by Renée Dahlia
‘I’m sure that opinion does you credit,’ said St. George. Josephine heard the smooth response and wondered what his real thoughts were. The only signal that the comment had any effect on him was a slight flush on the bridge of his nose.
The small noises in the room rang loud in her ears. A rustle of the table cloth. The ding of cutlery tapping together. Voices everywhere in an endless hum. She straightened the napkin. Even the linen against her fingertips made a scratching noise as the tension between the two rivals notched upwards. She had to break the silence. She lifted her chin and focused on Marie, seated opposite her.
‘You’d hardly recognise the hall with all these decorations. The organising committee has done a fabulous job,’ she said.
‘I will pass your compliment on to Vice Chancellor de Groot. He will be delighted at your praise,’ replied Marie. The polite tones in her friend’s voice settled on her. Her shoulders relaxed, not all the way, but enough that she could cease her destruction of the napkin. The well-trained footmen brought out the first course. The tension at the table dissipated as everyone’s attention focused on the food.
‘Local Zeeland oysters from the Eastern Scheldt on a bed of sea salt with a white wine vinaigrette,’ one announced as the plates were placed in front of each guest.
‘A natural aphrodisiac, you know.’ Josephine’s face burnt as St. George’s words landed on her ear in a naughty whisper. All the previous tension melted away and she gave him a coy look. A pretty dress, a glass of wine and flattering company was all it took for her to turn into a flirtatious female. Coy. When had she ever managed to look coy at anyone? Some part of her, deep inside, wanted to roll her eyes at herself. In an instant, she enjoyed this evening more than any society dinner she’d ever attended in her past.
The table silenced while everyone partook of the oysters, and then the conversation hummed again with appreciation. The plates were removed quickly and wine glasses topped up by the efficient staff. Josephine leant back as the chatter flowed around her. The rest of the table couldn’t contain their curiosity about St. George. They pelted him with questions. Questions that illustrated that many of them were from well-to-do trading backgrounds and had spent little time with aristocrats. She wasn’t even sure if they had the same system here as in England.
Another course arrived. Smoked freshwater trout on a crisp potato base with a side of asparagus. St. George steered the conversation around the table, able to get everyone to talk about themselves and deflect them from being too curious about him. Josephine watched how he achieved this and discovered yet another of his talents. At this rate, she would fall at his feet with gratitude by the end of the fifth course. It wouldn’t do. She turned to Van Percy to make a polite remark and distract herself. It wasn’t the best option, given Van Percy’s interest in her, but she needed some space from St. George. Perhaps she might garner some clue as to Van Percy’s sudden interest in her.
‘Sir, I would have thought you’d want to be seated with the other professors, rather than here with your students. It’s quite progressive of you,’ she said. His eyes were hard as flint as she spoke, and she looked away. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him stroke his moustache.
‘A career is not built from sitting at the main table at a function like this. No-one wants to talk business. They tediously discuss their favourite wines and all their wives can manage to discuss is fashion. I would rather they see me here where the situation illustrates that my students matter to me,’ he stated.
‘You seek to give the impression that at a dinner for the students, you care about the students and therefore are dedicated to their futures,’ she said. Her finger traced the edge of the napkin. This was a bad idea.
‘Your understanding of this matter is, naturally, why I believe we should discuss our future together. Let me say this. For a female, you are quite astute and thus will be a great help-mate to my career.’ Josephine’s skin went cold. The hair on the back of her neck raised as he pushed his agenda. One tiny compliment, a matter of politeness really, and he immediately reminded her that he only viewed her as a rung in his career ladder. Useful only as a means to his end. He didn’t even pretend to want her as a person. She scrunched the napkin between her clammy palms. She sucked in a breath through her nostrils and lifted her chin.
‘Sir, you will need to look elsewhere. St. George and I have an understanding.’ Her voice pitched higher than normal. She shifted in her seat. The layers of her gown bunched underneath her. Dread pooled in her stomach and she wanted to hug herself. Only years of her aunt’s etiquette training kept her upright in her chair.
