(A/N: I've changed the valet's name to Davison. Somehow, it just doesn't have the same ring to it...)

"Why am I sitting next to you? I should be at the other end," Phillipa said as soon as she saw the dining room table. "That is the way it is done. You're the head of the house, and I am the hostess."

"It will be easier for us to talk like this," I told her, guiding her to her seat. "Don't you think it would get tiresome to shout at each other? Unless you don't want to have a conversation with me. If that's the case, I can have your setting moved or you can take your supper in your room."

With a huff, Philippa collapsed into the chair. "No, I don't want to sit alone in my room. I'm not a child nor an invalid."

It took all my will-power to keep from remarking that her current behavior was eerily similar to that of a child. Biting the inside of my cheek, I took a seat. Davison stood along the wall, maintaining a serious and composed demeanor.

At his signal, the older of the two maids, Molly, brought in the soup. The girl looked terrified with wide eyes and sweat on her forehead. Her hands shook as she ladled soup into our bowls, something she'd never had to do before.

Drat. I should have asked for a simple meal! There was no reason to make Molly carry dishes back and forth. I made a mental note to tell Mrs. Wallace that from now on meals would be—what was it called again?—Service à la francaise: all the dishes brought out at once and we would serve ourselves.

"Thank you, Molly," I said to the maid. "Well done! Not a drop spilled!"

The girl's cheeks turned a rosy shade as she bit back a pleased smile. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," she murmured as she stepped back.

"You don't have a footman to serve?" Philippa asked, picking up her spoon. She had changed out of the blue dress she arrived in and was now wearing a pale green one. "That seems like an oversight."

"Although I inherited some money from Great-Uncle Bywood, I am not wealthy enough to maintain a large staff," I informed her as patiently as I could. "A footman might be useful, I suppose, but I doubt I will ever need one. Why would I, when I have Davison to see to anything I might need?"

Did I imagine it, or did Davison's normally serious expression falter for a split second? With a start, Philippa twisted around. The butler offered her a solemn bow. "Who is that?" she asked.

"Well, first he was my valet, and now he also acts as my butler. His name is Davison. Davison, my sister, Miss Philippa Bywood. I anticipate that she will cause quite a bit of trouble during her stay, and you will have to put things right."

"Miss Bywood," Davison acknowledged.

My sister, on the other hand, gave a squeak of protest as she faced me. "Trouble? How dare you say such a thing about me? I have never caused trouble for anyone in my life!"

"I'm afraid we'll have to disagree on that, Philippa," I responded with a chuckle. "I'm not sure what else you would call it when a person arrives, giving no warning or even asking if they can visit. At the very least it is inconvenient."

Philippa huffed and dipped her spoon into her soup. "Are you still complaining about that? If I had known you were going to be such a stickler, I wouldn't have come!"

If she meant that as a threat, it wasn't a very effective one. Did she really think it would make me change my mind? I would be even more of a stickler if it meant she would go back home and leave me in peace. "You haven't said why you wanted to come in the first place," I commented. "What happened?"

"Why do you think a girl needs a reason to see her brother?" Philippa demanded. "And why are men always questioning ladies? It is rude and very irritating."

Ignoring the condemnation that I was being rude when she was the uninvited guest, I focused on the statement that had come before it. A man questioning a lady? What man might have questioned her? I could only think of three: our brother, our father, and the man she intended to marry.

"I would have thought you'd be busy planning your wedding by now," I commented, choosing not to respond to her questions. "You might have to wait a bit for the wedding itself, but there are always plans to make, aren't there? Clothes or something like that?"

"No," she said sharply. "Maybe things happen and the wedding gets called off."

The final statement was filled with a mix of petulance and sadness. So. Mr. Bartholomew Talbot had something to do with this whole thing. A quarrel as I had first suspected?

"A broken engagement is a matter not to be taken lightly, Philly," I told her, choosing my words with care. "I've heard of young ladies being ruined by the scandal of breaking an engagement. It's not something that just happens. There is always a reason, however silly, that causes such a break."

