He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut in with “And don’t tell me you were attacked by footpads, because I heard all about Marcus’s blackened eyes last night.”
“He looks worse than I do,” Daniel confirmed. “And as for why your family did not tell you I was back, they did not know. I did not want my arrival to interrupt the concert.”
“Very thoughtful of you,” she said wryly.
He looked down at her with affection. She was the same age as his sister, and growing up, it had often seemed that she’d spent as much time in his household as in her own. “Indeed,” he murmured. “I watched from the rehearsal room. Imagine my surprise to see a stranger at the piano.”
She put a hand to her heart. “I was ill.”
“I am relieved to see that you’ve made a speedy recovery from death’s door.”
“I could barely remain upright yesterday,” she insisted.
“Really.”
“Oh, indeed. The vertigo, you know.” She flicked her hand in the air, as if waving away her words. “It’s a terrible burden.”
“I’m sure people who suffer from it think so.”
Her lips pressed together for a moment, then she said, “But enough of me. I assume you heard Honoria’s splendid news?”
He followed her into the drawing room and took a seat. “That she is soon to be Lady Chatteris? Indeed.”
“Well, I am happy for her, even if you are not,” Sarah said with a sniff. “And don’t say that you are, because your injuries say otherwise.”
“I’m overjoyed for them both,” he said firmly. “This”—his hand twirled before his face—“was merely a misunderstanding.”
She gave him a dubious look, but all she said was, “Tea?”
“I would be delighted.” He stood as she rose to ring for it. “Tell me, are your sisters at home?”
“Up in the schoolroom. Do you wish to see them?”
“Of course,” he said immediately. “They will have grown so much in my absence.”
“They’ll be down soon,” Sarah said, returning to the sofa. “Harriet has spies all over the house. Someone will alert them to your arrival, I’m sure.”
“Tell me,” he said, sitting back into a casual position, “who was that at the piano last night?”
She looked at him curiously.
“In your stead,” he added unnecessarily. “Because you were ill.”
“That was Miss Wynter,” she replied. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “She is my sisters’ governess.”
“How fortuitous that she could play.”
“A happy accident indeed,” Sarah said. “I had feared the concert would be canceled.”
“Your cousins would have been so disappointed,” he murmured. “But this . . . what was her name again? Miss Wynter?”
“Yes.”
“She knew the piece?”
Sarah leveled a frank stare in his direction. “Apparently so.”
He nodded. “I should think the family owes the talented Miss Wynter a rousing round of thanks.”
“She has certainly earned my mother’s gratitude.”
“Has she been your sisters’ governess for long?”
“About a year. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Just curiosity.”
“Funny,” she said slowly, “you’ve never been curious about my sisters before.”
“That’s certainly not true.” He tried to gauge how affronted he ought to appear at such a comment. “They are my cousins.”
“You have an abundance of cousins.”
“All of whom I missed while abroad. Absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder.”
“Oh, stop,” Sarah finally said, looking as if she’d like to throw up her hands in disgust. “You are fooling no one.”
“I beg your pardon?” Daniel murmured, even though he had a feeling his goose was cooked.
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Do you think you are the first person to notice that our governess is absurdly gorgeous?”
He was about to think up some dry rejoinder, but he could see that Sarah was about to say, And don’t say you haven’t noticed . . . , so instead he said, quite plainly, “No.”
Because really, there was no point in saying otherwise. Miss Wynter had the kind of beauty that stopped men in their tracks. It was not a quiet sort of thing, like his sister, or Sarah, for that matter. They were both perfectly lovely, but one didn’t really notice just how much until one got to know them. Miss Wynter, on the other hand . . .