“Where’s Deirdre?”

Mrs. Engel’s impression of Brendan had sunk to its nadir. Had he not been her employer, she would have ignored him as though he did not exist. “She’s in her room.”

“Hmm.”

He sounded so non-committal and nonchalant it irritated Mrs. Engel enough to speak out. “Mr. Brigthall, Charlene McKinney arrived and told me to prepare a guest room for her. She said she’s going to stay here for a few days!”

“She’s here already?” Brendan remarked flatly. There was no sign to paint his reaction to lean either joy or disgust. In fact, it sounded as if he had been expecting it to happen. “Her injury hasn’t healed yet, and I’m not usually at home. You should pay some attention to it while you can.”

Mrs. Engel was appalled. “And you don’t think this is unfair to Miss McKinnon, Mr. Brighthall? She’s pregnant with your child, sir, while you invite Charlene to stride into a house that belongs to the both of you as if—”

“Is dinner ready?” Brendan suddenly interjected.

She froze. “Y-