Chapter 5 #2
“Yes,” Turner continued, nodding to himself. “Hannah is fine duchess material. I’ve always known she was the better of the two. Really, I ought to have sent Phoebe away years ago, but I do have a father’s tender heart.”
Aaron almost snorted in reaction to that.
He did manage to hold the sound back in time, but the comment escaped him.
“You do seem keen to blame Miss Turner for Miss Hannah’s disappearance,” he said, letting himself enjoy the way Turner’s mouth snapped shut so quickly that it was almost audible. Obsequious little toad. “But as I recall it, it was Miss Hannah who left, and Miss Turner who tried to bring her back.”
Turner blinked only once before returning to his litany of excuses.
“An aberration, I assure you, Your Grace. No, my Hannah is not at all like this, not at all…”
Aaron went back to ignoring him. The truth of the matter was that he did not particularly want Miss Hannah to return. Oh, he would like her to be safe, of course. He might be scarred from his time at war, but he wasn’t a complete monster.
But he hoped that she could be safe somewhere that wasn’t necessarily right here.
He’d liked the idea of marrying Miss Hannah Turner when he’d initially spoken to her father. She was young, yes, but he hadn’t really thought that twenty was too young—not until he saw her. She’d been out in Society for several years after all.
But then he laid eyes on her, and he was struck with the realization that twenty years old was three years younger than his little sister, Clio. She was practically a babe. He simply could not look at her and think the kinds of things that a man was meant to believe of a wife.
Miss Turner, however…
She was a challenge.
And no soldiers ever turned down a good challenge.
Not even when they really, really ought to.
But no. He wasn’t marrying for his own sake. He had a plan. He was going to improve his reputation for his sister’s sake. He was going to finally participate in his family. He was going to do better.
And Miss Turner would not help with that. She was not at all the right kind of duchess. Even thinking about it was getting wildly, wildly ahead of himself in any case.
He drew himself up when Miss Turner herself entered the room, as if upright posture was the difference between her being able to read his mind and not.
“What are you doing here, Phoebe?” her father snapped as soon as he saw her.
Aaron didn’t like that Miss Turner did not so much as blink at this treatment. Was this always how Turner spoke to her? Aaron wondered if there was a way to punch the man without it negatively affecting his goals.
Miss Turner’s gaze was calm as she looked first at the breakfast spread, then back at her father.
“I’ve come to have breakfast,” she said without a hint of irony in her tone. Aaron almost laughed at how pitch-perfect it was.
Turner’s face went bright red.
With that same unshakeable calm, Miss Turner filled a plate and took a seat.
“So,” she said, nothing in her demeanor indicating that she recalled him threatening to carry her off to her bed, “are we leaving today, Father? I am hoping that we will find Hannah safe at home.”
At the mention of Miss Hannah’s disappearance, Turner’s face went downright purple. Aaron might have been concerned that the Viscount was about to keel over at the breakfast table if not for how Miss Turner didn’t react beyond eating a dainty forkful of eggs.
“There won’t be any traveling today,” her father said while he choked and sputtered. “The snow has been falling lightly but steadily all night. The roads are impassible.”
Miss Turner looked disappointed but not surprised. She nodded down at her lap, then set her fork aside. Aaron frowned. She’d barely eaten anything. She wouldn’t be able to keep up her strength without food. He’d seen more soldiers killed by empty stomachs than by most weapons known to man.
And then, before his eyes, she recovered. She drew in a deep breath, sat up straight, and ate another bite of her breakfast—which satisfied him more than it likely should have.
“Right,” she said. “So. What is next? My father said you were hoping to have the wedding before Christmas. Are there arrangements that need to be made?”
Aaron also recognized this behavior—the need to keep busy in order to hold nerves at bay—but it also usefully opened an opportunity for him to say something that he needed to say.
“I intend to marry by Christmas,” he confirmed. “But whether I marry your sister… remains to be seen.”
As he had expected, Miss Turner’s eyes sparked with anger. He liked it more than he liked her disappointment.
“So that’s it, then,” she said, both of them ignoring the way Turner squawked his objections. “My sister steps a toe out of line, and you replace her.”
“It was rather more than a toe,” he returned. “She fled into the night like a criminal.”
He was baiting her, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Like a criminal?” She scoffed. In the background, her father continued to protest. “Oh, yes, with an attitude like that, who can blame her for fleeing? Have you considered, perhaps, that this coldness of yours is what led her to run in the first place? The snow must have seemed practically balmy by comparison!”
Aaron couldn’t help it. He smiled. It was crooked and likely not very nice at all, but he was out of practice after all. He couldn’t help that smile, odd though it might have been.
Because right now, he didn’t feel cold at all. He felt blazing hot. And it had been so very, very long since he’d felt this way.
Her gaze burned him.
“Phoebe!”
The Viscount was on his feet now.
Reluctantly, Aaron turned his gaze from the tempest at his breakfast table, who was masquerading as a young lady. The Viscount’s expression had gone splotchy now. It was rather unpleasant to look at.
“I must beg your pardon, Your Grace,” Turner said desperately. “I—I have no words. Phoebe—for Christ’s sake, Phoebe! Can you not hold your tongue for once? Your Grace, please. I beg for your patience. Hannah will return. And then, the wedding can proceed as planned.”
Aaron turned back to Miss Turner. Her eyes were sharp with fury—and maybe just a hint of satisfaction at the way that Aaron dismissed her father.
He didn’t blame her. The man was an overbearing brute, and Aaron knew all too well the burden of being continually battered down by an unfeeling patriarch.
“I certainly hope you’re right,” Aaron said.
His words might have been for Turner, but his eyes never left Miss Turner’s, not for any part of it.