He tried to read but found that the news of England was distracting in the wrong sort of way. The country was in a mess, with riots, poverty and crime. He didn’t understand. The war hadn’t reached England at all. How could everything have changed so much?
He tossed the newspaper aside, got up and paced around the stone-flagged floor. Inaction didn’t suit his mood at all. Which was ridiculous—in his work abroad, he’d often had to wait patiently and quietly, for days, sometimes weeks at a time.
But it was a different matter when he was waiting for his young half sisters.
Where were the little minxes, and what the devil were they up to?
It didn’t matter. Once they returned home—he wasn’t even going to considerif—he’d damned well ensure they wouldn’t go a-wandering again.
Henry should never have left them in the hands of Aunt Dottie. It was clear she couldn’t control a fly.
The clock over the fireplace chimed midnight. Dammit. He was going to wring their necks.
Forty minutes later he heard a sound outside. He rose to his feet, folded his arms grimly and waited.
The kitchen door opened, framing two young women wearing hooded cloaks and black velvet masks. They entered, talking and giggling in low voices.
“Where the devil have you been?” Cal snapped.
They jumped, and turned shocked faces toward him. The taller one recovered first and retorted, mimicking Cal’s tone exactly, “Who the devil are you, and what are you doing in my aunt’s house?”
Not one of the men under Cal’s command had ever hadthe temerity to answer him back in such a way. He narrowed his eyes. “I asked you a question, young lady.”
She put up her chin. “None of your business.”
In a cold voice that would have sent shivers down the spines of his soldiers, Cal said, “It is very much my business, so out with it, now. And take off those ridiculous masks.”
The smaller one glanced at her sister, then pushed back her hood and untied her mask. She hugged her cloak around her, watching him with, Cal was glad to see, wide-eyed trepidation. She was a sweet-faced girl, with a dimpled chin, wavy light brown hair and big gray eyes. His father’s gray eyes. Cal’s too.
The taller girl threw back the hood of her cloak, pulled off her mask and tossed it carelessly on the kitchen table. Obviously the ringleader of the pair. She was the image of his late stepmother—a beauty, with perfect features, blue eyes framed with long, dark lashes, and rippling golden hair, pulled up in a fashionable knot.
She stood, regarding him defiantly. “I have no idea who you are, so why the devil should I explain anything to you? We answer to our aunt, not you!”
A small part of him—a very small part—registered disappointment that his sisters didn’t immediately recognize him. On the other hand, would he have recognized them? He doubted it. It was ten years since they’d seen each other. Still, the fact that he was in their aunt’s house should have been a clue. Even if they hadn’t known he was back in England.
Her attitude annoyed him and instead of explaining who he was, Cal found himself echoing his old nurse. “Young ladies who use that kind of language are asking to have their mouths washed out with soap and water.” Only in his case it had been “young gentlemen.”
She folded her arms and arched a mocking eyebrow. “Who swore first?Youplaced the conversation in the gutter from your opening utterance. I merely followed you there.”
Cal opened his mouth to deliver a blistering reprimand, when the shorter girl—Lily?—said, “Nurse used to say that all the time, and injustthat tone.” She placed a tentativehand on his sleeve. “You’reCal, aren’t you? Our big brother Cal, who went away to war and never came home again.”
“Yes, I— Ooooff!” He broke off as she hurled herself at him in an enthusiastic embrace that nearly knocked him off his feet.
She hugged and kissed him excitedly, pelting him with questions he had no time to answer.
“When did you get here? Are you back for good? Which one am I? Lily, of course, don’t you remember? You used to carry me around on your shoulders. I remember you being so tall. I should have recognized you sooner—you look a lot like Papa, doesn’t he, Rose? But more like that portrait of Grandpapa Rutherford. Why didn’t you tell us you were coming, Cal—does Aunt Dottie know?—oh, but what a lovely surprise. Have you eaten?”
Cal was taken aback by the exuberant torrent of affection. Laughing, he did his best to answer her questions, but there was only one she seemed really to care about.
“No, I won’t be staying. I’m only here to—to settle my affairs. Henry’s death has complicated matters, but as soon as I’ve sorted things out, I’ll be returning to Europe.” Young girls didn’t need to hear about assassins and murder.
“Oh.” Her excitement faded. “Oh, well, it’s still lovely to see you, even for just a short while. Isn’t it, Rose?”
Rose looked rather less thrilled to see him. She stepped forward, gave him a polite hug and kissed his cheek lightly. “Welcome home, brother.”
Lily slipped out of her cloak and slung it over a chair. “Are you hungry?” She glanced at his empty glass. “Would you like me to get you another drink? Why are you sitting in the kitchen so late, anyway?”
“It’s warmer here,” Rose said quickly, with a warning look at her sister.
