Tolerable until now. Trust Ursula to have so little self-control as to ruin the peace mere minutes in. His wine was yet untouched on the side table; he had taken up a book but had scarcely found his page again before she had begun whinging.

He raised an eyebrow at her, relieved only that there was no one else to hear the insolent way she had spoken to him. “Three days and you already cannot tolerate me?” Phineas drawled, because she had certainly made it sound as though she meant to be rid of him as soon as possible. “I might remind you that this is my house.” He frowned at her – for if anyone were aligned with a guest who had overstayed their welcome, it was not him. “But if you have plans you suppose I will impede by being here,” Phineas added, acidly, “pray don’t let that stop you.” What did she mean to do with herself? Embark on another sordid affair?

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