An angry scowl marred Philippa's features as she forcefully threw her spoon down. I cringed at the sound of it hitting the delicate porcelain. If she accidentally broke something...

"I didn't come here to be scolded!" she exclaimed. "Why should the lady be punished for knowing the match would be unbearable? Is she supposed to just marry the man and be miserable for the rest of her life?"

Unbearable? Miserable? What a change this was! It had barely been two months since she had clearly been head over heels for the man she intended to marry. What could have caused such a sudden change of heart?

"I suppose most people expect the lady, and the gentleman, to have considered the matter carefully before they made or accepted a proposal of marriage," I said honestly. "No one should be miserable, but neither should anyone make rash decisions when it comes to important things."

"Even the most carefully considered choice might end up being a mistake," Philippa fired back, her eyes flashing with annoyance. "Why is it so wrong to change your mind?"

"Well, I suppose it comes down to the reason why you changed your mind," I said promptly. "The reason can make all the difference."

As she leaned back in her chair, my sister folded her arms across her chest. "That is none of your business, Lucas Bywood. Why do I have to justify my actions to you? I am a grown woman and I don't owe anyone an explanation!"

I held my hands up. "Fine. I'm simply curious. If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to. You know I won't be the only one to ask. When Father arrives, he's going to want an explanation for you being here."

A frown furrowed her brow. "Why would Father come here? He would never leave Mother while she is still in poor health."

"I told you I would write to our parents so they know you arrived safely," I said with a slight laugh. "You know Father as well as I do. He'll be here as soon as he can to take you home where you belong."

"Luke!" Philippa wailed. "You didn't!"

Had she not listened earlier? Did she think I was bluffing? "Of course I did. What kind of son would I be if I didn't?"

"What kind of brother betrays his sister?" she fired back. "I just needed to get away from everyone at home! I don't want to listen to them scold me for changing my mind and I thought of all people you would understand how I feel!"

She buried her face in her hands as I tried to make sense of what she was saying. My head was spinning from the accusation that I had betrayed her. A small part of me understood the frustration of being blamed for something out of my control, but the greater part of me felt there was more to the situation.

Feeling uncertain about what to say, I took a small sip of my soup, which was quickly losing its warmth. Mrs. Wallace would not be pleased if I didn't at least make an effort to appreciate her cooking. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Philippa peek at me through her fingers.

"Are you eating?" she demanded.

"Yes. I'm hungry," I answered honestly. "It would be a shame to let the meal go to waste, and it would offend Mrs. Wallace if I did so. You are free to do as you wish, of course, but this really is an excellent soup."

With a scowl, she let her hands fall down. There were no tear tracks on her face, nor were her eyes red. "You're despicable!"

"I'm sorry you think so. Tomorrow morning, we can see about you returning home since you obviously wouldn't want to spend time with someone you dislike so much."

Against the wall, Davison cleared his throat. However, when I looked at him, his expression was as blank as it had ever been. Good. I didn't need his unsolicited opinions right now.

Philippa made a sound that sounded like both a groan and a growl. "I hate you."

"Again, I'm sorry to hear that. We'll get you home as soon as we can." Though I made my tone as cheerful as possible, I knew it wouldn't be a simple task. Philippa was just as much a Bywood as I was, and that meant she was stubborn to a fault.

"You wouldn't treat Jane this way!"

"Jane is a respectful lady who doesn't invite herself to other people's houses."

Jane was my favorite sibling currently due to her defense of me earlier in the year. She and her husband were both sensible people, willing to listen to logic. There was no reason, however, for me to tell Philippa that when she was already upset.

"She invites herself home often enough," Philippa muttered.

"I think if you ask, Mama will tell you that is not true. Mama either invites Jane to visit because she wishes to see Jane's children, or Jane asks several weeks before if it is alright if they visit. Those are the proper ways to get an invitation to a person's home. Not just appearing on their doorstep and expecting it to be alright to stay."

