“Perhaps you are right. But the problem is that we were not entirely sure whether Phoebe’s living relative—a Mrs. Emily Ewing—ever received the letter recounting the death of her sister and brother-in-law. When Mrs. Ewing did not appear at the wharf, I thought it best to keep Phoebe with me, because what if it takes some time for Mrs. Ewing to be located? Most of the crew of the Plassey disembarked immediately. We were blown far off course, and they were eager to return to their families. I was not at all sure who would be in charge of Phoebe.”

She paused. “I’m rattling on. Please forgive me.”

Peter glanced at the stained glove resting on his arm, and she snatched her hand back. “Not at all,” he said politely, and bowed again. “I can see that you had no alternative other than to bring the child with you. I will arrange to have Mrs. Ewing located.” He bowed yet again and backed out of Gabby’s chamber.

Gabby sank onto the bed and stripped off her gloves. Tears rose to her eyes. Peter may not be set against the idea of marriage, as she had thought for a mad moment, but he was so cool, so self-contained. Obviously, propriety meant everything to him. The tears snaked down her cheeks. It was as if she were tailormade to put him out of countenance. He was on a first-name basis with the future king of England—calling him Prinny!—and she was just as butterfingered as she always was.

Why, but why, did she tell that lie about Codswallop? Peter seemed so horrified by her disarray that the fib just flew out of her lips. What must Quill think of her? She should have confessed. Except that if Peter knew it was her blunder…He would never marry her if he knew what a cowhanded mess she’d made of a simple thing like pouring tea. And she couldn’t go back to her father. Not to her father and his sharp-tongued admonishments as he outlined her many faux pas.

She took a shuddering breath. She simply had to become more graceful, that was all. More like the kind of woman Peter would wish to marry.

There was a scratch at her door. Gabby hastily scrubbed at the tearstains on her cheeks and stood up.

“Enter!”

Quill’s deep voice answered her. “I have brought Phoebe to see you. She seems to have the fixed notion that you might have fled back to India without her.”

Gabby promptly knelt on the floor and stretched out her arms to the little girl. “Sweet, Phoebe, I would never, never have left you here alone.”

The child flew into her arms like a carrier pigeon, Quill thought, watching Gabby rock Phoebe back and forth and whisper into her hair. Lucky Phoebe. He wrenched his thoughts away and strolled across the room to look out the window at his gardens.