An Improper Arrangement. Кейси Майклс

at her.

      Ah, he was agreeing with her. They would begin again.

      “It was delightful, sir, yes. We left Virginia well ahead of any thought of a late-summer tropical storm, and the entire crossing was blissfully uneventful.”

      There. That was polite, informative, and if he seemed to be faintly surprised by her crisp, precise, cultured English, he only showed that reaction for a moment.

      The duchess was already fussing with the tea tray one of the servants had carried into the room, pouring out tea and handing around thinly sliced cucumber sandwiches.

      “How fortunate. And this is your first trip to England, Miss Neville?” Yes, he was definitely curious. Had he thought she’d drawl out every vowel, a laziness of speech her half sisters had fallen into, much to their mother’s despair?

      “It is, yes.”

      Sir Jeremiah looked at his friend, as if they’d come to some sort of conclusion. She wasn’t certain if it was a happy or sad conclusion, but they had decided something.

      “I’d only ever sailed from England.”

      Another exchange of glances. A decision possibly reconsidered.

      Really. How rude of the two of them. She hoped the duchess would interject herself, explain, but she seemed to be engrossed in counting out sugar cubes to place in her tea.

      “I was born an Englishwoman, sir. My brother and I both, although he was older than I, and since I’m two and twenty, that was a long time ago. He was taken off by a fever before I was born. In any case, we left England to settle in Virginia, where there were no sad memories facing my parents at every turn. Mama was horribly upset, fearing I’d never return for a London Season, but Papa promised he’d never do any such thing.” She looked down at her hands, mostly because she didn’t want Gabriel Sinclair to see something dangerously revealing in her eyes. “Unfortunately, he perished during his return voyage to England to settle the last of his affairs.”

      “A family of tragedies,” Gabriel said, nodding. “My condolences.”

      Thea squirmed slightly in her seat. She’d probably offered more information than either man needed, but the way they both kept looking at her was unnerving, and she had a tendency to babble when nervous. Her mother remarked on it all the time. She really was a sad disappointment to her mother, at least most of the time. The poor woman would have slid into a faint the moment her daughter had revealed her advanced age.

      The duchess, at last done stirring her tea, said, “Thea’s mother became a bosom chum while I visited my cousin the first time Basil and I went to America, and we renewed our friendship during this last trip. Although I’ve never had a daughter, I could feel her pain when she spoke about her late husband’s sworn promise, and the disappointment of her beloved oldest daughter not being given the Season her father and she had so desired. There was nothing else for it, of course. In all charity, I couldn’t help but offer to bring Thea here with me.”

      “And, um, that’s my surprise? I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Gabriel said.

      “Not quite, Sunny. Your surprise is that you are going to help me chaperone Miss Neville while we all, Basil included, go to London for the Little Season.”

      “Oh, I rather think not,” Gabriel said, getting to his feet to bow to Thea, his handsome face now a thundercloud of repressed anger. “Devastated as I am to be unable to accompany you, Miss Neville, I’m afraid I already have plans to walk into the ocean and drown myself. Now, if you’ll excuse me…?”

      “Sunny!” his aunt called after him, even as Sir Jeremiah Rigby clapped his hands on his thighs and laughed out loud.

      But Gabriel Sinclair never hesitated, quitting the room without a backward glance, leaving Thea to think two things: possibly more was going on here than she believed she knew…and only a sweet old lady with silver hair or a complete idiot should ever dare to call the man Sonny.

CHAPTER THREE

      GABRIEL WAS WAITING for the duchess when she at last exited the duke’s suite of rooms. “Don’t run off, Your Grace,” he said, taking her arm before she even noticed his presence. “I believe you and I need to adjourn somewhere private. We have a few things to discuss, don’t we?”

      The duchess smiled up at him. “Aren’t you at least going to ask how Basil is doing today?”

      “You mean since Rigby and I arrived yesterday, now that the old boy’s another step closer to the grave?”

      “We’re all mortal, Sunny,” she pointed out, wagging her finger at him. “Something to remember.”

      “But nothing to fixate on, not if you plan to enjoy life while you’re here.”

      The duchess sighed, nodding her head. “I’ll grant you that, yes. I think he’s becoming bored with his own doomsday predictions, or at least lonely. He missed me terribly you understand, and when I told him I’m off to London, not to return until after his birthday? Well, I’ve already got him half into the traveling coach. Once we’re in London, I’m counting on you to divert his mind from his dreary thoughts.”

      “Me? Why me?”

      “Why not, for goodness’ sake? Love him as I do, which is immensely, he’s become a sad drain on my usually cheerful nature these past few years, so much so that I must occasionally abandon him or else be sucked down into his pit of despair with him. Sucked down, Sunny.”

      “Into the pit, yes. A fate not to be contemplated,” Gabriel agreed. He loved his aunt; he really did. But there were times…

      The duchess sighed heavily. “I really didn’t know what else to do. He was once such fun, Sunny. Oh, how we laughed, how we loved! Did I ever tell you about the night we sneaked into one of the pyramids, spread out a blanket and—”

      “Twice. You’ve told me twice. Once when I was young enough to believe it a marvelous adventure, and again when I blushed red as any beet and wanted to stop up my ears.”

      “Oh,” the duchess said quietly, but then her happy nature returned. “We traveled everywhere, enjoying new foods, new sights, grand experiences—do you still have those copper singing bowls we brought you from Tibet?”

      Gabriel rubbed at the back of his neck. His aunt knew him well enough to know why he’d been waiting for her and where he wanted to go, so she was taking the longest possible route to get there.

      “I’m sure they’re stuffed in a cupboard somewhere, yes. One of my tutors confiscated them when I became a bit too enthusiastic about striking them with their wooden mallet. He informed me Big Ben isn’t nearly that loud or discordant.”

      “They’re made to be melodious.”

      “Then they shouldn’t come provided with a heavy wooden mallet.” He escorted his aunt into a small sitting room. “I’ll have to find them, won’t I? Rigby would probably enjoy giving them a knock or two.”

      “You don’t give singing bowls a knock or two. They’re for meditation, centering oneself, for—Yes, why don’t you do that, give the boy the bowls. We probably didn’t bring you presents suitable for a young boy, did we?”

      “The lemur was a nice touch,” Gabriel offered helpfully. “Although I don’t think I slept without a lit candle in my room until I was at least ten. But let’s discuss your most recent surprise, shall we?”

      “Dorothea. Dreadful name. Makes her sound as if she’s already a sad old maid, destined to lead apes in hell.”

      “At two and twenty, if she’s not on the shelf, she’s already pulled over the stool and is about to climb up there.”

      “How cruel you men can be. Just don’t