"It isn't as though you would have told me I couldn't come, so why go through the motions?" she grumbled, crossing her arms.

Holding back a sigh, I gestured for the soup to be removed. Mrs. Wallace would have to be appeased later on, though how I would manage that was a mystery. "I would have told you to wait until I had the house in better repair," I told my sister firmly. "You said yourself that my house looked awful and smelled worse. I would have spared you from seeing it like this."

"But I needed to get away!" Philippa wailed. Again, her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. "I thought you, of all people, would understand since you always want to be away. It will be too cruel of you to send me back! I couldn't bear it!"

This time, her shoulders shook as she covered her face. I awkwardly reached out and pated her arm. "Why don't you tell me what brought this on?" I asked. "Whatever has happened, I'm sure it can all be straightened out."

"You wouldn't understand! You're a man!"

"Sadly, yes, but most people manage not to hold it against me." I had no idea what she expected me to say in answer to that kind of statement. Was she expecting sympathy from me? How could I provide that if I didn't fully understand the situation and she hadn't explained it to me?

Was it my imagination, or was Davison's expression one of strong disapproval as he placed the roast chicken on the table? II glared at him, refusing to take blame for my sister's current state of distress. None of this was my fault. As far as I could tell, she had upset herself.

Grabbing her napkin, Philippa used the linen cloth to mop the tears from her eyes. "Please don't make me go back home," she begged. "I couldn't bear to be scolded by Papa or anyone. You must promise me!"

"If our father demands you return home with him, I will not argue with him," I warned her. "He could accuse me of kidnapping if I refused him."

She waved her right hand dismissively. "No, he wouldn't do that. It would invite gossip about the family and you know how much he tries to avoid that."

Although that was a valid point, I was familiar enough with my father's ways to know that the accusation would be made in private. My father never hesitated to criticize me when I didn't meet his expectations, even when I tried my best to please him. I had gone against his wishes before, especially when I decided to use my inheritance for my own purposes. To defy my father for Philippa was something I was willing to do, but only for a good reason.

A reason that I considered good, not according to my sister's logic.

"Well, if you expect me to allow you to stay here, I need to know what is going on," I told her. "I assume you had some sort of disagreement with your betrothed. I just don't know why or how it came to the point of you running away from him."

Instead of confessing all, she folded her arms across her chest and muttered under her breath. "What did you say?" I asked.

"George would help me."

Now that made me laugh. "He'd have to get permission from his wife first and you know what a stickler she is for doing things the proper way. But, fine. If you don't want to talk about it, I will stop asking. We'll just have to wait for Father's response to my letter. I wonder if he's already aware of the situation or if he is in the dark as much as I am?"

I applied myself to savoring the rest of my meal while Philippa sulked. Her glares did nothing to ruin my appetite, nor did her refusal to speak. I'd become accustomed to having my own company for meals, so it was no hardship or punishment for me.

~*~

"Please inform Mrs. Wallace that her cooking was as exceptional as always," I said as I rose from the table. "Her ability to handle unexpected events and still produce delicious meals is truly commendable."

From his post against the wall, Davison inclined his head in acknowledgement. "I will inform her, sir."

I made a mental note to thank the woman personally the next time I went to the kitchen. Her hard work did not go unnoticed, and she deserved to be acknowledged as soon as possible. It would mean disaster if she were to become discouraged and leave her post.

"Come along, Philly," I said, looking down at my sister, who hadn't moved. "Would you like the grand tour, or do you plan on sulking all night?"

With a petulant expression, Philippa carelessly tossed her napkin onto the table. "I am not sulking," she retorted, her tone sharp. "I would have thought you'd want to show it off in the best light and not at night. How am I supposed to see anything with the sun about to go down?"

