"Sir Phillip," Gunning said, clearing his throat. "We have a caller."

"A caller?" Phillip echoed. "Was that the source of the, ah..."

"Noise?" Gunning supplied helpfully.

"Yes."

"No." The butler cleared his throat. "That would have been your children."

"I see," Phillip murmured. "How silly of me to have hoped otherwise."

"I don't believe they broke anything, sir."

"That's a relief and a change."

"Indeed, sir, but there is the caller to consider."

Phillip groaned. Who on earth was visiting at this time of the morning? It wasn't like they were used to receiving callers even during reasonable hours.

Gunning attempted a smile, but one could see that he was out of practice. "We used to have callers, do you recall?"

That was the problem with butlers who'd worked for the family since before one was born. They tended to think highly of sarcasm.

"Who is this caller?"

"I'm not entirely certain, sir."

"You're not certain?" Phillip asked disbelievingly.

"I didn't inquire."

"Isn't that what butlers are meant to do?"

"Inquire, sir?"

"Yes," Phillip ground out, wondering if Gunning was trying to see how red in the face his employer could get without actually collapsing to the floor in an apoplectic fit.

"I thought I'd let you inquire, sir."

"You thought you'd let me inquire." This one came out as a statement, Phillip having realized the futility of asking questions.

"Yes, sir. She's here to see you, after all."

"So are all of our callers, and that has never stopped you from ascertaining their identities before."

"Well, actually, sira""

"I'm quite certaina"" Phillip tried to interrupt.

"We don't have callers, sir," Gunning finished, quite clearly winning the conversational battle.

Phillip opened his mouth to point out that they did have callers, there was one downstairs that very moment; but really, what was the point? "Fine," he said, thoroughly irritated. "I'll go downstairs."

Gunning beamed. "Excellent, sir."

Phillip stared at his butler in shock. "Are you unwell, Gunning?"

"No, sir. Why do you ask, sir?"

It didn't seem quite polite to point out that the broad smile made Gunning look a bit like a horse, so Phillip just muttered, "It's nothing," and headed down the stairs.

A caller? Who would be calling? No one had come to visit in nearly a year, since the neighbors had finished making their obligatory condolence calls. He supposed he couldn't really blame them for staying away; the last time one of them had come to visit, Oliver and Amanda had smeared strawberry jam on the chairs.

Lady Winslet had left in a fit of temper quite beyond anything Phillip would have thought healthy for a woman of her years.

Phillip frowned as he reached the bottom of the stairs and turned into the entry hall. It was a she, wasn't it? Hadn't Gunning said his visitor was a she?

Who the devila"

He stopped short; stumbled, even.

Because the woman standing in his entry hall was young, and quite pretty, and when she looked up to meet his gaze, he saw that she had the largest, most achingly beautiful gray eyes he'd ever seen.

He could drown in those eyes.

And Phillip did not, as one might imagine, even think the word drown lightly.

CHAPTER 2.

... and then, I'm sure you will not be surprised to hear, I talked far too much. I simply couldn't stop talking, but I suppose that is what I do when I am nervous.

One can only hope I have less cause for nerves as the rest of my life unfolds.

a"from Eloise Bridgerton to her brother Colin, upon the occasion of Eloise's debut into London society.

Then she opened her mouth.

"Sir Phillip?" she asked, and before he even had a chance to nod in the affirmative, she said, at quite the speed of lightning, "I'm so terribly sorry to arrive unannounced, but I really had no other option, and to be honest, if I'd sent notice, it probably would have arrived behind me, making the notice really quite moot, as I'm sure you'll agree, and ..."

Phillip blinked, certain he was supposed to be following what she was saying but no longer able to make out where one word ended and the next began.

"... a long journey, and I'm afraid I didn't sleep, and so I must beg you to forgive my appearance and..."

She was making him dizzy. Would it be rude if he sat down?

"... didn't bring very much, but I had no choice, and..."

This had clearly gone on far too long, with no sign, in truth, that it would ever end. If he allowed her to speak for one moment longer, he was quite certain that he would suffer an inner ear imbalance, or perhaps she would swoon from lack of breath and hit her head on the floor. Either way, one of them would be injured and in debilitating pain.

"Madam," he said, clearing his throat.

If she heard him, she gave no indication, instead saying something about the coach that had apparently conveyed her to his doorstep.

"Madam," he said, a little louder this time.

"... but then Ia"" She looked up, blinking those devastating gray eyes at him, and for a moment he felt frighteningly off balance. "Yes?" she asked.

