Chapter 6 #3
Startled at the sudden attention, Cy pulled himself together, standing tall. “Ruby.”
Before he could address the others, his sister hurried forward and greeted him, reaching up with a peck on his cheek, which did settle him, a little. “What are you doing here?” she asked quietly. “Are you to dine with us?”
He hushed his response. “Mr. Whittemore invited me.”
“How wonderful. We’ve spent so little time together of late. First the mill cottage, now this.”
So she hadn’t learned the latest news of Father’s illness.
She moved aside, facing the young women, who all watched closely. “You know my friends, of course.”
“Of course. Good evening, ladies,” he said, stepping forward, nodding over each of their extended hands. He noted the flushed pink of Miss Whittemore’s cheeks, the furrow in her brow. He recalled the only reason Violet ever flushed:
Anger.
Was she upset by his presence? The idea irked him, and he attempted to squelch the spark of resentment igniting in his gut. He smiled. “My sister’s notice of me seems to have interrupted your story, Miss Whittemore. Please, do continue.”
He detected the movement of her throat as she swallowed.
“I would not wish to bore the room.”
“How interesting,” Mrs. Whittemore said from behind him. “Mr. Burke was just telling us that you were never boring, dear.”
Miss Whittemore tipped her head to the side, her eyes narrowed. “Did he?”
A servant entered with drinks, drawing Mr. and Mrs. Whittemore’s attention.
Cy’s collar had become constrictive. He gave a slight stretch with his chin before lowering his voice, meeting her gaze. “I also said you were a delight.” He studied the painted cherubs on the ceiling and shrugged. “Lightning has not yet struck, so there must be some truth to it.”
Miss Janes squeaked as Miss Wooding suppressed a grin. Miss Whittemore looked as if she were sucking a cherry sour. Ruby pulled on his arm. “Cyril, you mustn’t tease. Besides, nobody is as boring as you.”
Lydia raised her hand. “I submit my brother Andrew for consideration.”
“I second the motion,” said Florrie, also raising her hand, her fingers wiggling.
Ruby unsuccessfully tried to stifle a laugh. But when the corner of Miss Whittemore’s mouth turned up as she fought a smile, something unpleasantly pleasant struck like a bolt through his chest.
Drink now in hand, Mr. Whittemore scowled. “I’m rather interested in where this so-called gentleman poet had his hand.”
Violet’s eyes pinched closed before turning to her father. “My, er—sketchbook.”
Mr. Whittemore’s brow lifted. Lydia snorted.
Violet clasped her hands in front of her and shrugged. “I closed it smartly on his fingers.”
Cy reverted his gaze to the window, covering his mouth.
“Dinner, sirs. Madame. Misses,” the butler intoned.
Miss Whittemore strode past him. “Most boring brother. Hmm. It seems you’ll have to settle for second place, Mr. Burke.” Her singular scent brushed at his senses as she passed. She glanced over her shoulder. “But I suppose you’re used to that.” Her eyes glittered with mischief and challenge.
Cy shook his head but stopped himself from rising further to meet her taunts, and silently thanked the cook, butler, and all who’d saved him from making a fool of himself by having dinner prepared and ready to serve at that very moment.
As the others went into the dining room, Cy kept Ruby at his elbow and held her back.
“Stay a moment,” he whispered.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re really here?” she whispered back. Her green eyes mirrored his with astonishing parity.
He faced her. “You should know that Mr. Whittemore has offered me a position.” He put his hand up as she began her immediate and likely demanding response.
“I’d intended on telling you, but you weren’t home, and I’d no idea you were dining here.
Mr. Whittemore intends to announce it later this evening.
I wasn’t aware there would be an audience, and frankly, I wish there weren’t. But I wanted to give you fair warning.”
Her dark eyebrows wrinkled. “I don’t understand. Did you go to him, or—” She drew in a quick breath. “Does this have something to do with Papa? Are we—” She looked right and left. “Are we in danger?”
Though impressed by her perception, he needed to calm her fears. “I did not seek Mr. Whittemore out. Things sort of—fell together. I’ll tell you everything, but for now, you must trust me. All right?”
She swallowed. “I trust you, but does Mama know? Or even Papa?”
He exhaled slowly, guiding her to the dining room. “No. I did not expect this opportunity. Not so soon, anyway.” Not at all, really.
“You will tell me everything?”
He placed his hand over hers. “Everything.” Though all the Burke brothers were protective of their only sister, Cy knew she was made of sterner stuff. And she hated to be underestimated. “I’ll tell you, then the family.” He willed his smile to be assuring. “All will be well.”
She nodded and grudgingly returned his smile. “I will choose to believe you.”
He chuckled, but as he held out her chair and she took it, he sobered. He only needed to believe it himself.