‘Tell me, precisely, how did you two meet?’ The sneer in his voice sent a chill over her shoulders. He raised his voice and aimed his comment at the whole table. ‘Miss Tobinbury has been a diligent student for the last four years here. I can’t imagine how she had the opportunity to meet someone like you.’
Josephine snuck a quick look at St. George. How could he grin in the face of such confrontation? She lifted her head and focused on him. The corners of his eyes were crinkled with laugh lines, yet there was a hardness there too. The smile was a brilliant fake. Just like this romance. She sipped her wine. They had arrived at the moment of truth, or more like, the moment of lies. Where her non-existent story telling skills needed to emerge.
‘It was at …’ she started.
‘I remember the precise moment …’ Nicholas spoke simultaneously. Josephine ducked her head again and took a big breath while Nicholas just carried on, right over the top.
‘Last Christmas, my boss invited me to his annual Christmas party. I walked in the room and saw the most gorgeous woman standing in the corner next to my boss. I thought, naturally, such a beautiful lady would be taken, and by the boss as well. The boss waved at me, and I walked over only for him to introduce Miss Tobinbury as his daughter. From that very moment, the first moment that I met her, I knew I would marry her,’ he said. His voice warmed the chill left on her skin by Van Percy and her head swung towards him. A hint of cinnamon grazed her nose. His scent and his voice settled on her. The churn in her stomach abated.
‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ she said. She shook her head slightly.
‘So modest, my darling. Even after all this time, and so many letters, you remain unaware of your impact on me,’ said St. George. He leant closer to her and reached out for her hand, brushing his fingers across her knuckles. The lightest of touches and her skin came alive. She tightened her lips as a sigh of pleasure threatened to escape. How could she be so affected by that tiny touch?
‘Do recall where you are, Lord St. George,’ she rebuked. Her face was hot. A mix of sensation and embarrassment that spread from her nose out to her ears and across her scalp.
Marie’s laugh tinkled out across the table. The sound had Josephine jerking her head up again, only to realise that Marie was fully focused on Bertrand. The next course arrived. A welcome interruption. Pork rillettes with candied fennel, potato mash and a verjuice dressing. The Dutch obsession with potatoes highlighted by the richness of the pork.
Chapter 9
Nicholas stabbed his pork as he contemplated his next move. Josephine had blushed in blotches as he told the fake tale of their meeting. Her colour had gone from rash red to pale at the attention. He had hoped that yesterday’s unplanned kiss would remove some of the sexual tension between them. His hopes were unrealised. If anything, it had made their interactions more intense. He could tell that it had taken all her control not to snatch her hand away from his when he had brushed it just now. If he continued down the road of slowly opening her eyes to her sensual possibilities, he couldn’t do it in such a public setting. Her responses were too fresh and innocent given how long they had supposedly known each other. If he wasn’t careful, her fresh innocence would give them away.
He needed a new strategy. He nodded to his neighbour and spoke loud enough for most at the table to hear. ‘So are you in the same classes as my fiancée Miss
Tobinbury?’ Before the young man could answer, the Vice Chancellor’s secretary called the room to attention.
‘Thank you all for attending this dinner. I would like to present Mr de Groot, the Vice Chancellor of the Municipal University of Amsterdam to say a few words to our graduating classes for 1887.’
Mr de Groot stood and everyone clapped politely.