That was a bit of an exaggeration. The sun had not yet set, and the lighting was still decent, even if it was starting to get dim. "Ah, but at Pearsend, this is considered the best light," I informed her with a laugh. "The shadows hide many of the problems. Why would I object to that?"

There was a flash of a smile, but Philippa quickly suppressed it. "So, Papa was correct in saying that you have burdened yourself with a ruin?" she asked as she stood up.

"As I've already told you, it isn't a ruin. The walls are still intact and the roof now keeps the water from leaking in." Now that I'd had the worst of the roof tiles replaced, that is. "With some work, it has the potential to be a charming estate."

Phillipa gave a skeptical hum as she followed me to the door. "And how much money is it going to take to make it 'charming?'"

Wasn't a lady supposed to avoid talking about money? "The amount is my concern and no one else's, regardless of what you or the rest of the family may believe," I informed her. "It's not as if I'm going to bankrupt the family with my actions."

"Wouldn't it be simpler to just find a decent estate that doesn't look like it is going to fall down?"

We entered the inner hall as I heaved a sigh. "I'm not going to walk away from Pearsend." The state it was in would make it nearly impossible to sell. "And if I wanted your advice, Philly, I would ask for it."

"I'm just trying to be helpful!"

"And I'm telling you right now that your comments are not being helpful," I said, my tone sharper than I had intended. "If you want to stay, don't you think you should avoid criticizing my home?"

"If the truth causes you such distress, I'll keep it to myself."

Infuriating girl! Didn't she realize I already knew the worst about Pearsend? I'd been there for nearly a month, examining every corner of the estate, from the house to the gardens and stables. Unlike most gentlemen, I wasn't afraid to get my hands dirty and fix things myself.

My sister had the audacity to think she had the right to just barge in and pass judgment on everything? Why did she think she had that right?

"It might be better for you to consider if what you're thinking is kind or not, regardless of whether you believe it is true," I told her. "That will make you a proper lady that people will enjoy having as a friend."

Philippa's mouth fell open in surprise and she gaped like a fish as I turned away. "Anyway," I said, steering the conversation to a new topic. "Here we are in the inner hall. I think you will find that Pearsend is quite typical for homes built within the past century. There is nothing really surprising in the placement of rooms."

A candelabra sat on a small table against the wall. Though I didn't anticipate needing it, I picked it up anyway. "You've already seen the entrance hall and the dining room, so all that's left to show you is the library."

The door to the library was only a few feet from where I stood. In the past, it had served as the master's bedroom. Someone had made the decision to convert it into a library, which I found to be a much better use of the space. It gave me a place to write letters and review accounts.

"There aren't many books left from previous owners, and I haven't had the time to make an inventory," I said as I opened the door. "But you might find something interesting if you're inclined to read while you're here."

The room felt larger than it actually was, with mostly empty shelves and only a desk and chair that I had retrieved from the attic. The heavy velvet drapes hung on the windows were also leftover from previous owners. They were only slightly moth eaten and did little to help muffle any sounds in the room. However, Mrs. Wallace had done her best to clean them up for temporary use.

"So this is where I spend most of my time," I informed my sister as she strolled towards the far end of the room. "In fact, I was sitting in that chair when I heard you knock on the door."

"It seems rather small to me," was her only comment.

So much for her keeping her opinions to herself! "Certainly it is nothing compared to Bywood Hall, but it is adequate for a place the size of Pearsend," I said, trying not to take offense. "I can imagine it looking very fine one day with the shelves full of books."

"And I imagine it will take a great deal of work and money to accomplish that."

"Work, I can do," I responded cheerfully. "I'll find the money one way or another And I didn't say it would happen all at once. It is very clear that this is a project that will take years to finish."

Well, years was probably an exaggeration, but I wanted her to know that it was a long-term project. I did not have the kind of funds to rush the restoration Pearsend needed.

My eyes landed on the accounts book. That's strange. I could have sworn I put it away earlier. With a shrug, I reached over and put it in the drawer where it belonged.

