She thinned her lips. “Did you not understand me when I said no, Lord Ashendon?”
He sighed and sat back in his chair. “No, I’m just desperate. Can’t you help me just a little, Miss Mallard? You had them here for five years, after all.”
She snorted. “And between them, they turned my hair white.”
“I know Rose can be a handful, but Lily—”
She threw up her hands. “Lily! That girl drove my poor teachers to distraction.”
“Lilydid?”
“She is unteachable, quite unteachable.”
Cal frowned. “Are we talking about the same Lily? Sweet-natured and biddable—”
“Oh, yes, she’s very sweet-natured, but nobody canteachher. It’s not that we haven’t tried everything we can think of, but it’s very bad for the reputation of my school to turn out a pupil who after five long years still cannot spell and can barely read.”
There was a short pause, then Cal said, “Are you telling me that Lily cannot read and write?”
She nodded. “Didn’t you know?”
He shook his head slowly. He didn’t quite believe it. Lily didn’t seem at all stupid to him.
But dammit, there was no solution for him here after all. “So nothing I can say or do will convince you to take them back?”
“My advice to you is to get them married off as quickly as you can. They are of age. Rose is almost twenty and Lily is eighteen. Make them some other man’s problem.” She rose in implacable dismissal. “Good day to you, Lord Ashendon. And good luck.”
***
Cal spent the rest of the afternoon visiting other seminaries for young ladies—Bath was full of them—but without success. Either the girls really were too old or their reputations had traveled before them. He suspected the latter.
Walking back to his aunt’s house, he was surprised to see an old friend striding grimly along on the other side of the street, deep in a brown study. Ned Galbraith, a few years behind Cal at school, had gone to war at the same time. He’d resigned his commission in 1814, rejoined for Waterloo, then sold out again.
Cal hadn’t seen him since Waterloo. “Galbraith,” he called.
Galbraith glanced up and the frown cleared from his face. He crossed the street and the two men shook hands.
“Can’t stay to chat,” Galbraith said after the initial greetings were over. “Got an engagement in”—he pulled out a fob watch and consulted it—“quarter of an hour. I’m staying at York House. Join me for dinner? We can blow a cloud and catch up.”
“Can’t, I’m afraid,” Cal said regretfully. “I’ve only just arrived in Bath and I need to look after my young half sisters.”
Galbraith’s brows rose. “Don’t they have nursemaids for that sort of thing?”
Cal grimaced. “They’re not children. They don’t require a nursemaid, more like... a watchdog.”
“Like that, is it? Well, if you change your mind, you know where I’m staying. I’m here for a week or two.”
“Weeks? Not here for the waters, are you?” Galbraith looked as fit and healthy as ever.
“Lord, no—filthy stuff. If you haven’t already tasted it, don’t. Might as well drain water through your old socks and drink that. No, I’m”—a peculiar expression crossed his face—“I’m courting.”
“Courting? You? Good lord! I always thought you were as marriage-shy as me.”
“I know. I was. I am. But”—he gave a wry grimace—“needs must when the devil drives.”
“Your grandfather?”
Galbraith nodded. “Got it in one. Since my father died, the old man hasn’t stopped fretting. Says before the angels call him, he wants me firmly buckled to a respectable, levelheaded gel, and with a lustily squalling heir in the nursery.”