‘In this, our 255th year, I’d like to welcome all our professors and students to our annual graduating dinner. Since our inception in 1632, we have seen many changes. We are now into our tenth year as the Municipal University of Amsterdam. As you all know, this institution was previously called the Athenuem Illustre, and has a long history in teaching medical sciences. Over the last ten years, we have gained valuable funding from the city council allowing the university to flourish. The number of subjects offered has grown substantially and the quality of our graduates across all fields is very exciting. One of the most significant of those changes has been the acceptance of female students among our intake, and we are proud to count among our distinguished graduates Dr Aletta Jacobs from our Faculty of Medicine. Our first female graduate some eight years ago and from that small start, we have grown to include several feminine faces present at our dinner tonight across our seven different faculties. Other universities around the world are following in our footsteps. Take pride that the Municipal University of Amsterdam leads the way to a brighter future for all.’
The room erupted in cheers. Mr de Groot bowed and sat down. The footmen leapt into action bringing the next course to the tables. Roasted duck breast with sweetcorn and turnips. Turnip greens and shaved beets formed a fanciful crown on the top of the crispy duck skin. The footmen whisked away old white wine glasses and replaced them with crystals filled with French Shiraz.
‘Are you alright?’ whispered Nicholas. Josephine was pale. She hadn’t started to eat this course and her shoulders were tense, shrunk together as if she could squeeze herself into less space. She gave the tiniest of nods in response. If he hadn’t been so attuned to her, he would have missed it. Around the table, people finished this next course and started to talk again. The noise level lifted and Nicholas took the opportunity to lean in closer to Josephine.
‘Are you sure? Should we go for a walk and get some air?’
***
Josephine closed her eyes as she felt his breath on her ear. She had to concentrate fiercely to ensure her body didn’t shiver in response to his proximity. To cover this, she cleared her throat.
‘Yes, perhaps that might be a good idea,’ she said.
‘I will come too,’ interjected Van Percy. ‘I don’t think it would be appropriate for you to walk alone with Lord St. George.’ Josephine’s nostrils flared as she pulled in a deep breath. She opened her mouth to refuse everyone.
‘No, I will go. I also feel like some air. Bertrand?’ said Marie. Josephine leapt out of her seat. St. George rose and she tucked her arm under his, sorely tempted to lean on him. Instead, she held herself tense. Distant from him.
With Bertrand and Marie, the four walked to the side of the hall. Nicholas opened a side door and they stepped out onto a balcony and into the fresh night air.
‘Perhaps this was a mistake,’ Josephine stuttered as the frigid winter wind hit her uncovered arms. ‘This is far too cold for any sane person. I feel much better now, and I wouldn’t want anyone to miss any of the dinner on my behalf.’
‘We will visit the necessary and then rejoin you men at the table,’ said Marie in a voice that didn’t allow for a refusal. Marie grabbed Josephine’s arm away from St. George and together they swept back inside before the men had a chance to respond.
‘Come along. You obviously need to talk,’ whispered Marie.
‘Yes,’ Josephine whispered back as they stomped down the hallway together. ‘Where is Claire? Why wasn’t she at our table?’
‘Father wanted to spread us between all the medical faculty tables rather than group us together. I convinced him to seat me with you as I told him you were shy and required one of us near you to inspire some social confidence. I hope you don’t mind. Of course at the time I was just thinking of ensuring you weren’t left with the professor. It was all decided before we met Lord St. George.’
Josephine halted and watched St. George as he walked with Bertrand back to their table. Bertrand paled next to St. George who was the epitome of male elegance, all dressed for the dinner. His previously informal wear had been replaced with a black jacket, white shirt, subtle grey waistcoat, and perfectly crafted cravat. His valet must have spent hours polishing his boots to a mirror finish. It wasn’t just the clothes that were extraordinary. He had tidied his hair, removing the lock that normally escaped over his forehead. His freshly shaved face accentuated the strong line of his jaw. If she had thought him impossibly handsome before, and a terrible threat to her sense of self-preservation, she had no hope now. He was simply magnificent.
Josephine sucked in a big breath and let it out slowly as she allowed Marie to steer her away from the dining hall.
‘I just need some time away from all the tension.’ She heard Marie giggle. ‘I’m not much for society. I can’t seem to be polite and keep to the acceptable topics of conversation.’
