doubt you would. You were a young gentleman about town and I was away at school by then.”
She stood and began retying her bonnet. He stood as well and waited for her to put her gloves back on.
He didn’t thank her for coming. The words stuck in his throat. No matter how much his rational mind told him to treat her with courtesy, his gestures wouldn’t follow suit.
“I’ll show you out,” he said.
“There’s no need to accompany me. I’ll see myself out.”
“As you wish.” He accompanied her only to the door of the office, where the two stood a moment.
Her clear gray eyes regarded him. He read compassion in them, and he wanted to tell her he didn’t need her pity. Who was she—a poor, penniless, illegitimate half sister—to pity him?
Why then did he feel she had something to offer him? That she knew something of his fear and near panic of the night before? Of his feelings of inadequacy in filling Edmund’s shoes?
“Tertius,” she began.
“What is it?” he asked, not bothering to hide the impatience in his tone.
She reached a hand out to him but let it drop before touching him, and he realized he had braced himself for the contact. “I also wanted to…to let you know, if you ever need anything, you can come to me. You don’t seem fully recovered. I hope your new responsibilities won’t be too much of a strain—”
“You don’t think me capable of assuming the duties of the new Earl of Skylar?” he asked, and then could have kicked himself for revealing his own weakness. It was the fault of that soft, sympathetic tone of hers.
“Of course I do! But as I said, you’ve been ill. Take it slowly and don’t let the opinions of others control you.”
He regained his calm tone. “My dear sister, your solicitude overwhelms me. However, you needn’t concern yourself. I am perfectly capable of managing my affairs. And as I told you, I am completely recovered.”
She merely nodded. “You needn’t treat me as a sister if you’d rather not. I understand. Just think of me as a trusted childhood friend who would do anything in her power to help you if you should ever need me.”
She no longer struck him as a timorous inferior. Her tone had gained strength, as if she were supremely confident of her ability to help him.
What could she possibly help him with? “Thank you, dear Althea,” he replied, managing a thin smile. “I shall remember that whenever I am in need.”
She looked down, as if disappointed but not surprised at the condescension in his tone. “Goodbye then. I always pray for you.”
“I’m sure you have many more deserving souls worthy of your petitions.”
She made no reply as she exited the door. He shut it behind her and returned to his desk, but found it hard to resume his work. Drat her intrusion!
He didn’t want to have the past tormenting him. He’d achieved an emotional distance from his father and was certainly not going to let a half sibling he hardly saw, let alone hardly knew, upset the careful balance.
He was on the threshold of beginning something new. He would prove to society that he was fully capable of filling his brother’s shoes. With a lovely young wife at his side, and offspring soon to follow, there was absolutely nothing he need fear.
A few afternoons later Gillian entered the drawing room for tea. Once again she found Lord Skylar calmly seated with her mother and Templeton, one of her mother’s fine Sevres cups and saucers balanced upon his knee.
“Yes,” he told them, “she is of a very old pedigree, a direct descendant of a spaniel of my great-grandfather’s on our Hertfordshire estate. She’ll make a great companion for Lady Gillian.” He reached down to stroke the dog’s neck. “A very docile creature, I assure you.”
Gillian could only stare at the “creature” in question. The rescued dog, chestnut coat shiny and clean, sat at Lord Skylar’s booted feet. At that moment, it caught sight of Gillian. Immediately it jumped up, almost knocking over the edge of a silver tray on the table before Lord Skylar.
“Sit!” Lord Skylar’s tone was more effective than a whip. The dog and owner stared at each other a few seconds—seconds in which Gillian’s hand went to her throat and she held her breath, fearful of her mother’s reaction. Her mother leaned forward in her chair as soon as the dog had moved, itching to have it removed from the room, no doubt.
Gillian could feel her whole body willing the dog to obey Lord Skylar. The seconds dragged on until finally the dog whined and, with a longing look toward Gillian, sat back down before Lord Skylar.
He smiled at the animal—a smile that broke the austerity of his features—and reached across the table for a biscuit. Breaking off a piece, he held it out to the dog, who gobbled it up eagerly.
“Good girl,” Lord Skylar told the dog, giving her neck another rubbing.
“Good afternoon, Lady Gillian,” he said, only then turning his attention to Gillian. “If you’d like to greet your new pet, she is eager to slather you with gratitude for your timely rescue.”
Gillian needed no other prompting. She was at the dog’s side in an instant, kneeling beside her and receiving its wet greeting. “Hello, there,” she said, not knowing what to call the animal, so she continued petting it and crooning over it.
She looked up at Lord Skylar with a wide smile. She hadn’t heard anything from him since the afternoon outing and lived in terror that he’d inform her the dog had been found a home out in the country somewhere. He gave her a brief smile and turned his attention back to her mother.
“I am in the midst of a training program since the dog arrived from our estate. She was given a bit of a freer rein out in the country. We’ll have her well behaved for the drawing room in no time.” Again his glance crossed Gillian’s and she saw the glint in his eye. She looked over at her mother, and she detected nothing but alarm in her eyes. Good, she thought in relief. At least her mother didn’t see the mockery in Lord Skylar’s eyes.
“Well, I don’t know…” she began in dubious tones, her hand playing nervously with the gold chain about her neck. “We’ve never had any animals in the house.”
“Every fine lady has a drawing room pet. Most are lap dogs that do nothing but yap at the guests and nip at their heels. This one is a real dog. She’ll be a good companion for your daughter when she goes out walking.”
“I don’t know…” her mother repeated. “She has Templeton.”
Gillian and Lord Skylar both glanced at the woman in question, and Gillian was hard-pressed not to burst out laughing.
“I assure you, Miss Templeton,” Lord Skylar said smoothly, “you will feel safer with a well-behaved watchdog between the two of you. You’ll fear no cutpurses or pickpockets. With the parks so crowded with riffraff during the festivities, you need a fearless animal with you.”
Templeton smiled, her rouged cheeks bright. “Oh, yes!
