, isn’t she? I do hope you plan to offer for her soon.”
Chase shook his head. “Any plans I have for matrimony will have to wait until you are settled in that happy state.”
Phoebe’s smile only grew bigger, and she hurried back to his side where he stood in the marble-tiled entryway. “Oh, Chase, really? Then you’ve had second thoughts about Algernon?”
Chase rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Whitaker is not a topic of discussion in this house.”
“Oh!” Phoebe stamped her foot. “You are the most unreasonable, pigheaded man! I hope you enjoy eating dinner alone, for I shall not be joining you.” She dashed up the stairs, and Chase heard her door slam a few moments later.
“Why can’t my sister be more reasonable?” he grumbled to Trevor when his friend joined him for dinner in the cherub-ceilinged dining room. “Would you wish to marry a dandy like Whitaker?”
“Never,” Trevor returned, the sleeve of his navy coat dark against the table linens as he reached for another helping of veal. “The person I marry had better not need to shave in the mornings.”
“I wasn’t aware that Whitaker was old enough to shave.”
“A direct hit!” Trevor declared. “But just because you and I find Whitaker tiresome doesn’t mean Lady Phoebe will follow suit. Women have their own opinions in these matters.”
“So I’ve noticed. I suppose I should just be glad Whitaker is less dangerous than Delacorte. I doubt he’d have the stomach to kidnap her.” Chase tugged the edge of his linen shirt away from the insect bites that dotted his neck. They itched abominably, and he’d finally settled on his tobacco-colored banyan towear to dinner. The embroidered long coat was comfortable, and it allowed him to forgo a cravat.
“Your sister does seem to attract scoundrels,” Trevor agreed with an utter lack of concern over the matter. “You’re lucky she’s never shown interest in
Similar Books
