“Monsieur,” Rob called in hopes of capturing his attention.
The dark, narrowed gaze swung in his direction as the chef dropped his hand. “My lord. You are here about the meringue, non?”
“No,” Rob allowed, venturing farther into the sunny room. “Was there a problem with the meringue too?”
Antoine rolled his eyes heavenward as if begging the good Lord for patience. “The meringue was flat at dinner last night. I would not have served it, but your sister insisted. You have come to discharge me for the offense, oui?”
“No,” Rob repeated. “I didn’t notice, and it certainly isn’t an offense worthy of discharge. Elizabeth asked me to talk to you about the menu for the dinner party tomorrow. I understand there is a problem.”
He strode to the other end of the worktable, sending two of his assistants scuttling out of his way, snatched up a stained piece of parchment, and shook it at Rob. “Trout, she says. There are none. None! I have asked, I have pleaded, I have thundered! There are no sea trout in Grace-by-the-Sea.”
He tried to imagine his father dealing with such vitriol and failed. Still, he was the viscount. He must maintain a calm, reasoned demeanor.
“Since there are no sea trout,” Rob said, “feel free to substitute something else.”
“Sub-sub-substitute?” the man sputtered, face turning a dangerous shade of red. The last assistant grabbed a mixing bowl and backed out of reach.
Antoine stalked up to Rob and shook his boney finger at him. “I do not substitute. The menu calls for sea trout, we have sea trout. The recipe asks for the piece to be served au gratin, it shall be served au gratin. Anything less is anarchy.”
Rob seized the fellow’s finger and held it in place. “I don’t mind a little anarchy.”
Antoine tried to pull back, but Rob clung fast. Such a display, however provoked, might not be worthy of his father’s legacy, but it certainly felt good.
“Unhand me, sir!” the chef blustered, dark eyes beginning to look alarmed.
“When you have offered me an alternative to sea trout,” Rob said pleasantly.
Antoine glared at him, as if he thought the look would set Rob’s hair on fire. Rob smiled at him.
“Bass,” Antoine snapped. “It is in season and plentiful, and the flavor will pair well with the lobster sauce.”
Rob released him. “Excellent. Is there anything else I can do to help?”
“Get. Out. Of. My. Kitchen.”
Rob made a show of glancing around. “Your kitchen. I must remember that next time I’m issuing leases. Bon jour, monsieur.”
He thought something slammed into the door as he shut it behind him.
“Start looking for a new chef,” he told Elizabeth as he passed her in the corridor.
Her face fell. “Oh, Rob, you didn’t discharge him.”
“Not yet,” Rob said. “But if that is any example of his behavior, I will, as soon as this dinner with Hester is over.”
Because even a man like his father could be pushed too far.
Chapter Fourteen
Hester drew in a deep breath as the Peverell coach set off for the Lodge Tuesday evening. Rob had sent the white-lacquered carriage with its gold appointments for them as if she and her mother were visiting dignitaries from a foreign country. Though her mother sat beside her on the blue velvet seat, Rebecca had reluctantly consented to remain behind.
“Just make sure you bring home a father,” her daughter had said. “We could have a wedding like Aunt Rosemary’s, and I could carry flowers this time.”
She’d kissed Rebecca on the top of her silky hair. “Going to dinner with Lord Peverell does not mean a wedding is coming soon.”
Though it certainly felt that way.
Her mother definitely thought as much. “Be sure to agree with his opinions,” she advised as they started across the Downs. “Men like that.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter what I like,” Hester said, leaning back against the squabs with a sigh.
“Of course it matters,” her mother argued. “But it will matter more after you’re married.”
Once she might have taken the advice. Now she knew better. She had only spent a short time with Jasper before he’d sailed off and been killed, but she understood that good marriages were made of give and take, consensus, and action. She would not be shy about telling Rob what she thought, on any subject.
The carriage rocked, and her mother frowned out at the twilight. “Wind’s coming up.”
