“No, he could not. But it would help ever so much if he had at one point filled that role.”
His eyes darting from one of them to the other, Mr. Phelps said, “I cannot imagine there is but one person in all of England who fits that description.”
There was nothing simple about the arrangement they were considering. The consequences of this decision would, as so many others had, be borne by Gillian.
“Would you actually consider taking me on in this capacity?” Mr. Phelps asked. “I did lose my own house, you’ll remember.”
“Did you lose it out of neglect or irresponsibility?”
Mr. Phelps shook his head. “I inherited debts I was unable to get ahead of, though I managed to remain afloat for fifteen years.”
Inherited debts. That was painfully familiar. “Then I suspect you are unlikely to be wasteful in your use of a household’s resources.”
“Not wasteful in the least.” Mr. Phelps looked excited, something Scott didn’t think he’d ever seen before. “I would do an excellent job running Thimbleby. Your tenants would have no complaints. Your money would be wisely spent.”
Scott held a hand up to urge caution. “Nothing, absolutely nothing, will be decided without Gillian.”
Mrs. Brownlow and Mr. Phelps both looked a little ashamed at having once again pushed ahead with an idea that impacted Gillian without thinking to consult her.
Fate chose that moment to be kind. Scott could hear women’s voices. Gillian, he hoped, was one of them.
“I will return directly,” he told Mrs. Brownlow and Mr. Phelps, then slipped from the room.
Sarah and Gillian both stood in the entryway, removing their rain-dampened outer layers and laughing about something. How quickly they had become friends. Scott had every hope that they would, given time, become like sisters as well.
“Scott.” Sarah grinned at him. “What brings you here? Had you heard Gillian and I were having a glorious adventure in a downpour, and you were consumed with jealousy?”
Under normal circumstances, he would have joined in the jest, but his thoughts were focused on the possibility that loomed before them. “Do you have a few minutes, Gillian?”
Her smile slipped into an expression of concern. “Is something the matter?”
He shook his head but was apparently not terribly convincing. Both ladies looked worried. He could not explain precisely why he needed to talk with Gillian, but neither did he wish for either of them to be distressed. A bit of teasing seemed called for. Through tight teeth, as if being forced to reveal a great secret, Scott said to Sarah, “I am attempting to play the gallant rescuing knight, and you are ruining it.”
“If you are playing the brave knight to Gillian’s damsel in apparent distress, does that make me the dragon?” Sarah offered a clearly feigned look of offense.
“I cannot help that the role suits you so well.”
Sarah swatted at him.
“Run, Gillian,” Scott instructed, taking her hand. “The dragon is rampaging.”
“Brothers are such a bother,” Sarah called after him as he hurried with Gillian in the direction of the dining room.
It was not a long distance to cover, and they were almost immediately at the door, which was all but closed.
“What is actually going on?” Gillian asked in a whisper.
“An unexpected idea, a possibility, has arisen, and we need your thoughts.”
“We?” she asked.
He nodded. “Mrs. Brownlow and I and . . . Mr. Walker.”
She stiffened a little. “His ideas are not always good ones.”
“This idea was Mrs. Brownlow’s, and it’s not terrible.”
Gillian’s fingers wrapped more tightly around his. “Sounds as though I would do well to hear it.”