Belatedly he realized the contrast of this reality with the surprise and delight he’d experienced at Leighton House weeks prior. This acknowledgment brought with it a misplaced pang of regret.
Still, somewhere along the meandering history of the Whittinghams and Chesters, the two families had concluded in their collective mind that Amy and Matthew made a handsome pair and of late, it followed that he entertained the thought himself. Despite they shared little in common and the lady was fascinated with societal happenings, while Matthew often spent hours sequestered within the pages of a book, he knew he needed to make some effort in the area of courtship. With that, an easier path to follow didn’t exist.
He would eventually marry and produce the obligatory heir. Though he had no reason to rush the issue. He’d learned a lesson or several from last year’s debacle when he sought to hurry his sister into marriage. Amelia managed her own destiny better than he, and in that moment of clarity he vowed to allow the natural course of things in his own life and not force what wasn’t meant to be.
In that vein of thinking, almost as if to test a theory, he’d embarked on a courtship with Lady Amy, though he hadn’t committed his heart, or any other part of his anatomy for that matter.
If his parents or valet eagerly drew conclusions that a decision had been made, they were all bound to be disappointed. Matthew simply hadn’t gotten around to dissuading their assumption, much like he left correspondence overlong or neglected to get his hair trimmed. And it was possible he would never have need to elucidate them. Of late he didn’t possess strong feelings in either direction. A strange ambivalence possessed his soul and he’d yet to displace it.
If nothing else, one benefit of Amy’s friendship was found in the removal of the awkward risk of rejection, or worse, embarrassment. Amy knew the man that he was and didn’t find him lacking. At least if she did, she hadn’t voiced that opinion, and the lady was fairly uninhibited about allowing her thoughts to be known. In return they shared a comfortability, where conversation was easy and expectations reasonable.
As for tonight, he enjoyed a rich meal as much as the next gentleman, and making an appearance now and again within the social set was never a poor choice. When he tallied these supporting facts and considered the outcome, it was a quick decision to escort the lady to Mivart’s once her brother’s message was received.
“I’m anxious to sample the chef’s elaborate offerings. Yesterday afternoon at tea, Lady Dorning mentioned she never experienced a finer meal.” Amy sent an appreciative smile in his direction. “Thank you for agreeing to this evening.”
“It’s my pleasure.” He offered her a slight nod. She’d already expressed her gratitude before they’d left her parents’ home, and as the conversation lapsed into the repetitive, he assessed the room in his normal practice of noting every detail.
Much as he’d expected, the interior was a feast for the senses. Several ornate crystal chandeliers lent a golden glow to the walls decorated in aubergine-and-cream water silk, though festive evergreen garland had been added about the rectangular windows in anticipation of the holiday season. The decorative linens were white patterned on white, but one could hardly see the tabletops for the multitude of sumptuous platters and overfilled dishes. He quickly recognized the pungent aroma of bouillie soup with salt pork and cabbage, and his eyes landed on a plate at a nearby table of filleted sole in a sea of butter and lemon slices as fragrant as those in Theodosia’s conservatory. He quirked a bemused smile at the remembrance.
It was overly warm in the hotel lobby and he muttered a subtle complaint under his breath. The allure of an intriguing article concerning Dalton’s law of multiple proportions awaited on his bedside table, the perfect end to a pleasant evening. He hoped the kitchen was as well staffed as the plentiful servers who bustled about.
Upon returning to London, he’d paid a call to Lady Amy as was his custom twice a week. The twenty-minute visit allowed by the rules of courtship were most often spent in the drawing room under the watchful eye of her maid, or at times, her mother, Lady Chester. Conversation was dually dissected into Amy speaking and he listening, and he often escaped into his own thoughts if she expounded on societal gossip. During those incidences, he wondered if Coggs would make a better suitor for the young lady. Matthew didn’t care for the latest on dit or popular salacious scandal. History and the lure of the past had always intrigued him more than the speculative predictions of the future.
And naturally, he deemed the freedom of intelligent debate as most precious. Without cause, Theodosia materialized in his mind’s eye and he found another small smile. The carefree visit they’d shared at Leighton House was uncommon and beyond the rules of etiquette, but how he’d enjoyed it all the same. That was a good memory made.
“This way, please.” A server led them to a table near the corner of the room and he could readily see Amy’s disappointment. She’d have preferred the center of the room where she had the ability to observe as much as possible, but given the crowded interior and lack of available tables, she settled without complaint.
London’s ladies were forever interested in what other ladies were wearing, how their hair was arranged, or with whom they spent their leisure time. It was true that society offered the fairer sex limited opportunities beyond such subjects, but not every woman suffered restrictive thinking.
Theodosia.
With purpose, he pulled his attention back across the table. Amy hadn’t noticed his silence, her gaze strained to take in every nuance of her surroundings.
The crux of the matter lay in the fact he hadn’t noticed how specifically enthralled Amy seemed in their being seen at the restaurant, or any social affair actually, because he wasn’t intrigued to do so, his normal perspicacious nature and undeniable curiosity absent in each instance. How odd, that.
