She wrenched the window open, even though it was still gray and drizzling outside. There was no wind, so the rain ought not to blow in, and what she really needed right now was a bit of fresh air. A slap of cold on her face might not make her feel better, but it certainly wasn’t going to make her feel worse.
From her window she could see Sir Phillip’s greenhouse. She assumed that was where he was, since she hadn’t heard him here in the house, stomping about and bellowing at his children. The glass was fogged up and the only thing she could see was a blurry curtain of green—his beloved plants, she supposed. What sort of man was he, that he preferred plants to people? Certainly not anyone who appreciated a fine conversation.
She felt her shoulders sag. Eloise had spent half her life in search of a fine conversation.
And if he was such a hermit, why had he bothered to write her back? He had worked just as hard as she had to perpetuate their correspondence. Not to mention his proposal. If he hadn’t wanted company, he had no business inviting her here.
She took a few deep breaths of the misty air and then forced herself to stand up straight. She wasn’t certain what she was expected to do with herself all day. She’d taken a nap already; exhaustion had quickly won out over misery. But no one had come by to inform her of lunch or of any other plans that might extend to her as a houseguest.
If she stayed here, in this slightly drab and drafty room, she was going to go mad. Or at the very least cry herself into oblivion, which was something she did not tolerate in others, so the thought of doing it herself was horrifying.
There was no reason she couldn’t explore the house a bit, was there? And maybe she could find herself some food along the way. She’d eaten all four muffins on the tea tray this morning, all with as much butter and marmalade as she could politely slather on, but she was still famished. At this point she thought she might be willing to commit violence for a ham sandwich.
She changed her clothing, donning a dress of peach muslin that was pretty and feminine without being too frilly. And most importantly, it was easy to get on and off, surely a critical factor when one had run from home without a lady’s maid.
A quick glance in the mirror told her that she looked presentable, if no picture of ravishing beauty, and so she stepped out into the hall.
Only to be immediately confronted by the eight-year-old Crane twins, looking very much as if they’d been lying in wait for hours.
“Good afternoon,” Eloise said, waiting for them to come to their feet. “How nice of you to greet me.”
“We’re not here to greet you,” Amanda blurted out, grunting when Oliver elbowed her in the ribs.
“You’re not?” Eloise asked, trying to sound surprised. “Are you here, then, to show me to the dining room? I’m quite hungry, I must say.”
“No,” Oliver said, crossing his arms.
“Not even that?” Eloise mused. “Let me guess. You’re here to take me to your room and show me your toys.”
“No,” they said, in unison.
“Then it must be to take me on a tour of the house. It’s quite large and I might lose my way.”
“No.”
“No? You wouldn’t want me to lose my way, would you?”
“No,” Amanda said. “I mean yes!”
Eloise feigned incomprehension. “You want me to lose my way?”
Amanda nodded. Oliver just tightened his arms across his chest and speared her with a sullen stare.
“Hmmm. That’s interesting, but it hardly explains your presence right here outside my door, does it? I’m not likely to get lost in the company of you two.”
Their lips parted in befuddled surprise.
“You do know your way around the house, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Oliver grunted, followed by Amanda’s, “We’re not babies.”
“No, I can see that,” Eloise said with a thoughtful nod. “Babies wouldn’t be allowed to wait by themselves outside my door, after all. They’d be quite busy with nappies and bottles and the like.”
They had nothing to add to that.
“Does your father know you’re here?”
“He’s busy.”
“Very busy.”
“He’s a very busy man.”
“Much too busy for you.”
Eloise watched and listened with interest as the twins shot off their lightning-fast statements, falling all over themselves to demonstrate how busy Sir Phillip was.
“So what you’re telling me,” Eloise said, “is that your father is busy.”
They stared at her, momentarily dumbfounded by her calm retelling of the facts, then nodded.
“But that still doesn’t explain your presence,” Eloise mused. “Because I don’t think your father sent you here in his stead. . . .” She waited until they shook their heads in the negative, then added, “Unless . . . I know!” she said in an excited voice, allowing herself a mental smile over her cleverness. She had nine nephews and nieces. She knew exactly how to talk to children. “You’re here to tell me you have magical powers and can predict the weather.”
