Page 41 of The Lady Makes Her Mark

That earned a shrug from her opponent. “You were going to lose anyway.”

“Harry!” exclaimed the young woman still seated with her embroidery. And then all four of them began to jabber at one another. They all had their brother’s dark hair and similar enough features that Constantia hadn’t a prayer of sorting out which sister was which, or even who was speaking to whom. This was the cacophony that staid Lord Ryland had professed to miss?

“We have a guest,” he said to his sisters, speaking so low that Constantia was certain he could not have been heard.

But something about the deeper timbre of his voice cut neatly through his sisters’ chatter. They turned, almost as one, and Constantia felt four pairs of dark eyes settle on her.

“This,” he said, stepping to one side so that they could see her better, “is Miss Cooper. An accident befell her in Town and I offered her my assistance in the form of employment. She is engaged to offer all of you instruction—”

Four faces met that announcement with varying degrees of suspicion and wariness.

“In drawing,” he finished.

At that, silence settled over the room as quickly as the noise had first erupted. The sisters looked from one to the other, as if deciding collectively on their response.

“Drawing?” repeated the letter writer, an edge of disbelief to her voice.

“Yes. And whatever else in that line she feels appropriate. Watercolors, perhaps. Or pastels.”

“Art?” That was one who had been chastised and addressed as Harry. Lady Harriet, then. The one whom Lord Ryland had described as possessing not just an artistic inclination, but a gift. “You—you are going to allow us to have instruction in art?”

“It occurred to me that a ladylike accomplishment or two might rid me of you faster,” their brother teased.

But Lady Harriet’s expression was solemn. “Truly?”

The earnestness of the question wiped the smile from Lord Ryland’s face. “Truly.”

And then Harriet’s arms were around her brother and the three remaining sisters were approaching Constantia with outstretched hands and more sharply whetted curiosity. “However did you manage to persuade him, Miss Cooper?” asked the one who’d been losing at chess.

“I—” she began, and then shook her hand. “Your brother is a generous man. My art was the only currency with which I might repay him.” She was suddenly aware of the weight of her reticule and the purse within, and her mind flooded with the memory of last night, the twinge of regret she’d felt when he had left, and the large, comfortable bed she had slept in, alone.

That answer only partly appeased them. She watched a speculative glance fly between the two she thought might be the eldest, though they were all so close in age, it was difficult to tell.

“I am Edwina,” said the one who had been embroidering.

The one who preferred country life, Constantia recalled, and thus stayed at Rylemoor. What a gloomy existence for a young woman! Though her expression was mild and obviously her manners had not been affected by the solitude.

“This is Frederica,” Edwina went on, indicating the letter writer, “and Georgiana, and Harriet, the youngest.”

“And Danny will be here in a week,” added Frederica.

Harriet piped up. “With Aunt Josephine. And they’re staying for six weeks.”

“Our aunt means to stay, too?” their brother asked, the very evenness of the question betraying his surprise. “I expected her to send Danny alone while she went to her friends at Bath, as she usually does, and then return for our sister at the end of her visit.”

“It’s all in the letter,” said Frederica, going to the desk and returning with a folded missive she handed to him. “The entertainments in Bath have grown insipid and she prefers to spend the time with her family.” It was not quite mimicry, but close enough that Constantia had to bite back a smile.

No one else looked amused.

“Well,” he said after a moment. “Christmas is a time for family, is it not?”

“You’re not going to send Miss Cooper away now?” Harriet demanded.

“Certainly not,” Georgiana answered stoutly for him.

Lord Ryland’s “no” was considerably more measured. Alarm flickered through Constantia. Was her position here as tenuous as that? The aunt might be a dragon, but surely the earl was not powerless in his own home.

“Miss Cooper will no doubt prefer to keep to the schoolroom,” he went on, “and take her meals alone, as your other teachers have done.”