She couldn’t blame him for seeking a financially beneficial matrimonial arrangement, though Miss Chandler was far from the bride his family would have chosen for him.

But she could, and would, blame him for upending his sisters’ lives in such a callous manner.

The Season was everything they’d talked of, dreamed of, and speculated upon for the past year. Even though Bernadette had no plans to marry immediately, she still wanted to chatter with her friends, observe the social rituals, and widen her sphere of experience.

They wanted to see and be seen, flirt with gentlemen, dance and laugh. They wanted to be young and free, and to choose their own partners.

And he would take all that away from them.

At least she could have insulted him properly. Instead, she’d quit her employment without even delivering a scathing set-down that would stick in his memory and fester for years to come.

If he ever thought about their encounter in his study, it would be with mild amusement at her expense. He’d remember how she sputtered and failed to insult him.

As she entered their lodgings, shaking rain from her hair, she saw the entrance hall as if for the first time. The paint was peeling from the woodwork, the carpet was fraying at the edges, and there was a permanent odor of dirty wet woolens and lye that emanated from the laundress next door that couldn’t be dispelled with the sprigs of dried lavender she tied from the ceiling beams and tucked into their linen closet.

They didn’t even own their own home. She’d had to economize and make do with only one maid who came to do the washing, and Withers, her father’s elderly manservant, who’d been with him since the glory days and still held the composer in great reverence.

“You’re home early, Miss Viola,” Withers said as he took the bent umbrella and helped her off with her sodden bonnet and cloak.

“I’m afraid I’ve done something rash, Withers.” The full consequences of her hasty actions were only now beginning to sink in. “I ended my employment with the Duke of Westbury.”

“Good. Never liked you working there. He has a dreadful reputation.”

“It’s not good. He won’t give me a reference now. Dukes don’t take kindly to having doors slammed in their faces.”

“You shouldn’t have to work, Miss Viola. It’s not right.”

“I don’t mind. I genuinely enjoyed teaching the Delamar sisters.” She’d justified staying on without remuneration because she truly cared for those young ladies. What would they say when they learned she was gone? At least they would mourn her absence.

“How is Father today?”

“You’ll see,” the manservant replied, his gray eyebrows furrowing.

“A bad day?”