“No,” they said, but Eloise heard a giggle.
“No? That’s a shame, because this constant drizzle is miserable, don’t you think?”
“No,” Amanda said, quite forcefully. “Father likes the rain, and so do we.”
“He likes the rain?” Eloise asked in surprise. “How very odd.”
“No, it’s not,” Oliver replied, his stance defensive. “My father isn’t odd. He’s perfect. Don’t say mean things about him.”
“I didn’t,” Eloise replied, wondering what on earth was going on now. At first she’d merely thought the twins were here to frighten her away. Presumably, they had heard that their father was thinking of marrying her and wanted no part of a stepmother, especially given the stories Eloise had been told by the housemaid of the succession of poor, abused governesses who had come and gone.
But if that were the simple truth, wouldn’t they want her to think there was something wrong with Sir Phillip? If they wanted her gone, wouldn’t they be trying to convince her that he would be a terrible candidate for marriage?
“I assure you, I harbor no ill will toward any of you,” Eloise said. “In fact, I barely know your father.”
“If you make Father sad, I will . . . I will . . .”
Eloise watched the poor little boy’s face grow red with frustration as he fought for words and bravado. Carefully, gently, she crouched next to him until her face was on a level with his and said, “Oliver, I promise you, I am not here to make your father sad.” He said nothing, so she turned to his twin and asked, “Amanda?”
“You need to go,” Amanda blurted out, her arms crossed so tightly that her face was turning red. “We don’t want you here.”
“Well, I’m not going anywhere for at least a week,” Eloise told them, keeping her voice firm. The children needed sympathy, and probably a great deal of love as well, but they also needed a bit of discipline and a clear idea of who was in charge.
And then, out of nowhere, Oliver hurled himself forward and pushed her hard, with both hands against her chest.
Her balance was precarious, crouching as she was on the balls of her feet. Eloise toppled over backward, landing most inelegantly on her bottom and rolling back until she was quite certain the twins had received a nice look at her petticoats.
“Well,” she declared, rising to her feet and crossing her arms as she stared sternly down at them. They had both taken several steps back and were staring at her with a mixture of glee and horror, as if they couldn’t quite believe that one of them had had the nerve to push her over. “That,” Eloise continued, “was inadvisable.”
“Are you going to hit us?” Oliver asked. His voice was defiant, but there was a hint of fright there, as if someone had hit them before.
“Of course not,” Eloise said quickly. “I don’t believe in striking children. I don’t believe in striking anyone.” Except people who strike children, she added to herself.
They looked somewhat relieved to hear it.
“I might remind you, however,” Eloise continued, “that you struck me first.”
“I pushed you,” he corrected.
She allowed herself a tiny groan. She ought to have anticipated that one. “If you do not want people striking you, you ought to practice the same philosophy.”
“The Golden Rule,” Amanda piped up.
“Exactly,” Eloise said with a wide smile. She rather doubted she’d changed the course of their lives with one little lesson, but nonetheless it was nice to hope that something she’d said provoked some consideration.
“But doesn’t that mean,” Amanda said thoughtfully, “that you should go home?”
Eloise felt her small moment of elation crumbling to dust, as she tried to imagine what leap of logic Amanda was about to embark upon to explain why Eloise should be banished to the Amazon.
“We’re home,” Amanda said, sounding exceedingly supercilious for an eight-year-old. Or maybe she was supercilious as only an eight-year-old could be. “So you should go home.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Eloise said sharply.
“Yes, it does,” Amanda replied with a smug little nod. “Do unto others as you would like done to you. We haven’t gone to your house, so you shouldn’t come to ours.”
“You’re very clever, did you know that?” Eloise asked.
Amanda looked as if she wanted to nod, but she was clearly too suspicious of Eloise’s compliment to accept it.
Eloise bent down so that they were face-to-face, all three of them. “But I,” she said to them in a very serious—and slightly defiant—voice, “am very clever, too.”
They stared at her with wide eyes, their mouths hanging slack as they regarded this person who was clearly so different from any other adult they’d ever met.