LITMIR.BIZ

      Carefully, Hugh walked over to his desk and lowered himself in the chair, his mouth as dry as road dust. A quick sideways glance towards the nearly empty whisky bottle on the desk set off the hammer-on-anvil throbbing in his head again. His stomach roiling, he sank his head into his hands.

      He hadn’t intended to drink that much whisky last night—or to spend the night on the sofa in his library. But then, in the early evening after he’d returned to the manor, Mansfield had pleaded with him to come up to the west bedchamber wing and inspect the outermost room, where he feared a leak had begun around the chimney. Reaching that room meant that Hugh was forced to walk right past the nursery.

      He’d tried to shut his ears, but he’d heard it anyway—the soft murmur of a childish voice emanating from within the schoolroom. The timbre of the voice, the remembered blue, blue eyes of his cousin’s girls, brought the vision back with searing clarity.

      Drew, chattering to his ayah in the nursery of the cantonment house...jumping up with a shout and coming to the doorway for a hug as Hugh looked in on him before leaving for duty.

      Though he’d immediately fought to suppress the memories, the flashback had beat against the doors behind which he bottled up all his still-unresolved guilt and grief. Memories made even harder to suppress after he met with the girls’ new governess—the managing Miss Overton, who was not at all meek and mild. Who had not hesitated to interrupt or question him.

      He’d initially been amused by her admission of her controlling nature, before its implications registered. For the last week, he’d done a fair job of avoiding his wards, even at times forgetting they occupied the schoolroom. He had a feeling that Miss Overton was going to question him every time she thought there was a problem with her charges.

      Hell and damnation, that was why he’d hired a governess—to assume oversight of the girls so he would have to deal with them as little as possible. If Miss Overton expected to continually plague him with her opinions or question him over the girls’ treatment, he would have to disabuse her of that notion as soon as possible.

      A knock at the door reverberated through his head, eliciting another wave of pain. Pressing his fingers against his aching temples, he looked up as Mansfield entered.

      ‘What is it?’

      ‘Miss Overton to see you, Colonel.’

      For once, Hugh didn’t appreciate being right. He felt wretched enough this morning without having to deal with a managing female. ‘Tell her to come back later. And ask Cook to send up some strong coffee.’

      To his infinite irritation, the blasted woman walked in anyway, dropping a curtsy that was long on graceful form and very short on deference. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Colonel, but the matter can’t wait. I need to see you now.’

      ‘You’ve been here less than twenty-four hours. What could be so important that it cannot wait until later?’

      She drew in a deep breath, as if preparing to speak—and then hesitated. Wrinkling her nose, she scanned the room, her gaze coming to rest on the whisky bottle. She frowned.

      Doubtless the room reeked of spirits. Apparently she disapproved of drinking, too.

      ‘Are you sober enough to understand what I’m saying, Colonel?’

      He stared at her in disbelief. Had a man uttered such a remark, Hugh would have struck him.

      Meanwhile, his eyes widening in alarm, Mansfield hastened to the door. ‘I’ll bring your coffee shortly, Colonel,’ he called out before disappearing.

      Refraining with difficulty from delivering the sharp reprimand that sprang to mind, Hugh said stiffly, ‘I am quite capable of comprehension, Miss Overton. You do realise you are addressing your employer?’

      ‘I realise I am addressing the guardian of two small girls who, since he chose to accept that responsibility, ought to concern himself with their well-being.’

       You should have been more concerned with his well-being!

      The echo of that long-ago accusation lanced through him, sparking irritation into anger.

      ‘And just what is it that you think I’m neglecting?’ he asked hotly.

      ‘As for that, I shall have more to say later. But for the moment, the issue is blankets.’

      That seemed so trifling, Hugh wasn’t quite sure he’d heard her correctly. ‘Blankets?’ he repeated.

      ‘Yes. The girls have only thin cotton blankets. Obviously, being from a much warmer climate, they are cold at night.’

      ‘Good—’ Hugh swallowed the curse and tried to rein in his anger. ‘You barged into my library at the crack of dawn to complain about blankets? Do I look like a housemaid? Take that up with Mrs Wallace.’

      ‘I already have. She was decidedly unhelpful. The girls need woollen blankets—and warmer clothing, too. Doubtless they will acclimate to English weather in due time, but a week is hardly sufficient. Surely the household has woollen blankets somewhere that could be given to them. You must tell Mrs Wallace to place some in the nursery, or, if there truly aren’t any in the house, authorise their purchase.’

      How dared she accuse him of negligence over a matter of housekeeping? Incensed, he said, ‘You are outspoken indeed, Miss Overton. Take care that you don’t speak yourself right out of your position.’

      Her cheeks flushed at that. But, fire sparking in her eyes, she retorted, ‘If you mean that as a threat, I’m not worried. Should you discharge me, I can find someone else who will pay me a pittance to watch their children.’

      ‘Not unless I write you a character,’ he shot back.

      ‘At least I have character!’ she cried, her voice growing strident.

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