“There’s Lady Hennings.” Amy sent a knowing glance to the opposite side of the room. “She dines here regularly, according to Lady Dernsby.”
Matthew adjusted his walking stick aside the chair and scanned the lengthy menu. Several offerings sounded tempting. There was neat’s tongue, chicken in creamy white fricassee, and braised beef with ginger sauce. Ginger. He rubbed his left thigh beneath the table, the muscles much more agreeable. Theodosia’s ginger salve had proven a salvation. He shook his head at the poorly made pun and focused again on the entrée selections. The roast pork with brown onion soup sounded too tempting to deny. Decision made, he replaced his menu on the table.
The server returned to fill their wineglasses and deliver a covered basket of warm bread. The man noted their dinner choices and left with a curt nod. Across the table, Amy swiveled her head from side to side in an act of information recognizance. She would have plenty of observations to share at tea tomorrow afternoon.
“You’ll make yourself dizzy if you keep looking about like that.” He picked up the bread basket and offered it forward.
“Half the enjoyment of being here is seeing who also attends this evening.” She reached for a slice and placed it on her plate.
“If the other half of your pleasure lies in the extensive menu and renowned culinary talents of the chef, I’m dutifully insulted.” He borrowed an expression of mock outrage from Coggs.
“Perhaps tonight cannot be divided in halves.” She skirted the issue, a teasing gleam in her eye as she resumed her vigilant surveillance.
Knowing better than to attempt conversation at the moment, he too turned his attention to surveying the crowded restaurant. If a fire or other incident required the occupants to leave hurriedly, there were no extra exits aside from the same doors they’d entered. He located the four corners, assured of the same. It seemed there were tables wedged into every available space. A distinctive note of laughter, lighthearted and melodic, carried over the din and he stalled, canting his head to the side in question. With curiosity piqued, he eyed each table more pointedly, quite surprised when he noticed Lord Talbot and Lady Leighton in the dusky corner to the far rig
ht. Uncanny. Could that be? He almost stood to ascertain what he saw clearly, before he belatedly stopped himself.
Still, the niggling question of why they were here so soon after Theodosia vehemently refused his invitation to come to London kept his mind busy. The server returned with the first course but he ignored it, unable to let the matter go.
“Your soup is growing cold,” Amy chastised him. “What’s caught your attention? Who do you see? Is it someone I know?” She craned her neck in an attempt to look over his shoulder.
“Not at all. Far be it for me to ruin this culinary experience with my procrastination.” He took up his spoon and began to eat, though his attention remained divided, and no matter he told himself to mind his own business, an admonishment he frequently mentioned to Coggs, Matthew found his eyes drawn to the right corner of the restaurant more often than proper.
By the second spoonful, he’d decided he should approach their table at the end of the meal. Perhaps Lord Talbot had decided to visit the Society for the Intellectually Advanced after all. He stole another look while Amy adjusted her napkin on her lap, and was gifted with Theodosia’s profile when she turned.
She wore a lovely tea gown of cerulean blue and he wondered if her eyes took on a darker shade because of it. She did have magnificent gray eyes. And her smile. He doubted there was another who—
“You seem unusually quiet this evening. Is something wrong? I hope my brother didn’t harangue you into this escort.”
Amy’s inquiry brought his attention to their table.
“Not at all.” He made it a point to pursue conversation. “My meal is delicious. How is yours?”
“Equally good.” She placed her silver on the tablecloth. “I should save room for dessert. Lady Jerlin said there’s imported sipping chocolate available and a blancmange so light you hardly know you’re eating it.”
“It seems a peculiar quality to desire a food you cannot taste.” He forced himself to stay focused on Amy. It could only be curiosity and the question of Theodosia’s sudden appearance in London that had him at odds. But he didn’t have time to consider the matter further because an exhale later, the worst happened.
Chapter Seventeen
“I don’t want to see a physician.” Talbot tapped the table linens with his pointer finger to emphasize this declaration. “I’ve come to London to visit Lord Whittingham at his Society. He invited me.”
“But Grandfather, we discussed this before we left Oxfordshire.” Theodosia looked toward the closest tables, her pulse launching into a panicked beat, her mind at the ready to react if necessary.
“There’s nothing wrong with me or my memory.”
“I didn’t say that, although it will be good to hear the physician’s knowledgeable opinion.” Compassion squeezed her throat as she uttered the words. “Why don’t we see the physician first and then when we’re finished, we can inquire if Lord Whittingham is accepting visitors? That way, we’ll both be pleased with our travel here.”
This seemed to mollify her grandfather, and perhaps the sudden stillness of their corner table deceived her into believing his displeasure had passed. No other reason could explain the heart-lurching startle when her grandfather slammed his fist hard enough to rattle the china on the damask tablecloth.
“Where is the marmalade? I specifically ordered marmalade with dinner.”
He hadn’t, and Theodosia knew it, yet she needed to calm her grandfather before everyone in the dining room witnessed her humiliation. “Excuse me.” A passing server snapped to attention. “Could you please send a message upstairs to room twenty-seven that Collins is needed at once?”
