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“Have you, now?”
“Indeed.” Her gaze was so piercing that he began to feel quite uncomfortable and he squirmed in his chair.
“About what?”
“About Phoebe, of course.”
“Phoebe?” That came so unexpectedly, he had to blink. “Why Phoebe?”
Her look turned even more stern. “Because as her only living relative, as her only uncle and guardian, you have been woefully neglecting that poor child. No wonder she has been exhibiting troublesome behaviour which I attribute entirely to her sense of loneliness and feeling of abandonment. What that child needs is not an excellent education, but a companion. What she needs is not financial and material gain, but the comforts of family. I remain convinced that this is at the root of all the trouble that has beset the child.” Her gaze became so strict he shrank in his chair. “Because of this, I find it my duty to inform you that you have been a woefully neglectful guardian.”
Christopher’s mouth dropped. “I—I—I don’t know what to say.” He ran a shaking hand through his hair. Deuce it, but he’d definitely had too much champagne. This woman, this stranger whom he’d never met before, was giving him a blistering scolding such as he had never experienced in his entire life. Her eyes were sparking with wrath, and he felt smaller than a schoolboy.
“Try again, sir. You truly have nothing to say on this matter?”
Heavens, the woman was a fury.
“I—you are entirely right.” It was best to admit to everything. “I have been a woefully neglectful guardian.”
“You missed all the visiting days. You did not appear for the midsummer picnic. You have missed all the presentations and prize givings. You have never once, I repeat, not once, shown up for the girls’ theatrical. Do you have any idea how disappointed the girl was?”
Christopher felt utterly miserable. “I am so terribly sorry.”
The scolding would not end there. The list of his misdeeds was so long, it took the woman an entire ten minutes to list them all.
Then, through all the misery, something entered his foggy brain. A thought that made him blink. A thought so outrageous, he dared not complete it. He lifted a finger.
“I beg your pardon for interrupting,” he said, for the woman was in the middle of expounding upon all the milestones he’d missed, “and I deeply apologise for asking. But—how is it you know all this?”
She must be one of the teachers at the seminary, of course. A fearful creature, indeed.
She drew herself up so haughtily, with her nose in the air, that Christopher almost regretted asking that question.
“Of course I know all this. It is my business to know. Phoebe is attending my school, after all.”
At this, his heart did something that he’d had no idea it could do. It stopped.
It stopped so entirely, and with such ferocity, he feared he would black out.
“Your school?” he choked. It couldn’t be. It was entirely impossible. And yet, and yet…
“Naturally. I am—”
“Miss Hilversham,” he breathed.
And suddenly it all fell into place.
* * *
The heaviness lifted, and suddenly he felt so light, he could fly up into the skies.
“Your Grace,” he breathed. “The Duchess of Rochford.” He shook his head, dazed. “Miss Hilversham. Of course.”
After he’d repeated that for the third time, Miss Hilversham wrinkled her nose in concern. “I do think you have had one glass of champagne too much, my lord.”
Christopher bestowed a smile upon her so brightly, she blinked, bemused. “I may very well have.” He grabbed her hand and shook it. “May I sincerely congratulate you on expecting a child, the second one, yes? And then on having married Rochford. A brilliant fellow. And on being Miss Hilversham. For that I am most grateful.” He pumped her hand up and down. “You have no idea how happy I am that you are Miss Hilversham. No idea at all.”
She gently untangled her hand from his. She attempted to rise, but he pulled her down again.