Philippa turned slowly, and I was taken aback by the stern look on her face. "Luke, you cannot earn what you need by gambling."

Astonished, I stared at her. "Gambling is all well and good in small doses. Everyone gambles and plays cards for fun," she continued before I could think of a response. "No one would object to that, but it would be foolish to think you could make a profit from games of chance like cards or dice or whatever things that gentlemen bet on."

I couldn't help but laugh as I asked, "Where did you come up with such a ridiculous idea?"

"This isn't a joke and it isn't ridiculous!" Philippa strode forward and smacked my arm. "You will go into debt and ruin yourself. And that will bring disgrace on the family."

I yelped and quickly moved away from her. To be fair, it didn't really hurt, but it felt like the thing to say. "Philly! What was that for?"

"You have to promise me!" she insisted, putting her hands on her hips. "It would break Mama's heart if you landed yourself in debtor's prison! Don't you think she has enough to worry about without you adding to it?"

Her dramatic proclamation made me laugh again. "Alright, alright. f you really need me to make such a promise, I will give it to you. I won't squander what little fortune I possess by gambling it away," I told her. "Let lightning strike me down if I go back on my word!"

Philippa stamped her foot in frustration. "Lucas, this is a serious matter! You shouldn't be laughing about this!"

"Why wouldn't I laugh? It's ridiculous that anyone would think I would do what you are suggesting. I can't believe that you even thought of it in the first place."

"No, it isn't ridiculous!" Philippa said, scowling at me. "You know it happens! Everyone says it happens. You might see it as just harmless fun or an easy source of income, but it's not. It will ruin you."

What would she say if I told her I knew someone who did earn his way with card games? It was someone who managed to do very well for himself and had avoided ruin. But that wasn't my secret to tell, and it wouldn't help appease her. If she wanted me to be serious, I would be serious.

"I'm not denying it happens," I said honestly, reining in my levity. "It's very sad that there are young people who think that they can live by luck. Personally, I have never done so and have no intention of starting now."

"But you won this property in a game of cards! What kind of card game has estates as the prize?" she countered, waving her hand to encompass all of Pearsend. "This kind of win will only make you think you can do it again!"

She didn't sound like herself, but I guessed where she may have heard these words before. They were words eerily similar to those I'd read recently. "Is this what Father has been saying?"

As soon as I saw the redness spreading across her cheeks, I knew that my comment had struck a nerve. Suddenly it wasn't funny anymore. "It doesn't matter who said what if it is true," she said defensively. "You have to give me your solemn promise, Lucas. No laughing."

At that moment, I didn't have any desire to laugh. I also wasn't about to be dictated to by my little sister. She was jumping to conclusions without knowing the full story.

"Since I didn't make myself clear enough earlier, I'll repeat myself," I said, fighting to keep my voice even. "This is my home, and I am in charge here. That means it is rude for someone else to come under this roof and start making demands."

"I'm not-"

I interrupted her protest. "No, Philippa, I'm not done yet. I know you mean well, however, you need to stop trying to force me to do anything. It is not your place to demand anything from me, family or not."

Her eyes were wide. "I'm just—"

"No. Just nothing. You've said what you thought you had to say," I interrupted again. "I've heard you but this ridiculous idea doesn't deserve any more consideration or thought. We're done with this topic."

"Lucas, you must understand why—"

"Must?" I repeated sharply. "More demands, Philippa? I said we're done, and I mean it. We're not going to talk about it anymore. You've seen the rooms on this floor. Let's go up to the next."

Turning on my heel, I walked briskly towards the door. "Are you coming?" I asked over my shoulder.

"Yes," she said, her tone subdued. She followed me into the hallway.

Under different circumstances, I might have felt guilty for being the cause for her lowered spirits. However, my patience with her had run out. She needed to learn to think before she spoke. Being siblings didn't give her the right to say whatever she pleased without consequences. The sooner she learned that, the more comfortable she would find life in general.