She’d hardly finished her sentence, the server on the move, when Grandfather stood, his face reddened with anger.
“You didn’t ask him for marmalade. I want marmalade.”
The room quieted and then, as if mistaking the outburst for nothing more than an anomaly, conversation swelled to refill its absence.
Theodosia rose from her seat, prepared to coax her grandfather from the room no matter they had hardly finished their plates. “We should go upstairs now if you’re finished.”
“I’m not finished. I can’t eat until I have marmalade with my meal.”
A tall gentleman, the same host who had welcomed them as they’d entered the restaurant, appeared beside their table, seemingly concerned about the unfolding disturbance.
“How may I assist?” He spoke politely, though his expression portrayed alarm.
“My grandfather would like some marmalade to accompany his dinner.” How foolish she sounded, but her heart thundered in her chest from a sickening mixture of dread and embarrassment. Hopefully, Collins would come downstairs immediately and mollify her grandfather. Until then, she had little idea what else to do.
“I’m sorry?”
Would he make her repeat the ridiculous request? She hemmed her bottom lip to bite back a scream of frustration. Why had she believed, hoped, envisioned, they might take a meal at the restaurant without cause for upset? If ever she doubted her grandfather’s failing mind, this episode would forever remind her it was heartbreakingly true. “Marmalade. Is there marmalade available to accompany the meal?”
Seeking to remedy the situation, the server continued in a low, congenial voice. “We don’t serve marmalade. Would you care to see a menu for a different selection?”
Grandfather was not to be waylaid, his reply increasingly insistent. “I don’t want something else.”
This time the room quieted and every eye turned in their direction. One could hear voices in the kitchen, the dining floor had fallen so silent.
“Excellent suggestion and a capital condiment. Indeed, I would like marmalade as well.”
A different voice rang across the room. A deep tenor that rippled through her. When she turned she saw the Earl of Whittingham standing at his table’s edge no more than ten strides away.
“What are you doing?” The woman who accompanied him shielded her face as she hissed the words in a sharp, plummy voice, though her question was plainly discernible in the otherwise silent restaurant.
“I would like a bowl of marmalade with my dinner.” Matthew stared at Theodosia so intently, her heart turned over twice. “One would think an establishment of high reputation would cater to the most vogue preferences of the culinary elite.”
“We have blackberry preserves and mint jelly.” Torn between the two tables and their unusual request, the server attempted reparation, though clearly he remained confused. “I will speak to the chef immediately.”
By now the crowd had begun to whisper behind their napkins and speculate with intrusive conversation. Dora appeared with Collins in tow, and despite the server had hurried away in search of fulfilling their peculiar demand, Grandfather was led from the table with little argument and the promise his food would be delivered abovestairs.
Theodosia paused. She looked across the room to where Matthew had recovered his seat and pursued what appeared to be a heated discussion. She might have stood there all evening in fascination of what he’d done and how he’d attempted to draw attention to himself and away from her misery, but she was too smart to glorify what was likely done out of pity.
* * *
Matthew knew before he stepped into his carriage there would be hell to pay. Contained and limited by the surrounding crowd, Amy had held back at the dinner table, their scant discussion strained. She’d eschewed dessert and regarded passing friends with a brittle smile until at last they took their leave.
Now the tension within the interior was thicker than the sauce on the unfinished plate of food he’d ordered for dinner.
“Why would you do such a thing?” Her tone expressed everything her words did not. “You humiliated me before a room full of guests.”
“Lord Talbot was troubled and I sought to help.” He refused to engage in an argument. He would never forget the look of stark fear on Theodosia’s face as she’d met his eyes across the dining room floor. “S
ome might consider my effort compassionate.”
“Compassionate?” Amy tutted her tongue in dismissal. “You sought to help a strange old man who created a ludicrous and unnecessary scene in a public restaurant, which interrupted the dining of dozens of people. But instead of ignoring the mad fool, you drew attention to our table.”
“My intent was noble, Amy.” He folded his arms across his chest, whether to separate himself from her or relieve the tightened muscles there, he didn’t know. “The earl appeared overset.”
“So, you know him?”
“I do. He’s a respected scientist who struggles now in his later years,” he replied with growing irritation, the words too callous for the empathy he felt.
“In what way? Do you mean financial hardship?” Amy’s intolerance sharpened with each additional question.
“No.” He hesitated, aware some of Amy’s friends were spectacular tongue-wags. The last thing he wished was to incite gossip. “Sometimes as an individual ages, clarity of thought becomes more difficult.” He brought his explanation down to the scantest terms, unsure how Amy would react.
“So, he’s gone mad?”
He was taken aback by Amy’s insensitive reaction. “No. I didn’t say that.” His patience frayed to a thread. How was Theodosia managing now? He’d turned away from the scene to assess Amy’s reaction and then sought out Talbot’s corner table, but they were already gone, the restaurant returned to its normal business.
“You didn’t have to.” Amy huffed her displeasure. “Still you chose to help that stranger and in turn embarrass me. You showed very little regard for my presence.”
“That was never my intention.” He waited, impatient with her lack of understanding.
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