Now that he had her attention, he seemed to have forgotten why he'd sought it. "Er," he asked, "who are you?"

She stared at him for a good five seconds, her lips parting with surprise, and then she finally answered, "Eloise Bridgerton, of course."

Eloise was fairly certain she was talking too much, and she knew she was talking too fast, but she tended to do that when she was nervous, and while she prided herself on the fact that she was rarely nervous, now seemed like a rather deserving time to explore that emotion, and besides, Sir Phillipa"if indeed he was the large bear of a man standing before hera"was not at all what she had expected.

"You're Eloise Bridgerton?"

She looked up into his gaping face and felt the first stirrings of annoyance. "Well, of course I am. Who else would I be?"

"I could not possibly imagine."

"You did invite me," she pointed out.

"And you did not respond to my invitation," he returned.

She swallowed. He had a point there. A rather large one, if one wanted to be fair, which she didn't. Not just then, anyway.

"I didn't really have the opportunity," she hedged, and then, when it seemed from his expression that that wasn't enough explanation, she added, "as I mentioned when I spoke earlier."

He stared at her for longer than made her comfortable, his dark eyes inscrutable, and then he said, "I didn't understand a word you said."

She felt her mouth form an oval of... surprise? No, annoyance. "Weren't you listening?" she asked.

"I tried."

Eloise pursed her lips. "Very well, then," she said, counting to five in her heada"in Latina"before adding, "My apologies.

I am sorry to have arrived unannounced. It was dreadfully ill-bred of me."

He was silent for a full three secondsa"Eloise counted that as wella"before saying, "I accept your apology."

She cleared her throat.

"And of course"a"he coughed, glancing around as if in search of someone who might save him from hera""I am delighted that you are here."

It would probably be impolite to point out that he sounded anything but delighted, so Eloise just stood there, staring at his right cheekbone as she tried to decide what she could say without insulting him.

Eloise considered it a sad state of affairs that shea" who generally had something to say for any occasiona"couldn't think of a thing.

Luckily, he saved their awkward silence from growing to monumental proportions by asking, "Is this all of your luggage?"

Eloise straightened her shoulders, delighted to move on to a comparatively trivial topic. "Yes. I didn't reallya"" She broke herself off. Did she really need to tell him that she'd stolen away from home in the middle of the night? It didn't seem to speak well of her, or of her family, for that matter. She wasn't sure why, but she didn't want him to know that she had, for all intents and purposes, run away. She wasn't certain why she thought so, but she had a distinct feeling that if he knew the truth, he'd pack her up and send her back to London posthaste. And while her meeting with Sir Phillip had not thus far proven to be the stuff of romance and bliss she'd imagined it to be, she was not yet prepared to give up.

Especially when that meant running back to her family with her tail between her legs.

"This is all I have," she said firmly.

"Good. I, er..." He looked around again, this time a little desperately, which Eloise did not find flattering in the least. "Gunning!"

he bellowed.

The butler appeared so quickly that he must have been eavesdropping. "Yes, sir?"

"We ... ah ... need to prepare a room for Miss Bridgerton."

"I have already done so," Gunning assured him.

Sir Phillip's cheeks colored slightly. "Good," he grunted. "She will be staying here for..." He looked to her in askance.

"A fortnight," she supplied, hoping that was about the right amount of time.

"A fortnight/' Sir Phillip reiterated as if the butler wouldn't have heard her reply. "We will do everything in our power to make her comfortable, of course."

"Of course," the butler agreed.

"Good," Sir Phillip said, still looking somewhat uncomfortable with the entire situation. Or if not uncomfortable, precisely, then perhaps weary, which might have been even worse.

Eloise was disappointed. She'd pictured him as a man of easy charm, rather like her brother Colin, who possessed a dashing smile and always knew what to say in any situation, awkward or otherwise.

Sir Phillip, on the other hand, looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else but where he was, which Eloise did not find encouraging, as his present surroundings included her. And what's more, he was supposed to be making at least some effort to make her acquaintance and determine if she would make him an acceptable wife.

And his efforts had better be good ones indeed, because if it was true that first impressions were the most accurate, she rather doubted that she would determine that he would make an acceptable husband.

She smiled at him through gritted teeth.

"Would you like to sit down?" he blurted out.

"That would be quite pleasing, thank you."

He looked around with a blank expression on his face, giving Eloise the impression he barely knew his way around his own house. "Here," he mumbled, motioning to a door at the end of the hall, "the drawing room."

Gunning coughed.

Sir Phillip looked at him and scowled.