Page 45 of The Lady Makes Her Mark

Her brow wrinkled. “Are you sure that’s wise, given Papa’s . . . struggles?”

Danny was the closest to Alistair in age, and the youngest of the eight of them to have any real memories of their father. Eddie recalled what others had told her of him more than the man himself, and the three youngest had been too young when he died to remember anything at all.

She knew their father had dabbled in painting, and she probably remembered seeing his work around the abbey before Alistair had ordered it all taken down.

She knew, but she didn’t . . . know. Not everything Alistair did.

He’d had a week of listening to his youngest sisters prattling away about the pictures they’d drawn, watching the sparks of creativity flare in their eyes. A week of sharing his home with the most maddeningly unpredictable woman he’d ever met. A week of wanting, with every fiber of his being, to throw old cautions to the wind. “In fact, I’m sure it’s not wise. But it . . . it couldn’t be helped.”

That earned him another skeptical frown. “You make it sound as if some starving artist flagged down your carriage and demanded to be taken to Rylemoor Abbey and employed to teach your sisters.”

He managed to laugh. “I would say you’ve been reading the wrong sorts of books, but I know Aunt Josephine would never allow that. Oh, Danny.” He reached out to pat their still-joined hands. “Is it awful in Bristol?”

“Bristol’s fine,” she answered, deliberately evading the question she must know he’d meant to ask. “But I’m glad to be home.”

Those words pushed him to his feet. Releasing her hand, he took two unsteady steps back toward the desk and his gaze fell on the ledgers. Then he raised his eyes—not toward heaven, but toward the schoolroom turned studio. Did Miss Cooper mind dining alone? Freddie had wheedled every day to have her to join them at the table, but he hadn’t given in.

He couldn’t give in to his own selfish desires. Couldn’t let Rylemoor crumble around him. Couldn’t doom his sisters to lonely, miserable lives.

He knew, perhaps had known for some time, what he must do to put things right.

“Come,” he said, holding out an arm to his sister and offering her a reassuring smile. “We don’t want to risk Aunt Josephine’s wrath by being late to dinner.”

They entered the dining room one floor below to find all the others already assembled, and Aunt Josephine seated at the foot of the table in Edwina’s usual spot. Her iron gray hair was arranged in a tight chignon, and she turned to inspect Alistair through her lorgnette—an entirely unnecessary affectation, he was sure. Aunt Josephine might look frail, but there was nothing weak about her, not even her eyesight.

“Did our early arrival prevent you from changing for dinner?”

“No, Aunt,” he said around a fixed smile as he bent to kiss the air near her cheek. “We do not stand much on ceremony here in the country.”

Meanwhile, Danny rushed to their youngest sister’s side. “Harry, there you are! I didn’t see you earlier.”

“I despise those nicknames,” Aunt Josephine muttered.

Harry paid her aunt no mind at all. “I was upstairs, admiring Miss Cooper’s latest sketches of the abbey.”

Danny’s dark brows climbed her forehead. “Miss Cooper? I had not realized your drawing master was a”—she turned and shot a speculative glance toward Alistair—“mistress.”

Freddie giggled, and Alistair turned a quelling look on each of them.

“I for one do not approve,” said Aunt Josephine, “of young ladies being taught by men. But I must say, Ryland, I am surprised you have gone to the trouble and expense of hiring a drawing master. How can you afford it?”

“The truth is . . .” He had made his way to the head of the table, intending to take his seat. But for what he had to say next, he decided, it would be better to stand. “I cannot. Things are . . . difficult. Which is why I must ask you this favor.”

He paused to glance around at each of his sisters, who were staring at him with varying degrees of wide eyes and slack jaws. They all realized things must be bad if he was contemplating placing himself in their aunt’s debt. Some of them might even have understood he was doing it for them.

But not one of them had any notion of how far he was going to have to go to set things right.

He cleared his throat, took a sip of wine, and carefully returned the glass to the table. “Aunt Josephine, I wish you to find me a wife.”