Hester could see it too. The leaves she’d noticed on Saturday were flying past. Trees, bare and lonely, whipped back and forth against the sky.
Tempting to suggest that they send their regrets, but she wouldn’t last another few days of her mother’s fussing and her own wonderings.
A short distance from Upper Grace across the Downs, the Lodge perched atop the headland on the opposite side of Grace-by-the-Sea from Lord Howland’s castle. Nestled among trees, it was a ragged outline against the darkening sky.
“Not many lamps lit,” her mother commented as the coach rolled to a stop on the drive near the wide front door.
Indeed, most of the windows looked dark, the glass flickering as it reflected the torches near the front. Hester fought a shiver.
Ike Bascom, in the grey livery of the local employment agency, came out to help them alight. He offered Hester a grin before schooling his face and leading them toward the front door, even as the coach rumbled off into the twilight.
“Going to fetch the other guests,” Ike said as if he’d seen Hester’s look.
She glanced to her mother. “Then the Peverells are simply entertaining tonight.”
Her mother lifted her chin. “So he can make a declaration in public, no doubt.”
With a shake of her head, she stepped through the door Ike held open and into elegance.
The dark-wood paneling of the entry hall had been polished to such a high sheen she could see the ghost of her reflection as she moved deeper into the space. The coffered ceiling arched away above her. Was that copper between the beams? At the back of the hall, carved wood stairs led up and down into destinies unknown. The scents of lemon and lavender floated on the air.
Rob stepped from a room on the left. He’d dressed for the occasion, in a black tailcoat with velvet lapels, a white waistcoat patterned in lilies, and breeches buckled at his knees in gold. She was heartily glad her mother had insisted on wearing their finest. They hadn’t had time for new gowns, but they had retrimmed the dress from Rosemary’s wedding with lace and braid, and she thought she looked rather well in it.
The glow in Rob’s eyes said as much.
“Mrs. Denby, Hester, welcome,” he said, inclining his head so that the lamplight caught in his hair. “Would you care to join me and Elizabeth while we wait for the rest of our guests?”
He held out an arm to each of them, and her mother accepted his left with Hester on his right. Rob escorted them through a doorway that led into a gallery. They passed paintings of stern-faced gentlemen and serene ladies with hair and clothing of long ago before entering a withdrawing room with walls the color of persimmons. Gilt-edged panels framed paintings of hunting dogs, horses, and landscapes of the Downs.
Elizabeth, gowned in grey, was perched on a sofa with gold tassels along the edges. She patted the seat beside her. “Hester, dear, come sit with me. Mrs. Denby, I know you will favor the chair just there. I’m delighted you could join us.”
Hester went to sit, glad for her mother at her elbow on a satin-striped chair with lions leering from the arms. “I understand you are expecting others.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said brightly. “Lord Featherstone and Mr. Donner from the spa will be dining with us this evening.”
“Even numbers,” her mother muttered.
Hester knew the custom, though she had never felt bound by it. Then again, any special dinners at their house were generally reserved for family.
“Have you visited the Lodge before, Mrs.
Denby?” Elizabeth asked as Rob leaned against the white marble hearth. Hester fought to keep her gaze on their hostess.
“I haven’t had the opportunity,” her mother admitted. “It seems grander than I expected.”
“That’s because we are showing you our finest tonight,” Elizabeth assured her. She turned to her brother. “We have time. Why don’t we give Hester and her mother a more thorough tour?”
Rob eyed his sister. “Are you certain? The whole place is something of a maze, and we’ve only opened a handful of rooms for our stay this time.”
That sounded far too cautious for him. It was almost as if he thought his home wasn’t good enough for her.
“I wouldn’t mind a tour,” Hester put in.
Rob opened his mouth as if to protest further, but Elizabeth jumped in. “Excellent. I’ll just wait here for the other guests. I’m sure you can manage, Brother.”
Rob closed his mouth as if resigned and straightened away from the hearth. Hester rose, but her mother leaned back in her chair.
