plump little boy who can be appeased with sweetmeats and who naps most of the day.’
‘He sounds rather like a cat.’
‘Not like my sister-in-law’s cat. Inky is the size of a bear cub and, though she has a sweet tooth, she is definitely not indolent.’
‘Then I shall stick to my plump charge, though I doubt even someone as silver-tongued as you could convince a prince to employ someone as unqualified as I.’
‘You underestimate me, Miss Walsh. I have more skills than my silver tongue and as a servant of the Crown I can be...convincing.’
The laughter in her eyes was suddenly tinged with speculation.
‘Are you a servant of the Crown?’
‘Aren’t we all?’ he riposted.
As if she sensed his evasion, her eyes fell from his and she went back to her seat, sinking into it with an abruptness that made her skirts billow for a moment.
‘This is all amusing, but rather silly. I am unlikely to leave Whitworth so there is no point in dreaming of Egypt.’
‘You mean Huxley.’
‘What?’
‘You said you are unlikely to leave Whitworth.’
Her cheeks turned as pink as the sunset in Sam’s painting.
‘Of course. I meant...it was a figure of speech. I am still not accustomed... You know what I meant. In any case, they are both a long way from Egypt...’
The squeak of the gallery door interrupted her and Chase pushed to his feet in annoyance as a footman entered with a generously stacked tea tray.
No doubt the servants were told to keep them supplied with refreshments so they did not leave Huxley’s wing unless absolutely necessary, he thought.
Ermy’s campaign to separate Miss Walsh from Henry was clearly underway.
Stop staring, Ellie. Yes, Chase Sinclair is a well-favoured man, but that is no reason to discard one’s dignity. Keep your eyes on your task. Well favoured, hah! He’s beautiful. Just look at him.
For the hundredth time in the last several days Ellie did just that.
And for the hundredth time she forced her gaze back to her task, thoroughly disgusted with herself.
He was leaning over some papers, his hand deep in his dark hair, his forehead resting on his palm. The sharp lines of his profile were already etched in her mind: the groove at the side of his mouth that curved when he smiled, the fan of his lashes, long and dark and curving just a little at the end. How ridiculous was it that she knew precisely how a man’s eyelashes curved?
Even Susan, who leapt from infatuation to infatuation as if they were stepping stones across a stream, could not be so silly.
Though to be fair, after what she’d dealt with these past five years, Ellie considered she was long overdue some foolishness. It was only unfortunate that her first infatuation, if that was what it was, had to alight on someone like Mr Sinclair. But that, too, wasn’t surprising. She had never spent so much time alone with any man other than family or Henry and his father, and she had certainly never met anyone as impressive as Chase Sinclair. She disliked the thought that she was joining the ranks of probably all-too-numerous females infatuated with this admittedly impressive specimen of manhood.
She couldn’t’ even blame him for it. He wasn’t even doing anything to merit his dubious reputation. For a rake he was sadly un-rakish and she could see now why Dru and Fen treated him with such ease.
The worst was that she felt comfortable with him. Aside from her stupid propensity to stare at him, she did not feel in least awkward in his presence.
It felt as natural and as right as being alone and that was...peculiar.
He made her laugh with his nonsense, inventing ever more creative scenarios to account for her sudden travel to Egypt—moving on from pugs and plump princes to becoming a famous artist commissioned to paint a portrait of Muhammad Ali’s favourite horse. On another occasion she’d been beguiled into an ascension of a hot air balloon and was swept all the way eastwards, only to become stuck on the tip of the pyramid.
She’d even managed to concoct a few plots of her own, but they were never as exotic as his, running aground on objections before they even made it out of her mouth.
In between work and nonsense, he ensured there was always a supply of tea and didn’t even complain when she couldn’t resist reading sections aloud from the notebooks she was slowly but steadily putting into the correct order.
In short, he treated her with his own peculiar combination of irreverence and respect which, had she not been foolish enough to conceive this girlish tendre for him, would have made her completely comfortable in his company.
But it only made it worse.
She would just have to ensure she gave him no reason to suspect. And, even more importantly, gave Lady Ermintrude no reason to suspect it. Ellie did not want to give her the satisfaction of knowing her machinations in forcing her into Chase’s company had borne fruit. In any case he would likely leave soon, she reminded herself sternly.
Although he did not appear to be hurried, Tubbs, his valet, had already packed all the cabinets in the Ghoulish Gallery—gone were the gelatinous amphibians and carved beetles and statuettes, and this morning two trunks appeared in the study, clearly ready to receive the books and papers they were reviewing.
And Chase would not be the only one leaving soon—she knew she must face the harsh reality that, with all the best will in the world, Henry had overestimated Huxley’s financial position. His plan to save Whitworth was proving just as unrealistic as pugs and hot air balloons. It was time to face the truth.
But she wasn’t ready. Not to leave.
Ready or not, Ellie Walsh—you will return to Whitworth and try to save what can be saved just as you will recover from this foolishness, she told herself resolutely, opening the next notebook on her stack.
Or perhaps not.
It certainly didn’t feel like any infatuation Susan described to her. There were no stars and sighs and she didn’t think he was perfect and above all mortals. But she did feel that saying goodbye to these days in the study would be like leaving herself behind, something true and real that was only just beginning to form.
It felt...wrong.
The words on the page in front of her blurred. She placed her hand over them as if afraid the threatening tears would burst their dam and inundate the world. But she breathed them back inside and turned the page. At least she could escape inside the foreign but strangely familiar world of Lord Huxley’s notebooks, if only for a while.
She glared at the first sentence as she noticed Chase’s name. She did not want to read about him at the moment. She debated picking up another notebook, but already her mind was ploughing ahead and she gave in.
‘Damned if I know how he does it. It wasn’t the first time Chase smoothed over matters with the authorities. Tessa says it’s a gift and curse, the way the boy can wrap people round his thumb without even appearing to.
‘Just like that time with Awal. By some means as yet obscure to me Chase talked Poppy into hiring Awal for the whole season even after Poppy swore up and down the Nile he had no use for a half-blind peasant come begging for al-Jinn Chase to help him. He even convinced Poppy it was his idea. If Chase ever lost his inheritance, he could make back his fortune with that silver tongue.
‘I told T. I would worry if Chase used it for his own benefits, but he only appears to do so when someone else is in trouble. T. said that worried her most of all and