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“Do you think we don’t hear gossip in Dorchester? I’ve heard the rumors that you are sneaking about with Miss Drake. Lady Gringham made a point of writing to inform me of the disturbing news that everyone believes Miss Drake is your mistress.”
“She is not my mistress.” Goddamn Lady Gringham! He should have let her freeze to death.
“It must stop, Harry.” Daphne sighed as she looked over at him with a touch of pity in her eyes.
“Miss Drake is a dear friend, nothing more.” A dear friend he’d almost made love to last night.
“After all that has happened between our families, it is for the best to have nothing to do with any of those Drake girls.”
“I understand.” He knew precisely how the gossipmongers worked to tear down people. If he wanted Louisa to find a gentleman, her reputation needed to be impeccable. If. He must want that for her. Her sister needed Louisa to be the perfect lady with no mars on her name.
Daphne frowned as she waited for the footman to deliver the tea for her. Once he departed, she continued, “Understanding is not the same as doing something about it.”
“She already has,” he rasped.
“Oh,” his sister whispered before sipping her tea. “That explains drinking at eight in the morning.”
“I suppose it does.”
Silence filled the room as Daphne sipped her tea, and Harry became lost in his thoughts. He genuinely wanted the best for Louisa, and the best wasn’t him. If he were a better man, Harry would encourage her progress with Collingwood. The viscount was a good man who would take care of her and wouldn’t disgrace her name.
“How is Charlotte?” Daphne finally asked.
“She will be bounding down the stairs any minute.”
Daphne looked him over with a frown. “Then perhaps you should switch to tea and get your priorities in order.”
His older sister was right as usual. “Pour me some tea.”
He raked his fingers through his short hair before putting his waistcoat and jacket back on. “Better?”
“You’re still foxed. I see it in your eyes.”
Perhaps he needed to act far more like his sister. Daphne had done the proper thing, the responsible thing, and married the earl Father had picked for her. She’d had her heir and spare. Other than the occasional curse muttered—and always in private—she was a lady of quality.
“Where are Radley and the boys?” he asked and then picked up a piece of toast that had been delivered with the tea.
“They will come down in a fortnight. I am going to stay here until they arrive. I hate being in the house alone.”
“Of course.” He looked over and noticed her nibbling on the dry toast, which didn’t make sense because she only ate dry toast when.... “Are you with child again?”
Daphne paused in her eating and stared at him. “How did you know?”
“The dry toast. You only eat it that way when you are carrying. How exactly did this happen?”
She tilted her head and stared over at him with gray eyes so much like his own. “The usual manner, Harry. Do I need to explain that to you?”
“I thought you and Radley were distant.”
She blushed. “We had been. Then a few months ago, we had a terrible quarrel. For a while, I thought we might live apart. But once we got through it, we made up and then we made up some more and haven’t seemed to stop making up for all the time lost.”
“Well, congratulations, Daphne. I hope you are happy.”
“I am,” she replied with a secret smile. “More than I have been in the past ten years.”
Harry smiled tightly. At least one of them was content. The sound of running steps announced Charlotte before she even entered the room.
“Good morning, Papa!” His little ball of energy raced into the room and climbed up on his lap. “You don’t smell good,” she whispered.