“Why, I would never be so unkind as to leave you, Miss Peverell. You go ahead, Hester.”
“Colluding,” Rob murmured as he moved to join Hester.
With a frown to her mother, she took his arm and let him lead her from the room.
“Do you not tire of the manipulations?” she asked as they ventured back down the long gallery.
“When it affords me a moment alone with you?” Rob asked. “Certainly not. I should thank your mother.”
Hester glanced back and spotted her mother and his sister craning their necks to watch. Catching her gaze, they quickly busied themselves in conversation.
“It is only a tour,” Hester said, returning her gaze to Rob. “Perhaps you could start by explaining more about these fine ladies and gentlemen on the wall.”
He stopped in front of a painting of a woman sitting in a high-backed chair, surrounded by three children of various ages. The lady’s hair was the color of Elizabeth’s, and her charming smile reminded Hester of Rob’s. The children appeared to adore her. The oldest boy, standing on one side, had his hand on her shoulder, expression serious, and the sunny-faced little girl in muslin at her right knee beamed up at her. Another boy stood at her left knee, but he looked out into the world, hazel gaze curiously vacant.
“This,” Rob said, “is my mother and her children.”
Hester frowned. “I recognize Elizabeth, and the older boy must be your brother, Thomas. If that last child is you, you must have changed a great deal as you grew.”
“Less than you might think,” he said. “At least, in demeanor. I found it difficult to stand still for the hours required for a proper portrait. Mother excused me. The painter finished my part of the piece from memory.”
“Then I must question his memory,” Hester said, privately wondering why Rob alone would be excused. “Though I suppose now that you’re the viscount, you can have your own portrait painted.”
He cut her a glance. “Perhaps when I have my viscountess beside me.”
Her cheeks were warming as she and Rob came out into the entry hall, where Ike was on duty. Seeing them, he snapped to attention.
“Now, what else can I show you of my monstrosity of a house?” Rob asked her. “My steward tells me we may have foundation issues in the crooked wing, so we should likely avoid that.”
Though Ike likely should be pretending he wasn’t listening, he nodded as if agreeing.
“Crooked wing?” Hester couldn’t help asking.
“The main block of the house, where we stand now, was built in the seventeenth century,” he explained. “Subsequent viscounts added a wing to the east and one to the west as well as an addition for a larger kitchen and more room for the servants. My grandfather contributed another wing that juts out from the southwest corner at a forty-five-degree angle. My parents, Thomas, and my steward call it the rear wing. Elizabeth named it the crooked wing when she was younger. The appellation suits the place.”
That sounded like a great deal of house. Hester glanced up the stairs. “Perhaps you could show me your favorite room.”
He nodded. “This way, then.”
They climbed to the next story, and he led her into another withdrawing room, where the lamps remained lit and a cheery fire warmed the white marble hearth. Unlike the one where Elizabeth had greeted her, this one had cool green walls and deeper green velvet drapes on either side of a bank of windows looking out into the night.
“The house includes three withdrawing rooms,” he told Hester, venturing deeper into the room. “This was my mother’s favorite. I sometimes feel as if she’s still here.”
“You were close to your mother too, then?” Hester asked, daring to put a finger to the Dresden porcelain shepherdess standing guard on a table near the striped sofa.
“Reasonably,” he said, leaning his hip against the sofa’s back where it bisected the space. “I didn’t share all my escapades with her, but she knew enough to chide me on occasion. She always urged me to find a purpose. I doubt she expected that purpose to be taking over Father’s responsibilities, and hers.”
His gaze was on the flat of the sofa, head cocked as if he imagined his mother seated there. “And if you hadn’t been elevated to viscount, what then? What did you expect your purpose to be?”
He glanced up at her, brow furrowed. “I hadn’t decided. The church seemed far too tame, the military too dangerous. In my heart, I knew I couldn’t continue as I was, but nothing more beckoned.”
