"I've taken an interest in Estella's Season," Philippa said. "I intend to sponsor her. She’ll have the full weight of the Ashworth name behind her."
The viscount blinked. For a moment, something stirred behind the fog. Surprise, perhaps? Maybe a hint of parental concern? "That's very generous, Your Grace. But that’s not necessary. Er…" He looked around him and seemed to rethink his argument. In the end, his confusion won out. "I'm not certain why you would do such a thing."
"Andrew," she said simply.
The viscount's jaw went slack. She understood his surprise. After the fire, no one would so much as whisper her sister’s name within her earshot. Almost as though dying was a scandalous faux pas.
She waited for the viscount to recover his composure. When he never did, a pang of remorse had her hurrying on. "Your son was a remarkable young man, by all accounts." She chose her words with care. "I believe his sister is equally remarkable, and I should like to see her well settled. For his memory."
It was not the whole truth. It was not even the most important truth. But it was one this man could understand. And indeed, he nodded slowly. "Estella is…yes. She's done very well." His hand made a vague gesture to the house at large. "She's very capable."
"She is," Philippa agreed.
"Well." He cleared his throat. "If you think it would help her prospects, I can hardly object."
No. He couldn't, could he?
The drawing room door stood slightly ajar, and a creak of the floorboard from the hall had Philippa looking over. No servant entered, but there was another sound. Someone was there.
Philippa narrowed her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips as she caught sight of a small shoe. Definitely not large enough to belong to a servant.
She continued speaking to the viscount about the particulars of Estella's schedule, all the while tracking the movements from behind the door. The shoe shifted, then there was a rustle of fabric. Philippa could guess who it was. She knew all there was to know about Andrew’s family, and this must be Charlotte Hale. Eight years old, and apparently conducting her own surveillance operation.
Philippa bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.
The viscount noticed nothing. He nodded along to Philippa's plans, so agreeable there was little to discuss by the time she ended. When she rose to leave, he rose too, seemingly relieved that the encounter was over.
In the hallway, Philippa paused and adjusted her gloves. "You might as well come out, child. I know you’re there."
A beat of silence. Then Charlotte Hale appeared from around a corner, chin raised, blue eyes blazing with suspicion.
She was small for her age, with the same fair coloring as her sister and a smattering of freckles across her nose. Her dress was clean but well worn.
"Why are you taking Estella away?" Charlotte asked.
"Taking her away?" Philippa regarded her. Goodness, she loved children. If only more adults were so direct, the world would be a far less confusing place. "I'm helping your sister."
"She doesn't need help."
"Everyone needs help at some time or another. Your sister shouldn't have to handle this Season all alone."
Charlotte's lips pursed at Philippa’s quick retort. She seemed to be turning it over.
"She won't leave me," Charlotte said. Her tone was defiant, but only a fool would miss the fear behind it.
"No," Philippa agreed. "She won't. And I would never ask her to."
Charlotte studied her, and Philippa stayed still and let her. Finally, once the child had gotten a good long look, she added, "I’m not asking her to move in with me forever or forbid her from seeing her family. I promise you, I only mean to help."
"And will it help?" Charlotte asked at last. "Truly?"
"Yes."
Charlotte’s brows drew together. "Will she have to marry someone awful?"
"Not if I can help it."
Charlotte frowned. "She would for me, but I don’t want her to." The girl huffed. "She never listens when I tell her that."