‘Throw in a couple of men vying for your attention and the difficulties increase. I love this sort of thing, voices all interacting and conversation flowing freely around the table,’ said Marie. Josephine frowned. She didn’t love that at all.
‘As much as I love this, I can see why you don’t. Should I try to swap seats when we get back?’ asked Marie. Josephine smiled at her friend, grateful that she understood.
‘No, it’s fine. There shouldn’t be many courses left. I will muddle through.’
‘If that is what you want. Anyway, Lord St. George is very entertaining. His stories are marvellous, although one wonders how much of it is real and how much he invents for the sake of the story,’ said Marie.
‘Yes, one wonders.’ Josephine smiled. She had enjoyed those moments when she could relax and listen to Nicholas tell stories. Then there were the times she bantered with him. She enjoyed those most of all.
The two friends walked for a few minutes in silence.
‘Let’s go back. I think I am ready enough,’ Josephine said.
‘Perfect,’ said Marie. ‘It must be time for the dessert course.’
As they approached the table, the air vibrated with tension between St. George and Van Percy. The two men faced each other across Josephine’s empty chair with frowns on their faces. Josephine wanted to stamp her foot. A childish response to their childish fight. Couldn’t these men at least play at politeness for the few minutes that she was away from the table? She didn’t ask to be put amid this invented contest for her favours. She could decide for herself.
Nicholas broke the tense silence and spoke with cold, precise diction. His bright blue eyes no longer glittered with laughter. They were ice hard.
‘I will make myself clear. You have no claim on Miss Tobinbury, and you will keep your distance from her.’
Josephine brushed down her dress at the sight of Nicholas putting Van Percy in his place. In that moment, he ceased to be the insouciant, charming never-do-well that he had shown to date, and gave a hint of the more intense man hidden under that mask. She should have expected it. Handpicked by her father, who was no fool. To see Nicholas all fierce for her flooded her with sensation. It pooled in her stomach. It hadn’t been easy to dismiss him when he was just a charming fake fiancé. That guise had a certain appeal. This glimpse of his other capabilities reached down inside Josephine to a place of deep respect.
‘Ahh, here you are, my dear,’ said Nicholas. His whole body switched instantly to his typical charming mask. His face gave the impression of latent strength, and of course his eyes gleamed as they looked at her. His gaze roamed all over her skin. It left behind prickles of sensation. The kiss they had previously shared added to the intensity of the moment, as if he had reached for
her and it was his hands on her rather than just his gaze. A wave of heat caressed her skin as his gaze drifted lazily back to her face and held her eyes captive.
He held out her chair in a motion that insinuated his ownership over her. She bristled at the idea and halted. He smiled as if he could see the turmoil inside her. She sat and he leant in for yet another unnerving whisper.
‘It’s a performance. Relax. He needs to see that you are relaxed with me.’
She slowly let out the breath she had been holding in, and smiled politely to the whole table. She reached out for her glass and had a sip of wine. The footmen arrived with the next course, saving her from making conversation. Not the dessert course that Marie had told her to expect, but yet another savoury course. This time, a venison dish atop a different potato base—a gratin dauphinoise—that made the most of the dairy rich farmland surrounding the city. The creamy, cheesy baked potatoes highlighted the rich venison, and the horseradish sauce cut through the two core flavours to balance the dish. Josephine kept her attention on the food.
The table plunged into silence as everyone enjoyed the next course. The tension between Nicholas and Van Percy dissipated a little. Josephine ate quietly. Why was Van Percy so determined in his quest to pursue her? The professor seemed to think that she would become his property, just because he said so. That idea may have worked fifty years ago, but times were changing. Why was he so focused on her? He was the rising star of the surgical staff. If he needed a wife to progress his career there were many women who would leap at the honour of being married to such a prominent citizen. Maybe he just liked the challenge. If he was after money … wouldn’t Claire be a more obvious choice?
