The younger woman didn’t look convinced. “Maybe,” she said.
“It will,” Phoebe repeated. Because she was going to make it so. It would be the one Christmas gift she could give to Clio and Aaron… and maybe, just a little bit, it would be a present for herself, too.
“This is a nice surprise,” Jacob said as he lounged against the doorway of the study. “You asking me to come here, I mean. Rather than you acting all huffy and mad about it.”
Aaron leaned his head against the back of his armchair, closing his eyes.
“I knew you were going to be insufferable about this,” he commented.
He might have been possibly just a little bit extremely drunk.
It was worse, by a significant margin, than the first night that he and Phoebe had met one another, back at his country estate—not only because he’d had several drinks more than he’d enjoyed that night but also because the sun was still high in the sky.Aaron wasn’t overly proud of this, but frankly, his resolve had been worn down. He was outnumbered.
“Clio and Phoebe have become… fast friends.”
“Wait a minute,” Jacob said, which made Aaron realize that he’d said this last bit out loud—in decidedly plaintive tones. “You’re upset because your wife is getting along with your sister? Warson, I nearly died getting here! Every damn thing out there is covered in ice.”
Aaron let out a grumbling sound, the closest thing he could manage to an apology in his current state.
Fortunately for him, Jacob laughed off Aaron’s terrible manner.
“All right, then, you poor sot,” he said, pouring himself a drink of his own. “I suppose it is rather time honored for men to get swotted while complaining about being lovestruck. Give it a go, then. What’s amiss?”
There was something in that statement that Aaron knew he was supposed to object to, but he was too distracted by his own drink, which Jacob had refreshed while retrieving his own libations.
A distant part of Aaron wondered if he oughtn’t be suspicious of this—he was already rather drunk, so surely it was a sign that Jacob was up to something if he was trying to get him drunker—but it was overall too much for his brain to handle after too many fingers of scotch to count.
“Phoebe,” he said with the sepulchral tones of someone about to lay out the details of a great sin, “keeps actingprotectiveof Clio.”
“Oh, no,” Jacob deadpanned. “Call the constables at once.”
Aaron frowned. Jacob didn’tunderstand.
It had started the morning after the silent dinner, during which he had remained quiet out of an act of self-preservation. The evening of her arrival, Clio had gotten so caught up in the story about hunting for fairies that she’d almost told the end of the tale: when Aaron’s father found out that his younger son had played a prank on the elder, he’d beaten Aaron viciously.
Then, Peter, who had also been pummeled by their father for allowing himself to be tricked, turned around and walloped Aaron in turn.
Aaron couldn’t bear the idea of Phoebe hearing that story. What if she looked at him with pity in her eyes? He knew that she had her issues with being treated like a subordinate in the navy—how many times was it now that she had reminded him that she wasn’t a soldier?—but the alternative was worse.
Better she see him as the stern admiral than the little boy who had tried to do something nice for his beloved sister and gotten his face bashed in for his troubles.
What Phoebe had taken away from his avoidance, however, was the sense thathewas being unfair toClio.
He’d approached the breakfast room the next morning, only to find himself snatched by the sleeve until he was peering down into a pair of critical green eyes.
“Benice,” she commanded quietly, darting her eyes meaningfully toward Clio.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he’d told her stiffly, trying to forestall this… whatever this was.
“You absolutely do know what I’m talking about,” she countered.
He swallowed against the lump of irritation in his throat. He had perhaps been a bit harsh with her the other day over breakfast, but she simplywould not take a hint.Nor would she take things that were a great deal more than a hint.
“You were terribly rude to your sister last night,” she went on, brazenly scolding him like he was a naughty boy, and she was a frustrated nursemaid. “It hurt her feelings. So. Be nice.”
“What goes on between my sister and myself is none of your business,” he retorted.
“She is my friend,” Phoebe said. “Andmy sister now, too. So, I think you will find that it ratherismy business.”
