Love in the Afternoon (The Hathaways #5)(24)

It was the oldest Hathaway sister, Amelia. She was shorter and more voluptuous than her younger sister. There was a warm maternal air about her, as if she were prepared to ladle out sympathy and comfort at a moment’s notice.

“Mrs. Rohan,” Christopher murmured, and bowed.

“Sir,” she replied with a questioning lilt. Although they had met before, she clearly didn’t recognize him.

“This is Captain Phelan, Amelia,” Beatrix said.

The blue eyes widened. “What a lovely surprise,” she exclaimed, giving Christopher her hand.

“Captain Phelan and I dislike each other,” Beatrix told her. “In fact, we’re sworn enemies.”

Christopher glanced at her quickly. “When did we become sworn enemies?”

Ignoring him, Beatrix said to her sister, “Regardless, he’s staying for tea.”

“Wonderful,” Amelia said equably. “Why are you enemies, dear?”

“I met him yesterday while I was out walking,” Beatrix explained. “And he called Medusa a ‘garden pest,’ and faulted me for bringing her to a picnic.”

Amelia smiled at Christopher. “Medusa has been called many worse things around here, including ‘diseased pincushion,’ and ‘perambulating cactus.’ ”

“I’ve never understood,” Beatrix said, “why people have such unreasonable dislike of hedgehogs.”

“They dig up the garden,” Amelia said, “and they’re not what one would call cuddlesome. Captain Phelan has a point, dear—you might have brought your cat to the picnic instead.”

“Don’t be silly. Cats don’t like picnics nearly as much as hedgehogs.”

The conversation proceeded at such quicksilver speed that there was little opportunity for Christopher to break in. Somehow he managed to find an opening. “I apologized to Miss Hathaway for my remarks,” he told Amelia uncomfortably.

This earned an approving glance. “Delightful. A man who’s not afraid to apologize. But really, apologies are wasted on our family—we’re usually pleased by the things we should be offended by, and vice versa. Come in, Captain, you’re among friends.”

Christopher found himself being ushered into a bright, cheery house, with abundant windows and piles of books everywhere.

“Beatrix,” Amelia said over her shoulder as they proceeded through the hallway. “Perhaps you should reconsider your attire. Poor Captain Phelan may find it somewhat shocking.”

“But he’s already seen me like this,” came Beatrix’s voice from behind Christopher, “and I’ve already shocked him. What is the point in changing clothes? Captain, would you feel more comfortable if I took my breeches off?”

“No,” he said hastily.

“Good, I’ll keep them on. Really, I don’t see why women shouldn’t dress like this all the time. One can walk freely and even leap. How is one to chase after a goat in skirts?”

“It’s something the dressmakers should consider,” Amelia said. “Although my concern is more in the direction of chasing after children, not goats.”

They entered a room lined with a semicircular row of tall windows overlooking a spring garden. It was a comfortable room, with overstuffed furniture and embroidered pillows. A housemaid was busy setting out china plates on a tea table. Christopher couldn’t help contrasting this cozy scene with yesterday’s stilted teatime in the Phelans’ immaculate formal parlor.

“Please set another place, Tillie,” Amelia said. “We have a guest.”

“Yes, mum.” The housemaid looked distinctly worried. “Is the goat gone?”

“Entirely gone,” came the soothing reply. “You may bring out the tea tray when it’s ready.” Amelia sent a mock frown to Christopher. “That goat has been nothing but trouble. And the dratted creature isn’t even picturesque. Goats resemble nothing so much as badly dressed sheep.”

“That’s quite unfair,” Beatrix said. “Goats have far more character and intelligence than sheep, who are nothing but followers. I’ve met far too many in London.”

“Sheep?” Christopher asked blankly.

“My sister is speaking figuratively, Captain Phelan,” Amelia said.

“Well, I have met some actual sheep in London,” Beatrix said. “But yes, I was mainly referring to people. They all tell you the same gossip, which is tedious. They adhere to the current fashions and the popular opinions, no matter how silly. And one never improves in their company. One starts falling in line and baaing.”

A quiet laugh came from the doorway as Cam Rohan entered the room. “Obviously Hathaways are not sheep. Because I’ve tried to herd the lot of you for years, without any success.”

From what Christopher remembered of Rohan, he had worked at a London gaming club for a time, and then had made a fortune in manufacturing investments. Although his devotion to his wife and family was well-known in Stony Cross, Rohan was hardly the image of a staid and respectable patriarch. With his longish dark hair, exotic amber eyes, and the diamond stud flashing in his ear, his Romany heritage was obvious.

Approaching Christopher, Rohan exchanged a bow and surveyed him with a friendly gaze. “Captain Phelan. It is good to see you. We were hoping for your safe return.”