“I know the feeling,” Hester confessed. “I always thought to be a wife and mother. I am a mother, though no longer a wife. I love teaching, but I ask myself what else might be in my future.”
“That’s it exactly.” He straightened away from the sofa. “I suppose I’ll never know now. My fate is sealed. Viscount Peverell.”
He said the word as if it tasted foul.
“Surely being a viscount isn’t so bad,” Hester commiserated. “You have Elizabeth. You have all this.”
“And two hundred people awaiting my every decision,” he reminded her.
“I’m sure they are capable of making a few decisions on their own,” she countered.
He sighed. “I hope so, for I’m not sure of the decisions I’m making.” He shifted on his feet. “How did you do it, Hester? How did you move beyond the tragedies—your father’s death, your husband’s?”
Hester shrugged. “I suppose I just did what must be done.”
“Fortitude,” he said. “The ability to rise above life’s challenges.”
She could not see herself as so noble. “It wasn’t as if I had the luxury of choice.”
“Neither do I,” he said.
Hester rallied. “You have choices. You can choose where to live, how to use your income for the good of others. Look what you did for our school.”
“A whim,” he confessed. “I was hoping to impress you.”
She almost slipped into his earnest gaze. “You have, Rob.”
He leaned closer, and all at once his lips were brushing hers again, softly gently, there and gone, like the sweetest of dreams.
From downstairs came the sound of voices. The time for confidences had passed. She stepped back from him.
He moved around the sofa. “Unless I miss my guess, the others have arrived. Shall we?” He offered her his arm.
Hester accepted it and accompanied him toward the door, but she was certain their conversation, and his kiss, would stay with her for some time to come.
~~~
How fine to have a moment for just the two of them. That she’d allowed his kiss said she’d forgiven him for his lack of response on the Downs. Elizabeth had said this party would allow him to see how Hester fit into their world. He would not be able to enter his mother’s withdrawing room without seeing Hester there as well. With great reluctance, he returned her to the formal withdrawing room, where Elizabeth had decided to welcome everyone.
Lord Featherstone and Donner had arrived,
and greetings were exchanged all around. Like Rob, the baron was dressed in his evening black, satin lapels catching the light as he bowed over Mrs. Denby’s hand.
Donner was in grey, white breeches buckled at the knee in silver and a cravat with a fold far more complicated than Rob’s valet had ever attempted. Rob watched his sister as Donner greeted her, but Elizabeth’s smile seemed no brighter than it had been when she’d welcomed Hester and her mother. Certainly, she and Donner gave off no sparks of interest.
Unlike him and Hester.
Whoever spoke as they all sat conversing, whatever was said, his attentions kept coming back to her. The way she smiled when her mother mentioned Rebecca. The way her fingers tucked back a honey-thick curl behind one ear, making him wish he’d been the one to do so. Her sweet laugh at a quip from Lord Featherstone, raising his smile as well.
He’d told her things on their short tour he’d never intended to share with another soul, and it felt right. As if they had found their way back to each other.
It was a good thing they only had a short time to converse before Bascom came to announce that dinner was ready to be served, or Rob might have found a way to kiss her again.
As it was, he made sure to offer his arm to her before Lord Featherstone could beat him to it. “Mrs. Todd, if I may?”
She tucked her hand in his elbow. “Delighted, my lord.”
Behind them, he heard the baron offering to escort her mother and Donner asking after Elizabeth.
“Very clever of your sister,” Hester whispered as Rob led her back down the gallery for the entry hall. “A gentleman for each lady.”
He grinned at her. “The right gentleman for each lady.”
Her cheeks turned pink.
He led them all down the staircase to the ground floor dining room. Elizabeth was right to call it cavernous. Here too, the walls were paneled in squares of wood, but the floor was flagstone, and the dining table could easily seat twenty. A more intimate number of place settings had been gathered at one end. Glass-paned doors at the other end of the room led out into the rear yard.
The Lady's Second-Chance Suitor Page 14
