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“You’re not surprised, are you? You haven’t paid me in full for our wager.” He shook his head. Water drops gleamed on his shoulders.

She studied him. He was on edge with some concern. “That’s not it. You haven’t been here for days.”

He appeared to consider his answer. “My sister, Lady Sydling, arrives within the week. I need to recruit my … strength.”

“Ah.” She started across the beach.

He caught up to her at once. “Ah? Meaning what? Do you know my sister?”

Cordelia could not help smiling. “We’ve never met, but I have heard her spoken of. Did you invite her to our ball?”

“Of course not. She has taken it upon herself to come. I had a letter from her. Apparently, Lady Frome’s acquaintances in London are aware of your plans.”

Cordelia reached the start of the zigzag path up the fallen cliff. An amused smile tugged at her lips at the work of their letter-writing friend. “Well, we are prepared to invite Lady Sydling, though I do not think a country ball likely to be of interest to a woman used to London gatherings.”

“She’s coming to keep me out of trouble.”

“You?” That did surprise her. She stopped to retrieve her coverlet and old half boots.

“She fears any young female who might entertain the idea of becoming a viscountess, my viscountess,” he said. “But I won’t let Bernie ruin your ball.”

“Wait a minute. Now I understand you.” She did. In this matter of a difficult sibling, she could read him. “You let us have our ball at Delamere to annoy her.”

He picked up the fisherman’s jumper and pulled it over his head. “Not entirely. You deserved your ball. Bernie’s displeasure is just a bit of icing on the cake.”

“Surely, she doesn’t expect you to choose a bride from a group of country nobodies.”

“Any bride of mine is a problem for Bernie. My brother, Lionel, is my heir, and Bernie wants Lionel to inherit. She controls Lionel, you see.”

“I don’t see, and you are hardly in your dotage. Even if you never marry, you seem likely to live to a ripe old age.” She wrapped the coverlet around her shoulders.

“Perhaps, but as long as Lionel is my heir, he has prospects, which make him a desirable catch. He may bag an heiress yet. He’s very handsome.”

“You don’t like your brother, do you?” There must be a reason for it, she thought. Graymont was on easy terms with her own brother, with gruff Finch, and with Mr. Winter. She waited.

“Lionel is Bernie’s man,” he said at last.

“Are they to stay with you at Delamere?” No wonder he needed to swim if he was going to play host to disagreeable relations.

“I wouldn’t wish Mrs. Tuffin’s food at the inn on anyone, even my sister.” Again, there was that gleam of private amusement in his eye.

“But,” she said, “you’ve seen to it that the worst rooms in the castle will be theirs.”

“When you meet her, you can judge the justice of it.” He grinned. “I think Winter and I have made the best possible arrangements. And I know Bernie. She will bring everything necessary to her comfort with her. Good day, Miss Staveley.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Cordelia felt Henry’s decision to return to the navy most keenly at breakfast each morning. The eggs and toast, jam and marmalade were as tasty as ever, but Cook had not adjusted her quantities, so the bacon grew cold on the platter while Henry’s absence cast a pall on their preparations for the ball. His leaving them had to be discussed again each morning as if it were an unsolved mystery. Daily, Cordelia summoned the patience to answer the same questions, making light of Graymont’s role in Henry’s choice. Viola heaped blame on Mr. Finch instead for taking Henry to London in his coach. Roz claimed they should be angry with Henry for being like Papa and deserting them. Miranda hoped that Henry was doing well in London and meeting all the right men at the Admiralty.

On the Wednesday before the ball, Miranda at last introduced a new element to the breakfast table conversation. She wanted to know if Henry’s absence meant that Cordelia would open the ball with Lord Graymont, as custom was for the couple of highest rank to lead the first dance. For a moment, Cordelia could not speak. The idea of dancing with him stunned her. In a flash she saw him grinning at her as they bobbed in the sea. She felt her sisters’ eyes on her. The recollection of his sister’s arrival saved her.

“No,” she said. “Graymont’s partner will be his sister, Lady Sydling. I believe she arrives today.”

“Oh,” said Viola. “We will get to see the managing sister. I hope she’s every bit as difficult a relation as he deserves.”

After breakfast, they gathered in the drawing room. Miranda wanted to make some final adjustments to Roz’s gown. Roz stood on a low stool, while Viola, with little to occupy her, moved restlessly from her corner chair to the window over the pianoforte and back. The dog moped on the hearth in Henry’s absence, lifting a hopeful gaze to Viola whenever she moved.

Miranda stood back and cast a critical eye over Roz’s gown. “The deep rose really becomes you, Roz,” she said.