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A prickling kind of awareness grew that she should leave. “It seems Mr. Siddons has been waylaid. Shall I go see about your tea?”
“I would prefer your conversation.”
At his request, she resettled into the chair, uneasily conscious that by agreeing to do so she would be testing her resolve to remain immune to him. Not wishing to pursue this—or the missing cup of tea—she asked what he intended to do about Mannering’s floor and its sad condition.
“I suspect the joists and supports will require major work. A job I had time to contemplate from my position.”
“So Mannering requires more of a total overhaul, and a lick of paint and a trimmed garden won’t really suffice.”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“I am sorry.”
“Why? You did not saw the joists, did you?”
Horror curdled. “They were sawn?”
“No! No. I think it was merely old age, and as you say, there seemed to have been a bit of movement, which might have progressed matters somewhat.”
“Mannering has always been prone to creaking and the like, so perhaps you are right. Well, you have time to employ builders, should you wish to do so. It would only be right for the future occupants to know the house is well and truly fit for habitation.”
“That is so.” He dipped his chin.
A noise at the door drew attention to Mr. Siddons, who had finally arrived holding a tray with a teapot and a cup, and a look of disapproval.
She thanked him and smiled inwardly as the butler exited, glancing at her sternly as he propped the door a little wider.
It seemed someone had a care for her reputation, at least.
She poured and passed the captain’s cup of tea to him.
“Tell me, Miss Stapleton, what would you do if in my situation?”
“Which situation is that, sir? Being housebound, responsible for a young relative, or being answerable for a broken-down house?”
“I was thinking of the latter.” He sipped his tea.
“What to do with Mannering?”
He nodded, eyeing her above the rim of his teacup.
“I’m afraid I cannot offer an opinion.”
“Yes, you can. In fact, I suspect you have many opinions that you carefully offer in such a discreet way that you come across as merely being very thoughtful and obliging.”
Amusement tweaked her lips. “I cannot be sure if that is a compliment or not, so I shall overlook that remark, sir.”
“Oh, it was most definitely a compliment.”
His intent look heated her cheeks. Too much more of his flattery and she might—foolish girl that she was!—very soon start believing it. She hurried to say, “I should go.”
“I would not have you run away.”
“Yet you shall be doomed for disappointment, as I have been here far longer than I intended.”
“Before you go, may I ask one thing?”
She waited.
