Page 11 of The Sisters of Sea View
Too late.
“Yes? May I help you?” A silver-haired man stood in the threshold. He bore the attire and mien of a gentleman and did not seem angry at all.
“I ... I am here about the advertisement,” Viola sputtered. “If it is not convenient, then—”
“Of course it is. Right on time. I have been expecting you.”
It would have been one thing to beg off had a servant answered, but the man himself?
“Do come in.” He opened the door wider, then glanced at Georgiana. “Would your companion like to come in as well?”
Voice thin, Viola said, “My sister.”
“May I wait out here, Vi?” Georgie asked. “It is such a lovely day, and Chips wants to play.”
Viola glanced up at the older man. Would she be safe with him? He certainly seemed gentlemanlike.
As if reading her thoughts, the man said, “The windows are open. Your sister shall be within calling distance at all times.”
Viola nodded. “Very well.”
He gestured her inside. With his trim, upright form and bright eyes, he certainly did not look like an invalid.
She left her veil in place and was rather blinded for a moment, coming from the sunshine into the relative dimness of the vestibule.
Walking at a spry pace, he led the way down the corridor.
She followed him into the nearby sitting room, and, as her vision adjusted, she saw it was rather Spartan in its furnishings. Throughan open doorway, she could see into a more formal drawing room, which held a pianoforte.
“Please, be seated.” He gestured toward the sitting room sofa.
She sat on the sagging cushion while he settled into an armchair.
Gaze lingering on her veil, he opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think the better of it.
She said, “Forgive me, sir, but the advertisement specified reading for invalids. You do not seem to qualify.”
“Thank you. And you are correct. I don’t need you to read to me. My son, Major Hutton, was injured in India and is recovering from wounds to his head and eye, which makes reading difficult.”
“Oh.” Her mouth felt dry, and her stomach sank. When Emily had announced this scheme, Viola had expected an elderly gentlewoman, or perhaps a mild-mannered grandfather with fading eyesight. Not a wounded officer.
Noticing her hesitation, Mr. Hutton said, “He isn’t ... Well, he’s not so bad to look at, if that worries you. One side of his face was burned, but nothing too gruesome. And one eye is still bandaged.”
“I ... was not thinking of that.”
“He does have a temper, I’m afraid. Tends to use rather unfortunate language at times.”
“Is he in a great deal of pain?”
“Not that he’ll admit to. I think he will exercise more restraint in the presence of a lady and not heap the abuse on you he dishes out to the rest of us.”
“The rest of you?” Viola asked, having seen no one else in the house.
“There’s his, well, orderly or batman, I suppose you’d say, along with a few long-suffering servants. And we expect my younger son—his brother—any day now.”
“I see.”
“I was thinking an hour a day to start. Not on Sundays, of course.” He named an hourly wage. “Will that suit?”
